Page 37

37

LUCIA

R oman has disappeared.

His presence is like some kind of magnetic field; I always know when he’s nearby. One moment he was there, barely a pace from Ofelia, and my world felt ordered and safe. The next, the air felt somehow loose, slightly chaotic, and when I looked at the place where he’d been, I found Dimitry instead.

“Da-da-da.” Masha dances dreamily in time to the music. Her performance is over for now, and she’s just singing randomly along to the music blaring from Mickey’s speakers. The crowd roars as a gymnast flips on the back of a truck, and I swing around, startled.

I really don’t like crowds.

I might have fought for the kids to do this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t find the entire thing nerve-wracking. A hundred phones are recording us. I can hear Russian accents from every part of the crowd. It makes sense, of course. Every Russian in the whole south of Spain has come to celebrate at the biggest Russian church in the region.

I’m really starting to question my sanity in thinking this was, in any way, a good idea.

And where the hell is Roman?

I raise my mask slightly and catch Dimitry’s eye. Where is Roman? I mouth.

Dimitry frowns and indicates that I should lower my mask. I do, but not before he sees how worried I am.

Nikolai , he mouths back.

Hm. So that was the thin-faced guy in the tracksuit with all the steroid-junkie bodyguards. It’s hard to believe that Nikolai belongs to the same family as Roman. He looks like some street thug who got lucky, a distant cry from Roman’s lethal elegance.

“Masha!” Ofelia is waving to her sister. “It’s time to do your dance again.”

I hear the familiar strains of the cactus song, a particularly grating tune created by Masha’s teacher that I hope never to hear again. The music rotates through each float, enabling each group to perform their particular piece for the crowds. This is the fourth time we’ve done the cactus dance during the procession. It’s possibly the thousandth time I’ve done it this week.

At least the lion mask hides my face.

But as I turn Masha to face the front yet again, I can’t help but smile as I watch a beaming Ofelia make exaggerated gestures beside the float and hear Masha giggle delightedly as she follows her sister’s lead. “Look, Luce,” she burbles happily. “’Felia dancing.”

“Yes, she is, myshka .” I catch Masha as she teeters at the edge of the float after a slightly too enthusiastic spin. The exhausted teacher shoots me a grateful look. “You’re doing such a wonderful job,” I say to Masha. “Just be careful when you turn, darling.” I keep a handful of the cactus costume bunched in my hand, just in case.

Masha has a habit of darting off in any direction at any given moment. It’s one of the reasons I know Ofelia needs to be here, close by, keeping an eye on her. I want Ofelia to gradually start trusting me to take on that role, to begin to have a life for herself. The other girls her age are on floats themselves, or in the crowd in a group of friends. Ofelia seems to know none of them and care even less, even though I’ve noticed more than one of the young guys looking her way admiringly. Even clad in cornflower-blue shorts and a white sleeveless linen blouse, wearing simple sandals, Ofelia is breathtakingly beautiful.

It’s as if she knows their life isn’t for her , I think sadly. I know how that feels. As ever, I hate that she is experiencing the same detached solitude I did as a teenager. Then I think of Roman promising he will reconsider her schooling options, and my heart lifts a little. Maybe I can make it different for her.

But all of that depends on if this strange life I’m living will become something permanent.

I can’t tell.

It’s all happening so quickly, and there’s been so little time to discuss anything, even if Roman actually wants to, which I’m entirely unsure about. In another week the children will be back at school. Perhaps things might settle down a little then.

Or perhaps the Orlovs will come before that.

I push that firmly out of my mind.

“Luce!” Abby emerges from the crowd to stand by Dimitry, waving frantically at me.

I wince at her use of my name, but give her a small wave back. A frowning Dimitry says something in her ear, and she quickly lowers her hand and looks around nervously. I hate this, that even my friends have to worry about simply greeting me in public. At the same time, I can’t help but notice how close she stands to Dimitry, and how he angles his body to include her in his circle of protection.

I’m glad.

I like Dimitry, and I love Abby. Whatever is going on between them, I hope they’re getting to a good place.

