Page 60 of Scarlet Vows

Perhaps making it light, more modern, but with gravitas, and having some rooms as a shrine or homage to the man who ruled from here may work.

Or maybe just leave the downstairs as is and redo the study as a mix of Ilya and his grandfather?—

“Oh.” I stop as I step into the airy, spacious, modern kitchen.

Svetlana isn’t here.

Instead, it’s Ilya in a frilly apron, flipping bacon with a spatula.

“Did you do this?”

“No, I made Svetlana leave, and I’m just modeling the latest in aprons. You like?”

I giggle. I can’t help it. “I do. Very you, Ilya, but I thought you’d be in bed, nursing your headache.”

Why am I talking about bed? It puts some startling images in my head, like how he looks naked. He’s got a good body, muscular, fit, strong. I’ve often seen his well-worn gym bag, so he works out. In fact, I’ve heard Demyan complain that Ilya has a problem when it comes to working out, and Ilya’s ribbed Demyan, accusing him of being weak.

So yes, I think I’d like to see him?—

No. No, I wouldn’t.

“…Russian,” he says, but I didn’t catch what he said before that. “It only hurt a bit. But…that’s what the bacon, the scrambled eggs, and home fries are for.”

“The pancakes, too?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I might feel hungry. I’ve been up since before dawn because I went to the gym. But…maybe one of the men, or Svetlana, might be hungry.”

He puts fruit and yogurt on a placemat and a boiled egg in a cup. He also has a piece of whole wheat cut into soldiers and a bowl of granola and macadamia milk in a jug.

Then he adds a small bowl. “Cinnamon.”

“You remembered.”

“Down to your preferred milk.”

I straighten the cutlery. “I never had any doubt.”

I’ve never liked huge breakfasts, and this for me is borderline,but it’s what I like in the morning if I need fuel for the day.

I sit, and he adds a cup of green tea and a cup of coffee next to my mat. He pours himself a coffee and an OJ and then sits, tucking into his heart attack on a plate.

We eat for a few minutes in silence, then he points at my shirt with his fork.

“Explain.”

Heat rushes up into my cheeks, making them burn. “I passed a dog shelter on my way home yesterday and spent the day volunteering. Is that bad?”

“Why would it be?”

“It’s not a real career?”

“It could be if you wanted it, Alina. I’m glad you did something you liked. How’s the granola? Svetlana and I made the mix.”

“You and her?”

He grins and pops a bite of bacon into his mouth. “Okay,” he says in Russian, “I told her the things you like in it, and she made it. It’s the same thing.”

I bite down on my smile. “What brought the feast on? I’m also fine with toast or an apple.”