Page 69 of Crimson

“Maybe he’ll be alright,” Nadia said stupidly. “You take such good care of him.”

Rashel made a disdainful sound. She knew what a ridiculous statement that was.

“I was going to make a sandwich,” Nadia said, gesturing to the fresh loaf of bread on the countertop. “Do you want me to make you one?”

The movement of her hand had caught Rashel’s eye. She stared, transfixed, at the ring on Nadia’s finger.

“That’s not Oleksei’s ring,” she said.

Nadia blushed.

“No,” she said. “I ended things with Maxim.”

“Then who gave you that?”

“Nikolai Markov,” she said.

Rashel gave a strange atavistic shudder.

“So, you’ll marry him, then,” she said.

“Yes,” Nadia said.

Her heart was pounding, all out of proportion to the situation.

She expected Rashel to rage about the Markovs as she had before.

But Rashel surprised her by simply shrugging and turning abruptly away.

“That’s settled then,” she said, brusquely.

Well, it wasn’t congratulations, but Nadia supposed it was more than she could reasonably expect, considering the history between their families.

She watched her aunt push her way through the back door, stumping out across the grounds.

Nadia put her sandwich together and carried it upstairs to her room to eat.

Once she finished her lunch, she set about tidying up the room. She hadn’t been spending much time there, and it had gotten in disarray with her rapid comings and goings.

The cats didn’t help—they liked to jump in and out of the window, heedless of whatever might be sitting on top of her desk, often tracking in leaves or mud. Nadia scooped up the biggest cat, the one that looked like a lynx, and made him submit to a little cuddling in exchange for all the mess he made.

He tolerated it for a minute or two, then jumped out of her arms and went prowling around the room.

Nadia unpacked her travel bag—she hadn’t bothered to do it the day before. But now she needed some of the toiletries since she had to put in one hundred percent effort on her appearance for that evening.

She had the perfect dress this time, at least. She’d bought it earlier in the week. She didn’t want to disappoint Nikolai—they’d be making a very public appearance as a couple. And not just boyfriend and girlfriend. She’d be wearing his engagement ring.

Once she’d taken out all her crumpled, worn clothes, including the sundress that Nikolai had torn past repairing, she found her mother’s journal in the bottom of the bag.

She held it in her hands, feeling the worn leather cover that was now as familiar as her own skin.

She shouldn’t be afraid of the journal. After all, it was what had brought her here to Moscow in the first place. She would never have met Nikolai at all, if not for the journal.

It was silly to think that it dictated her fate.

She ought to finish it, and know for certain, once and for all, what had happened between Ivan and her mother.

She glanced at the clock.