Page 23

23

LUCIA

B y the time the children get back to the apartment, Maria has already set the table for lunch.

Five places.

My heart skips a beat. Does that mean Roman plans to join us?

The door opens behind me in answer.

“Just in time.” Roman’s deep voice sends a thrill down my spine. “How were rehearsals?”

“Masha is a cactus, apparently.” I turn to face him, hoping none of my recent tension shows on my face. As soon as I see his split lip and the cut over his eye, however, all thoughts of the kids’ respective parts in the upcoming Easter celebrations fly from my head.

“Oh my goodness!” I cross the room quickly. “You’re hurt! What on earth happened?” I touch his face without thinking, then immediately realize my mistake.

Roman smells of the fight, raw sweat and violence that has nothing to do with the expensive suit he’s hiding behind.

“I’m fine.” He rears back from me as if he’s been burned, glancing around the room. “Where are the children?”

“Washing up.” My hands fall back to my sides, and I take a step back. “You’re clearly not fine. At least let me dress that cut.” It’s completely unfair that the cuts only seem to enhance his physical attraction. Especially when he slips off his suit jacket and tie and rolls his sleeves up. I gulp, trying not to stare at the hard, tanned V where the shirt is unbuttoned, nor at the corded forearms. When I raise my eyes, he’s smirking at me in a way that tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“It’s nothing. Just a sparring match in the ring.” Seeing my frown, he raises his eyebrows. “Doubting me, Miss Lopez?” There’s a gruff intimacy to his voice that does very dangerous things to my body.

Thankfully, the children choose that moment to come back to the dining room. They stop dead in their tracks when they see Roman.

“What happened to you ?” Ofelia asks bluntly.

“Well,” Roman says, pulling out a chair for her and waiting until all three children and I are seated before taking his own, “Dimitry criticized your alfajores , so I thought I’d better teach him a lesson.”

“You beat up Dimitry ?” Mickey is looking at him with something like awe.

“What’s wrong wiv my cookies?” Masha demands indignantly at the same time.

Roman’s mouth twitches. He waits until the soup has been served and the chef has withdrawn before answering.

“Sarcasm, Mickey,” he says, with something almost approaching a smile. “That means I was joking,” he adds, winking at Masha. “Dimitry says your cookies are the best he’s ever had.”

She beams and tucks into her soup.

“So what did happen, then?” Ofelia hasn’t touched her plate. She’s still staring at Roman’s face, and her own is quite pale. Suddenly I recognize the hard light in her blue eyes for what it is: fear.

“Your godfather is fine, sweetheart.” I touch her arm briefly. “He and Dimitry had a sparring match in the boxing ring, apparently.”

“Seriously?” Ofelia’s eyes narrow, and she looks between Roman and me with a piercing glare so like his it makes me uncomfortable.

Both of us nod.

Seemingly satisfied, she picks up her spoon and clatters her soup around the bowl, shaking her head.

“Men are such idiots,” she mutters. But I see the color slowly returning to her face, and my heart twists. Ofelia has buried her father and believes that loving her mother will place Inger in danger. Roman needs to understand how fragile she is, how deeply afraid of losing people.

Maybe I’ll get a chance to explain that before he makes me leave.

“I’m a cactus,” says Masha importantly.

“Shut up,” Ofelia hisses to her sister. “He doesn’t care—”

“I didn’t know there were cacti in the Easter story.” Pretending not to hear Ofelia, Roman turns to Masha inquiringly. “What does the cactus do, exactly, at Easter time?” He catches my eye, and I try not to laugh.

“I’m on the back of a twuck,” Masha says. “We’re singing.”

“A float?” Roman’s smile fades and he turns to me. “Did you know about this?”

My heart lurches uneasily. “I knew they were in an Easter production. I didn’t know it was a procession.”

His face darkens. The children exchange resigned looks that hurt me inside.

We sit in silence as the chef comes in and takes the soup plates, replacing them with fish and salad. When he leaves, Ofelia says resentfully: “I suppose that means you won’t let us go.”

Mickey’s head is down, hair flopping over his eyes. Masha is quiet for once, her eyes downcast. Ofelia stares flatly at Roman, her expression daring him to argue.

“It would have been nice,” Roman says grimly, “if someone had advised me of what these celebrations entailed.”

She folds her arms, having not touched her plate. “We told Stefania, the old au pair. She signed the consent forms.”

“You mean you tricked her into signing them.” Roman’s face is flat and uncompromising. “Which, I imagine, is why she quit after less than a week.”

Ofelia shrugs sullenly. “It’s not our fault she couldn’t read Spanish properly. Or understand Russian.”

