Page 16 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

“What thing?”

“You don’t know him, but even if you did, that’s not the point. He handles people better when he believes they don’t know anything about him at all.”

Demyan blinked at that, dropping his hands from her and taking a small step back. “Vera, do you hear yourself say that, it’s insane!”

“Well ...” So be it, Vera thought. She folded her arms over her chest, and planted her booted feet, Mira managed to find a pair of hikers that fit, firmly into the ground. No doubt, the sight of her, the contrast between her dress and footwear, and the entire scene was silly to Demyan. She wished she cared. “Nobody said you had to like it. You came here.”

She expected anger.

Maybe it was even justified.

After a pause that made Demyan look frozen in time against the soft movement of the lake and breeze in the trees, he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, God,” he crowed.

Vera shifted a bit on her heels. “Why are you laughing?”

It took another low rumble of laughter before Demyan managed to mumble his reply, “That’s what he told me, too.”

“I mean ...” She let her palms helplessly slap against her thighs over the cashmere dress. “It’s true.”

“Was that a cooler I saw on the ROV?” Demyan asked, then.

The change of subject brought Vera sweet relief. “Yeah. Salad, bread, coffee. Something sweet, too.”

“Is he going to give me back the rest of my things, too?”

Vera hesitated long enough for her father to roll her eyes. Defensively, she said, “I didn’t know he’d taken your things.”

“And my phone!”

“I’ll get your phone back,” Vera snapped. “Did you even bother to ask for it yourself?”

“I asked enough questions to learn he didn’t like to be asked questions, Vera.”

Fair enough.

There was one thing she could fix.

Vera pulled her phone from the pocket of her dress, one of the best features next to the neckline, in her opinion, and offered it to her father. “Here. Call Ma. She’s very worried.”

She didn’t need to say it twice.

Demyan took the phone and grumbled, “Yeah, I bet.”

4.

I’m where I want to be.

Vaslav was left to ponder those words while he should have been enjoying the Olivier salad and sourdough rye bread Mira had made to go with the dark roasted coffee to wash the dense food down. Instead, he’d made it halfway through his lunch as Vera’s conversation trailed on with her father and Vaslav made no effort to engage.

He didn’t care to talk.

He’d rather think.

Obviously, the food he promised to get ready on the rear porch didn’t even get unpacked. He’d been too busy eavesdropping on the terse, and sometimes loud, conversation between Demyan and his daughter. Not that Vera mentioned that when she finally came through the front doors to find he’d left it sitting on the dining room table inside the house.

They did get the food to the back, though.