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And on more than one occasion, I wonder if she heard us last night.
Her arrival left me flushed with joy. But after enough hours, the happiness faded to something bleaker. There’s something she said yesterday that I can’t shed.
Sleep didn’t erase it. If anything, the time passing has made my curiosity sharper.
Why did Mom react like that on hearing Yevgeniy’s name?
I replay the scene over in my head. My mother was hanging on my every word when we spoke, so there was no way she didn’t hear me. For some reason she chose to dodge my question asking if she was okay at the mere mention of Yevgeniy. It calls me back to when we were both going over the paperwork for the studio. She played dumb about all the debt … waited to drop the bomb on me about a buyer.
She’s keeping something from me. I’m sure of it.
I’ll ask her again. This time, I won’t let her avoid answering me.
Jumping to my feet, I pace through the beams of sunlight in the sitting room on the first floor. It’s still early; after I slipped from Arsen’s bedroom, I went to my own room to clean up and change clothes. I passed Mom’s room, but didn’t check to see if she was awake. Now that it’s breakfast, I have an excuse to knock.
In the kitchen, I discover Masha. She’s replacing utensils in a drawer. “Galina Stepanovna,” she greets me, straightening her long skirt. “How can I help you?”
“Could you please fix me up a breakfast tray? Something quick and simple, with fruit and granola, and some toast, please.”
She nods to acknowledge me and immediately gets to work, flying around the kitchen and retrieving mugs, plates, and bowls. No movement is wasted as she fills a bowl while plucking items from the fridge.
I watch her with appreciation. I’ve gotten used to instructing the staff on what to do. Ulyana must be feeling smug right now. Before long, the tray is loaded up. Even though I asked for simple, the meal is anything but. A full silver carafe of hot coffee, a container of cream, a bowl of sliced fruit designed to look like a turtle, three glossy, fat cinnamon rolls … and a jar of granola. Not basic granola either—it looks homemade, with large almonds mixed in. And to complete the ensemble, a dash of creamy white yogurt with a drizzle of honey, which reminds me of the mess Arsen and I made in bed last night.
I bite my lip to suppress a grin as heat flushes over my face.
“Here you are,” Masha says.
“Thank you,” I reply. “I just hope I can carry it upstairs.”
She blanches, reaching for the tray. “I can do it for you.”
“A joke, Masha. But thank you for the offer.” I tense with the effort of hauling the meal while trying not to spill it. By the time I make it to my mother’s bedroom, my arms are shaking. Shifting my hip, I use my elbow to knock. “Mom? You awake? I brought breakfast!”
There’s some light noise inside. A moment later, the door swings open. Mom has layered herself in a pink shawl, white, thigh-length sweater, and black pants. She’s left her hair down in lovely waves. One look at her mascara and lip liner, and I know she’s been awake for some time.
“Good morning, malyshka,” she says sweetly. Her eyes dart to the food. “Oh, let me help!” Grabbing the tray, she carries it into the room.
“How did you sleep?” I ask, closing us in. I make sure the door is locked—I don’t want any interruptions.
“Fine enough. Arsen doesn’t skimp on luxury, that much is clear.” Setting the tray on the bedside table, she’s quick to pour coffee into the two white ceramic mugs. “This is exactly what I need. Thank you.” Shutting her eyes, she drinks the steaming coffee. “Oh, bozhe moi, that’s incredible.”
“The coffee here is great, yeah.” Picking up a mug, I perch on the edge of the bed. She’s smoothed the blanket into place, re-making it as well as the house staff could have. “Eat up. It’s all for you.”
“I can’t possibly eat all of this!” In spite of her denial, she takes a big mouthful of a cinnamon roll. The way she rolls her eyes silently screams euphoria. The food really is amazing here. Danil the chef designs all the recipes himself. Ulyana tells me that only a few of the staff are allowed to know the full list of ingredients. Danil prefers to do things himself, even if it means waking up at four in the morning to get the fresh bread baking.
Wanting to keep my mom relaxed, I decide to take up her invitation and join in the meal. I pick up a strawberry and nibble at it. The less we argue now, the greater my chance at digging out answers from her.
“Have you had a chance to look around the mansion yet?”
“No,” she admits. “This place seems confusing. Lots of hallways and rooms.”
“Yeah, it took me a week before I stopped getting lost.”
Her eyes narrow; she chews another bite. “Have you been here this entire time, malyshka?”
“Yes,” I admit. Turning the mug in my hands, I rub at a coffee stain on the rim. “It was scary when Arsen first brought me here. I thought he was going to hurt me.” The brown spot vanishes from my vigorous rubbing. “But I learned that all he wanted to do was protect me from the war I didn’t know was going on around me.”
“Nonsense. There’s no war anywhere that would involve you,” she says blandly, shifting to face away from me.