“You deliberately manipulated her.” Roman puts both hands on the table and glares at her. “You know very well I would never have agreed to this.”

She cuts her eyes to me. “Are you going to take his side?”

Suddenly all three children are staring at me.

Oh hell.

“Manipulating Stefania was unkind,” I say quietly. “She clearly felt she had no choice but to quit after she discovered she’d been tricked into doing something she knew Roman wouldn’t agree to. On the other hand”—I turn to Roman—“Stefania obviously chose to quit rather than face you and try to explain, just as the children chose to lie rather than come to you and ask permission.”

“But—” Ofelia starts to protest.

“It’s not your place—” Roman begins, his face thunderous.

I hold up both hands. “I’m not taking sides,” I say to Ofelia. And”—I turn to Roman—“I understand that it’s not my place to argue. But the parade is the day after tomorrow. The children already have parts and are clearly excited about being a part of it. Maybe we could at least find out what they’re doing. Mickey?” Ignoring Roman’s furious expression, I smile at Mickey. “Do you have a part in the procession too?”

His eyes dart nervously between Roman and me. “I-I’m doing all the audio programming.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean, you’re doing the audio? Don’t you mean you’re helping someone?” When Ofelia tries to break in, he shakes his head, silencing her. “I asked your brother. Mickey?”

“No, I’m not helping.” Mickey actually meets Roman’s eyes, and there’s the faintest touch of challenge in his voice. “I’ve set it all up myself, programmed the timing, everything.” When Roman doesn’t immediately answer, he goes on in a slightly stronger voice. “And it wasn’t just Ofelia who tricked Stefania. We all wanted to be a part of the procession, and we knew you wouldn’t say yes.”

“Mickey,” says Ofelia warningly, glaring at her brother.

“’Felia is real strict,” Masha pipes up. “She watches Mickey an’ me all the time.”

I turn to Ofelia. “Do you actually have a part in the procession, Ofelia?” I ask gently.

She hesitates for a moment before answering, then shoots me a slightly defensive look. “No.”

Roman’s frown deepens. “Then why did you lie about it?” He gives her a hard look. “Are you trying to see some boy, Ofelia? Because if that’s what this is about, then let me tell you—”

She pushes back her chair abruptly and stands, glittering eyes staring Roman down with absolute fury. “How dare you,” she starts in a trembling voice.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” I touch her hand to stop her and give Roman a death stare of my own. “Haven’t you been listening? Ofelia is there so she can watch out for her brother and sister.” I turn back to Ofelia. “You tricked Stefania into signing that form because it’s so important to Mickey and Masha, didn’t you? But you couldn’t tell the security guards about it, so you’ve been watching them yourself.”

She gives me a little nod then lowers her head, staring down at the table, but not before I see the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. At the other end of the table, Mickey’s face darkens, and he turns to face Roman. “You always blame Ofelia for everything, but it’s not her fault she gets in trouble. It’s you who keeps sending her away to school, when all she wants is to be with us.”

Roman stares at him, then at Ofelia’s lowered head. Mickey returns his stare with a hard blue look of his own, which I can’t help but admire. Expecting Roman to absolutely lose it, I’m rather surprised when he addresses Ofelia in a far gentler tone. “Is that true, Ofelia?”

“’Felia wants to stay wiv us.” Masha glares at her godfather. Sliding from her chair, she slips her hand into her sister’s. “Can we please be ’scused,” she says, with remarkable dignity for a five-year-old.

“Ofelia?” I touch her wrist lightly. “Is that why you keep getting expelled? So you can be at home?”

She doesn’t look up, just nods again, then gives a telltale sniff. I look around at the flushed faces and shoot Roman a warning look. “Can you give your godfather and me a little time to talk about this, guys? You can go downstairs and ask Chef if you can take your dessert into your rooms, if you like. Tell him not to bother serving us.”

All three children stand, then pause, looking between Roman and me. “What is it?” Roman asks brusquely.

“Is she—will Lucia still be here after siesta?” Mickey asks, his pale face coloring.

Great question, kiddo.

Let’s just add today’s infractions to the list of difficult conversations I’m about to have. All I want to do is reassure him, but it’s not my place to do so, and I won’t give them false promises.

“Of course she will.”

I stare at Roman in surprise. But he isn’t looking at me or Mickey. He’s staring at Ofelia’s lowered head. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he looked concerned.

The children file out, this time with Ofelia in the center, Mickey and Masha each holding one of their older sister’s hands.

Roman frowns as he watches them go, then turns to me. “Make sure one of the guards is with them,” he says curtly, “then come up to the penthouse. We need to talk.”