That answer surprises both of us.
I look back down at the desk. The folder has shifted enough for the edge of the sketch to show. Just a line of hair. The curve of a cheek.
I cover it again. “I don’t know what it is yet,” I say. “Find her anyway.”
Alexei stands.
At the door, he pauses. “You know, if Dmitri cheated and she ran, that means she has more spine than any of us gave her credit for.”
I say nothing.
After he leaves, the room settles back into silence. I move the folder aside and look at the sketch again.
I drew her too soft at first. Too pretty. Too much like the girl I saw at lunch, surrounded by champagne and compliments.
Now I take the pen and change the mouth.
Less polished. More stubborn.
That suits her better.
7
ANYA
By the fourth day,I understand that running away is not nearly as romantic as books make it sound.
There is no beautiful train station. No dramatic rain. No mysterious stranger offering help because he sees something wounded and special in my eyes.
There’s only a cheap room above a closed pharmacy, a mattress that sinks in the middle, and one small window that looks out over the back of another building.
I sit on the edge of the bed every morning and count my money.
Then I count it again. As if the number might change if I stare hard enough.
It never does.
The first night, I paid cash for the room using the emergency money I had hidden inside my bridal clutch. The owner, a woman with dyed red hair and suspicious eyes, did not ask questions. I think she sees girls like me more often than she wants to admit.
Girls running from men. Girls who show up in ruined makeup and expensive shoes, pretending they’re not shaking.
I told her my name was Anna.
On the second day, I sold one piece of jewelry. A diamond bracelet Dmitri gave me three months ago after missing my birthday dinner. I remember how I had forgiven him the second the velvet box opened, because I was foolish enough to mistake guilt for affection.
The jeweler looked at the bracelet, then at me, then at the bracelet again.
He offered me less than it was worth.
I knew that. He knew I knew that.
I took the money anyway.
Selling more would have been stupid. Girls like me are noticed. Girls selling expensive jewelry without papers are remembered. And I can’t afford to be remembered.
The engagement ring stays with me. I tell myself it is because selling it would draw too much attention, and that’s partly true. But the real reason is uglier.
I can’t give it away.
