Page 31

31

LUCIA

“ O www!” Masha glares at me.

“Sorry,” I mutter around the pins in my mouth. “But you have to stay still.”

“You keep pricking me!”

“Well, that’s what you get for being a cactus.” I wink at her, and Masha gives me a gap-toothed grin. “Also,” I add, “I did tell you sewing is not my forte.”

“What’s a fortay?” she asks, turning obediently as I pin her costume.

“It’s a strength,” Ofelia supplies from her seat on the sofa. “But you’re wrong, Lucia. The costume looks good.” She gives me the wary smile that still breaks my heart.

Ofelia is opening up, slowly. But she still lives behind a wall, one I’m not sure anyone will ever truly breach. Her eyes never stop watching her siblings, and caution is an ever-present shadow behind her eyes. The real miracle to me is that despite her multiple expulsions, and the harsh discipline I can read between the lines of the outraged comments in her reports, Ofelia’s unconditional devotion to her siblings has never wavered. Every day I know her increases my respect for her. She may be only fifteen, but grief and responsibility have given her a quiet dignity. It infuriates me that a myriad of school teachers and boarding house mistresses have misconstrued Ofelia’s pain for arrogance, her disobedience for attention seeking.

Most of all, it shocks me that after several days I’ve yet to hear any of the children have a conversation with their mother, or any other member of their family. In fact, their phones are remarkably quiet. No texts from friends or hidden phone chats. Roman’s godchildren rely on each other. They are each other’s support network and friendship group. Even at rehearsals, they keep themselves slightly apart from the crowd, instinctively drawing closer to each other.

Tomorrow is the actual procession. Roman has assured the children he will attend.

He hasn’t communicated much to me. Actually, we’ve barely spoken since the earth-shattering night in his penthouse. Not that speaking has been required. I’ve been summoned each night, and sometimes during siesta. Sex has become my every meal.

I’m not complaining. I don’t want to talk any more than Roman does. Our time together is an oasis, a fantasy land where all that matters is my body, his body, the way we fit together. I’ve never known anything remotely like what happens between us when the door to his penthouse closes. In fact, it feels like something in me has been unleashed. I try not to overthink it, just as I try not to think of where this all will end. I’ve just been floating along on a permanent cloud of oxytocin that effectively numbs logical thought. For once in my life, I’ve been more than content to bid logic goodbye.

“So this afternoon is our final rehearsal, right?” I stick the last of the pins into Masha’s costume.

“Yes.” It’s Mickey who answers. He has his head in his laptop, frowning in concentration. “And some of these times are still off.”

I plop on the sofa arm and ruffle his hair. “You’ll have time to test them out this afternoon. If you’re still stuck after that, we’ll ask Roman for help.”

Mickey and Ofelia both snort derisively. “Yeah, right,” he mutters. “As if he’d know one end of a computer from the other.”

I deliberately don’t react. Despite Roman joining us for meals, and a tentative thawing of the vibe between him and the children, I’m increasingly aware of the wariness with which they regard him. It’s expressed in a myriad of ways. One of the most common, particularly from the older two, is in snarky asides like this one. The fact that they say them aloud in my presence, however, I take as an encouraging sign that they actually want to be contradicted. It’s a delicate line, where I need to allow them to express their true feelings while also forging a bridge of understanding. Aware that three sets of eyes are watching me closely for a reaction, I remain beside Mickey on the sofa and tap his shoulder lightly. “Did you know that Hale has an entire software development facility full of computer specialists?”

That gets their attention. Mickey swings around to look at me, frowning. “Hale is mainly a property development company. That software place is just a sideline.”

“Sure.” I reach over and key in a website I found in one of my many online searches about Roman. “But Hale Tech employs a lot of people. I’m pretty sure that if you needed any technical help, Roman would be able to get it for you.”

“Hey.” Ofelia points to a bearded man onscreen. “We know him.”

“That’s Pavel!” Mickey’s eyes light up. “He was a good friend of Papa’s. He gave me my first laptop. He’s like, the absolute best at coding. Hey, Ofelia, do you remember when he made all the lights in our house go on and off?” The two go off into fits of laughter. It’s the most wonderful sound I’ve heard in a long time, and I make minor adjustments to Masha’s costume as the older two tell their younger sister the story, talking over each other in their eagerness. “Pavel’s so cool.” Mickey’s eyes shine. “He used to teach me loads. It’s been ages since he’s come over,” he adds wistfully.

“Well, maybe we could ask Roman if Pavel can come here for lunch one day,” I suggest.

“That would actually be awesome.” He gives me a smile that is by far the most enthusiastic I’ve seen from him.

“If Roman agrees,” mutters Ofelia, her eyes sliding to mine then away. It’s going to take more than promises to melt the protective barrier of ice around her heart when it comes to Roman.

“Well, let’s see if you can get through the procession first. If you’re stuck this afternoon, we can call him. Otherwise, we’ll talk to Roman about it after the procession. How’s that?” Mickey nods emphatically, Ofelia with rather less conviction. Masha is still busy admiring her cactus outfit in the mirror.

“Okay.” I sit back and admire my handiwork. “Let’s go and try this masterpiece out.”

I ’m sitting in the vast auditorium adjacent to the Russian Orthodox Church, surrounded by a chaos of parents, costumes, and children, when my phone buzzes.