Abby leans forward and says something to Ofelia, who returns her smile shyly after getting a nod of approval from Dimitry. The two girls walk together by the float, Abby making Ofelia and Masha laugh by trying to imitate the cactus dance. The parade is entering the wide-open plaza that is the finish point, the floats taking up their positions in a square at the edges. Balloon sellers and food vans vie with street performers in a mad clash of color and hilarity. Our float finds its way to its marked spot at the far corner, and the teacher, the other parents, and I lift the excited kids down one by one. I still can’t see Roman anywhere. I’m starting to feel uneasy, despite the legion of men in dark glasses standing in loose formation at a careful distance.

“I need to pee,” Masha announces, loud enough to make one of the other cacti nearby giggle.

“Okay.” I take hold of her hand and turn to Dimitry.

“There are portables set up over there.” He nods toward the edge of the square. “We’ll come with you. I’ve got men on Mickey.” We set off through the thronging crowds, Abby and me on either side of Ofelia and Masha, with the men in glasses spread out around us. There’s still no sign of Roman. We reach the restroom trailer, and Ofelia screws up her nose.

“I’m good, thanks,” she says. “I’ll wait out here with Abby.”

“I’ve gotcha, girlfriend.” Abby grins at her. “Wait until you start going to music festivals. Believe me, these are luxury by comparison.”

“Don’t even start on those stories,” I warn her, seeing Ofelia’s eyes light up with interest. “Music festivals are a hard no. For at least a few years.”

“Ha. Just because you have no life.” Abby winks at Ofelia. “I’ll wait until she’s inside to tell you about the time I...”

She’s incorrigible. Shaking my head and laughing, I head Masha toward the trailer stairs. One of the security guys has a look inside, but backs off hastily when he’s met with an indignant chorus of female protest.

“We’ll be fine,” I assure him, walking Masha up the stairs.

We survive the queue, during which Masha’s hopping from one leg to another grows more urgent. I unbutton her costume in preparation, sighing with relief when we finally get an empty cubicle. Afterward, we emerge and stand by the row of sinks as Masha washes her hands and I button her back up again.

“Darya.”

I momentarily freeze at the low male voice, then force myself to slowly begin buttoning again, my fingers not quite steady. I’m only just aware of the tall figure immediately to my left, completely concealed within a purple dinosaur costume.

“Don’t run. I can help you get a message to Alexei. He’s here, you know. In Spain.”

I keep my head down, not reacting at all. I know the voice; it’s the same paparazzi journalist who was chasing me outside the café. The fact that he knows my name, and my brother’s, is terrifying. But there’s no chance in hell I’m making this worse by playing into his game.

“Luce.” Masha stares at the dinosaur with a confused expression. “Dino talkin’.”

“Not to us, darling.” I stand up, her hand firmly gripped in mine. For a moment I consider exposing the dinosaur as a man, but that will only create a panic, which might be exactly what he wants. Better that I ignore him entirely.

“You should talk to me, Darya. You’re trusting the wrong people—”

“Excuse me.” I push my way through the queue of chattering people, hoping none of them heard the whispered conversation. I stumble down the stairs, pushing my mask up as I do, heading straight for Dimitry.

“Purple dinosaur,” I say. He takes one look at my face and heads for the stairs without bothering to even ask what’s happened, directing his men to the other end and ignoring the shrieking women.

I know that it’s a risk, given that the journalist clearly knows more than he should.

But this is about Masha’s safety. Ofelia’s.

That bastard came at me in a public toilet, for goodness’ sake. He could have snatched me or helped someone else do it. Masha would have been all alone and terrified. They might even have taken her, too. I grip her hand tightly, my heart pounding.

Ofelia clings to Abby’s hand, Masha to mine, and we stand in a protective circle of Roman’s muscle. We’re still standing there when Roman pushes through the crowd toward us, the thin-faced Nikolai stumbling in his wake. Nikolai’s nose looks like it’s recently had a fist in it.

Roman takes one look at my face, and his own hardens. He turns to the security men, who begin to explain without being asked. They’re still explaining when Dimitry pushes his way back to us, his expression thunderous. He mutters something in Roman’s ear, then catches my eye and shakes his head curtly.

“The door at the other end was unlocked,” he says. “The guy was gone before I got there. And before you ask,” he says to Roman, “we checked it before they went in. He must have already been inside.”

Roman moves close to me and lowers his head, so I can speak directly into his ear. “It’s a journalist. He was after me,” I say quietly. “I think his name is Lance.”

He nods. To my relief, he doesn’t ask me about the encounter. Instead he gives several short, low-voiced orders, and some of his men disappear into the crowd. “I don’t want to scare the children,” I murmur to him. “Or ruin their day.”

