Page 88 of The Lies Between Lovers

Humming under his breath, he settled on asking, “And what if I was that man?”

“Well,” Claire said with a little laugh following the word, “I’d hope at some point that you might invite me for dinner.”

It was not the response he expected.

Lucky for her, it might have also made him smile.

*

Vaslav’s gaze didn’t waver from the dried, slightly crumpled rose head he twisted at the short stem between his fingers. Not even as Mira stepped into his den with a quiet good morning in Russian that he only half-heartedly answered back.

If grunting could be a reply.

His lackluster mood didn’t bother her as she went about her business. Besides the swish of the rose stem rolling between his finger and thumb, only Mira’s soft footsteps and the clink and clatter of the tea set she carried echoed in the room. He’d left the hospital at a reasonable time, waited for Vera to wake up, anyhow, but the time had crawled closer to eleven by the time he got home.

His empty stomach churned from lack of food, and all it took was the smell of tea steeping after Mira had poured him a cup to drag his attention away from the rose.

“I’m starved,” he told her.

“I’ll make up something quick,” Mira replied.

“Perfect.”

“Igor passed along a message before he left.”

“Kiril went with him?”

“I might have heard the young man say he didn’t have much to do around here, but he was quick to find some excuse when I had a list of chores ready.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Oh?”

“I don’t think he likes to be mothered.”

“But has he ever had a mother?” Vaslav returned.

That was an important question when dealing with a young man on the cusp of his adulthood that didn’t do well with female pressure. At least, the pressure from any woman older than what Kiril would consider pursuing.

Mira didn’t speak, but he also didn’t need her to for him to know that wouldn’t stop her from trying with Kiril. Sometimes the boy seemed willing to indulge her mothering—from far—and other times, not so much. Other than Vaslav and whatever friends Mira made on her trips to whatever shops she preferred, the woman didn’t have much of a life or a family.

Him and this home. The grounds it rested on and the one dog and various birds that came to visit and stay from the spring through to summer. What else?

Practically nothing.

He wouldn’t discourage Mira from entertaining herself. She seemed resigned to spend her life serving him, after all, this was what she’d chosen. Vaslav pulled the steaming, nutty-smelling teacup and the small plate it rested on closer to him as he nodded for Mira to continue. “But back to the message.”

“He’ll call through to let you know if Vera would rather go home, or here when they sign her discharge papers later today,” the maid explained. “And the chartered flight he had flagged—he’ll have that ready for you, as well.”

“Did he bitch about me taking the car out of the shed again?”

“Barely,” Mira said, shrugging.

Vaslav chuckled, because yes, Igor had absolutely thrown a fit when he realized his boss had taken the white Rolls out when he wasn’t supposed to. In the chaos of the past couple of days, he wasn’t surprised that Igor didn’t bring the issue straight to him.

It was coming.

“Just a sandwich, or something,” Vaslav told Mira, bringing them back to his bigger issue at hand.

His growling stomach. “Anything to put in my stomach at this point.”