It’s from Papa’s nurse, Carlos, who I’ve come to like a lot.

Juan is anxious today. Is a visit possible? I think it would calm him.

I tense, staring at the screen. My first thought is that he’s been upset by the horrible pap photographer who accosted me outside the restaurant, but I dismiss that almost instantly. Papa’s villa is set back from the road, concealed behind high walls and abundant foliage. Anybody trying to get a picture would only manage a blurred shot at best. Besides, after our fateful discussion about the Orlovs, Roman has posted a formidable security detail at the villa. I won’t pretend I’m not grateful for his caution, even if he didn’t discuss it with me first.

I mentally run a checklist of what might be upsetting my father. Is his anxiety over the contact in Argentina?

Part of me wants to text Papa immediately. I know he will never message me himself, no matter what has happened. He doesn’t trust phones, even the burner phones I get him. There’s no point asking him what’s wrong.

I tap the phone against my leg, trying to think. I’m not sure whether I should tell Roman or keep it to myself. Papa is surrounded by security. And regardless of what Roman now knows, bringing him face-to-face with Papa is an absolute no-go zone. There’s no way the two of them won’t instantly know what the other is. Part of me knows that the meeting is probably inevitable, especially now that Roman knows who is hunting us. But I’d rather avoid it as long as possible, not least because I shudder to even imagine Papa’s reaction once he realizes exactly who has hired me.

There’s also a good chance I’m simply panicking over nothing.

The dress rehearsal is in full swing. There’s no way I can leave, especially given that the villa is almost an hour by car from here. I won’t have any free time this afternoon or evening, since the procession is tomorrow.

There’s also no way I’m going to rest easy until I know what’s bothering Papa.

Damn it.

I make a snap decision and text Carlos.

Will call in on the way home in an hour. Children with me. Would rather they don’t meet Juan. Is there anyone who can watch them for a short time?

Carlos answers immediately. No problem.

I try to put my worries out of mind for the rest of the rehearsal. Ofelia and I stand beside Masha’s float and mimic her teacher to help her remember the movements for her cactus dance. Mickey has his head down for the entire thing, his face fixed in fierce concentration as he manipulates three screens at once.

“Mickey is incredibly talented,” his teacher says when I compliment her on the production. “He knows more about the technical staging than our so-called experts.” She gives me an approving smile. “You’re clearly doing good things. I’ve never seen the children so happy.”

“Oh, no,” I say hastily. “This is all Ofelia’s doing. She’s the one who got her siblings involved and made sure they came to rehearsals.”

The teacher raises her eyebrows. “Actually, it’s Ofelia I was talking about. Look.” She nods at Ofelia, who is currently adjusting Masha’s costume. “She’s actually laughing. I don’t think I’ve seen that girl smile once since she came here. Until you showed up.” She gives me a kind smile. “You’re clearly doing a great job. Keep it up.”

Her comments leave me with an odd lump in my throat. Being told that the children look happy makes warmth steal through my body like a drug, lulling me further into the dangerous state of comfort and safety I continually remind myself isn’t permanent. But even my stern self-talk melts away when all three come rushing over at the rehearsal’s conclusion, eyes shining.

“I done all my dance,” Masha says importantly, taking one of my hands and skipping a step.

“She got all the movements right.” Ofelia is smiling, hanging on to Masha’s other hand.

I squeeze Masha’s hand but aim my comments at Ofelia. “You did brilliantly to teach her all that. She was watching you all the way through.”

She colors with pleasure. “The costume you made is perfect,” she says, giving me a rather shy glance.

“Gah!” I roll my eyes. “Let’s just hope it actually holds together until it’s done.” Ofelia laughs.

I turn to Mickey. “How did you do?”

“All the transitions worked perfectly,” he says with quiet satisfaction.

“Your teacher told me that you know more than even the stage manager.”

Mickey colors and turns away. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he mumbles. But he walks a little taller as we leave the auditorium, nodding shyly to some of his classmates.

“So.” I say, as Luis closes the car doors. “I know you’re probably starving. Would it be okay if we made a quick stop on our way home? A friend of mine has been unwell, and I want to check in on him briefly.” Seeing the children’s faces grow wary, I add, “Roman has security at the villa, and the nurses caring for my friend are hired by Hale, so it’s not a secret, okay?”

“Oh.” Ofelia and Mickey exchange a silent glance, then nod, their faces clearing. Their visible relief makes my heart twist. I wonder how many times they’ve been asked by the adults in their lives to keep secrets. Not for the first time, I feel a fierce desire to protect them from the manipulations of unworthy adult figures.

“So is this man, like, your boyfriend?” Ofelia asks the question seemingly casually, but all three sets of eyes slide toward me.

“Hardly.” I grin. “Juan is almost ninety and is in a wheelchair.”

“Oh!” She sits back in her seat, looking even more relieved. “Oh, well, that’s good, then.” Braced for questions about who exactly Juan is, I’m completely taken aback by her next comment. “I don’t think Roman would like it very much if you had a boyfriend.”

“Nope.” Masha shakes her head vigorously.

“Ha,” Mickey says, but he’s grinning, too. “Yeah. Can’t see Roman liking that at all .” The three children look at each other and giggle. Rather flustered, and entirely unsure what to say, I decide that silence is the better part of discretion and say nothing at all.

To my relief, Luis changes the subject, and we talk about Holy Week for the rest of the car ride.