Dmitri had come out only to hand me two mugs of coffee before disappearing again.
And now, I’ve stepped out of self-imposed isolation in my home office to find Eva curled in a chair, reading. The sight of her, legs tucked under her and her sweatshirt slipping off one slim shoulder, her mind lost in the book, stirs an unfamiliar desire. I find myself moving toward her.
I should turn around, leave her be, for her good and mine.
But her name is already on my tongue, and I can’t, I won’t, stop it.
“Eva.”
She startles, rising halfway out of the chair, her gaze wary as she watches me.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, frozen in her odd position. “I took a book down to read. Is that okay? I can put it back.”
She’s already closed the book, rising to return it to the shelves lining the walls. But she stops when I put a hand up.
“Come with me.”
Eva watches me guardedly as she sets the book on the side table and follows. I feel her reticence in the slow drag of her steps and the way she trails behind. It only deepens when we reach my private wing, and the echo of her footsteps cuts off as she stops.
“Are you coming?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
Eva doesn’t answer but trots to catch up, as if she expects me to lead her into a trap I’ve set.
Instead, I lead her to a carved, locked door.
“What’s in there?”
When I glance over my shoulder again, Eva’s expression is pinched, her full eyebrows drawn nearly together.
I chuckle. “What are you expecting?”
She sinks her top teeth into her bottom lip, and a faint blush appears on her cheeks. She doesn’t need to tell me for me to know she’s imagining a room of mafia horrors, whatever that might be.
I can’t help chuckling again as I enter the PIN on the keypad, and the door unlocks with a soft click. My amusement turns to pleasure when the lights come on and Eva gasps.
She stands frozen in the doorway, mouth parted, eyes wide as saucers as she takes in the room’s contents.
“Is this all yours?” she finally manages.
Her breath is barely above a stunned whisper, as if anything louder would disturb the books lining the floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves that cover every inch of the large room’s walls.
“Yes. My private collection.”
Eva takes a few slow steps into the room, turning to drink it all in. “This is incredible.”
The massive collection has always been my pride and joy, but Eva’s obvious delight and wonder make it doubly so.
“Many are first editions. I keep the oldest books in that case, climate-controlled so they don’t degrade.”
With a wave, I indicate a shelf with titles in Cyrillic lettering along their spines. “And this collection was saved from the Alexander Palace during the Revolution.”
“How did you get them?”
“Many I bought through private auction. Other members of my family saved some before fleeing Russia for France.”
“Did they work in the palace?” Eva asks, distracted as she runs a finger down the spine of a book and traces the gold-foil lettering.
“No.They were Romanovs. Distant cousins, of course, minor cousins, but Romanovs.”
