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Turning, I hover by the window and spread the blinds to give me a view of the driveway. Arsen went to personally escort my mother to the mansion.
According to Mom, the windows of the studio were completely shattered in the shooting. Shards of glass painted the floor inside, the sidewalk, and even the street.
Once Arsen told me that he was bringing her to the mansion, I called her back. Convincing her to come was … not simple. She told me that she didn’t want to hide from the world, arguing that there were classes to run. And she didn’t want to disappoint her students, who wanted the chance to learn from Astana Bukharova. Who, as Mom claimed, was still more than happy to teach at the studio in spite of the shooting.
Somehow, I had a hard time believing that.
I tried arguing with her that she should at least cancel classes for a few days until the window was fixed. But she argued bitterly with me, claiming that her students would simply find another studio in the meantime.
Somehow, I had a hard time believing that as well.
It finally took me telling her that she was not safe at the studio for the present moment, and making a point that this shooting wasn’t a random one, for her to stop coming up with excuses. For a brief moment, I nearly told her about Yevgeniy over the phone.
But I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to tell her about that. I didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge that there’s a psycho who’s somehow even more violent than Arsen out there, haunting us in the shadows.
Only when I assured her that this would be a temporary thing did she reluctantly agree to have Arsen come pick her up. But even then, she reiterated that she would not abuse his hospitality forever, and that she would leave as soon as she decided she no longer needed his help.
I had to keep myself from laughing when I heard that.
Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.
“Galina Stepanovna!” Olesya’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Please be gentle with the blinds. Ulyana will be furious.”
That’s when I notice I’m plucking at the window blinds, and I immediately swipe my hand away. “Sorry,” I apologize as I open the blinds wide. “I’m just anxious.”
Reuniting should be heartwarming. Instead, all I feel is a sense of foreboding illness gripping my heart in a vise.
“Look!” Olesya points.
I push my nose to the windowpane and see the gates opening inward. Arsen’s black Escalade rolls through.
“She’s here,” I say, my voice cracking.
Olesya heads for the front doors. “Let’s be ready to welcome her.”
“Wait!” I cry out.
She stops short at the panic in my voice. “Galina Stepanovna … it will be okay.” Her eyes warm with kindness. “She’s your mother. She’ll be happy to see you. You cannot hide from her forever.”
Wiping my sweaty palms over my ribbed, pale lavender sweater a few times, I let out a shuddering breath. “You’re right. I can’t. Okay. I think I’m ready.”
Together we make our way to the front door. That’s when I notice the pair of guards standing on opposite sides of the room. They’re staring out the windows, but they turn to look at us as we approach. I’ve started to recognize the men after enough time spent around them.
The one on the left with the crew-cut and beefy body is Mikhail. He rarely speaks to me, though his smiles are kinder than the rest. The other has short blond hair and a minuscule mole under his right eye; he’s also tall enough that he hunches unconsciously when he’s inside, though the mansion’s ceilings are more than high enough. I know him as Iosif, the man who stood behind Arsen during our wedding and lowered the crown on his head.
“What are you doing?” I ask warily.
“Our job,” Iosif responds, “Galina Stepanovna.”
“Don’t scare her,” I warn them. “That’s an order.”
Mikhail lifts his eyebrows like I said something odd. Iosif turns his back on me, clearly not interested in what I have to say. They survey the approaching car through the windows. If they think my mother is dangerous, then they’re out of their minds. I pause, then bite back a giggle. Actually, she might be more dangerous than Arsen. She won’t hold back if they offend her.
The front door swings open, and Arsen fills the space. He blocks any view of what’s behind him as his eyes dart to me. I can’t read his face. He’s keeping on a neutral mask that sends my nerves haywire.
Oh God, what did Mom say to him?
And as soon as that thought enters my mind, another one follows in its wake.