Roman leans down and rights Masha’s crooked costume. “You remembered all the movements for your dance,” he says, smiling at her. “I saw you.”

“’Felia helped,” Masha says, beaming.

“I saw that, too.” Roman gives Ofelia a reassuring smile. “Don’t be scared,” he murmurs to her, when her stiff face doesn’t relax at all. “It was a journalist, and we’ve taken care of it. Okay?”

The color slowly comes back into her face. “Okay.” But I notice that she doesn’t object when Roman takes her hand.

“Hi, Nicky.” Abby greets the tracksuit guy with noticeable reluctance.

“Abby.” His eyes rest on her curiously. “Does Miguel know you’re here?”

“It’s really none of Miguel’s business where I am,” she says coldly.

Well, that’s a good thing .

“Lucia.” Roman gestures to the man unsmilingly. “This is Nikolai, the children’s uncle.”

Not my brother , I notice, as I shake Nikolai’s hand. Not even Mikhail’s brother or Yuri’s son. His eyes are too close together, and he looks at me with far more interest than I’m comfortable with. His handshake is limp and slightly moist. Even the children seem less than enthusiastic in their greetings.

“Hey, Uncle Nicky,” says Ofelia, keeping her eyes down and her body turned toward Roman’s as Nikolai greets her.

“Hullo,” says Masha uncertainly. Neither girl offers him their hand, and I notice he doesn’t try to kiss them, as is customary.

We walk together over to the sound trailer.

“Wait here,” Roman orders Nikolai curtly. He brings me and the girls over to the trailer, then leaps up onto the back of it in an athletic jump that makes several of the nearby women cast him admiring glances, and a couple of the men look sour faced.

“Amazing job.” Roman claps Mickey on the shoulder. “It went without a single hitch. Well done.”

“There were a couple of last-minute problems,” Mickey says, smiling shyly. “I was lucky Pavel was here.”

“Not at all,” says Pavel cheerfully. He’s a very round guy, wearing a Tin Tin T-shirt and cotton candy in his beard. “You had it all under control, man. I just checked your work. He did good,” he adds to Roman. “Real good.”

“I saw.” Roman puts an arm around Mickey in a loose hug. “Brilliant effort. Wasn’t it, girls?” Leaning down, he hauls Ofelia up onto the trailer. I hand Masha up to him, and he places her gently down and then extends his hand to me. Dimitry helps me up, and for a moment we all stand in a small group, hugging Mickey one by one.

“You were amazing,” I whisper to him.

“Thanks.” His eyes are shining. I notice that Roman has taken Pavel aside and is having a low-voiced conversation that I’m almost certain involves the missing purple dinosaur.

Roman waits until we’re all done congratulating Mickey, then nods briefly at Nikolai. “Your uncle wanted to say congratulations.”

“Oh.” Mickey’s face goes rather guarded. “Thank you,” he mutters, barely looking at Nikolai.

Wow. These kids really don’t like their uncle.

“Thanks for coming,” Roman says to Nikolai. “We’ll catch up soon.”

It couldn’t be more of a dismissal if he’d thrown him out of the plaza. Nikolai clearly gets the message, because he doesn’t argue, just mumbles a goodbye and leaves. I notice his steroid boys are missing. My guess is that Roman took care of them.

“So, guys.” Roman draws the kids and me into a huddle. “I have a surprise for you.”

The children eye him warily.

It’s as if they’re just waiting to get kicked again , I think sadly. I wonder how many times lately a “surprise” has been a euphemism for being shipped off somewhere they don’t want to go.

“Do you remember my finca in the mountains, where we went for Mickey’s birthday?”

The kids’ eyes widen. They nod.

“Well, we’re heading up there today. We’re going to spend the rest of the Holy Week holidays there. What do you think about that?”

Masha immediately starts jumping up and down, but Ofelia’s eyes narrow. “Where will you be?”

Smart girl.

But Roman just smiles. “With you, of course.” He ruffles her hair. “And guess what? We’re bringing Deda up with us, too.” He meets my eyes over the children’s head. I should be cross that he’s made that decision without me. But I’m not. I’m just relieved that we’ll be out of the city, away from crowds like these and whoever is hunting for us.

I smile at him. “That sounds wonderful.”