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“You’re gonna leave it like that?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, her eyes brightening as she turns back to the mural we created together. “I think I am.”
“Oh my God,” Laila breathes as she steps out of the car.
I watch her eyes trace over the stone sign and the flowering vines growing along the illuminated façade of my distillery. I have hope that, before long, they’ll cover the entire front.
“I know bringing you to Pobeda isn’t the most romantic date,” I admit, “but you’ve been working so hard on your studio that I wanted to show you what I’ve been working on. What Nina will inherit someday.”
Laila takes in every detail. From the cobbled stone walkway to the marble entrance, she wordlessly admires every detail I painstakingly crafted over the last few years.
She stops by the hostess stand, reaching for my hand. “I didn’t expect this.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. A factory, I guess. Something cold and lifeless. But this…” She shakes her head, taking in the glistening chandeliers and the rough-cut wooden tables flickering in candlelight. “This is like a storybook castle.”
“That’s what the original architect was going for. The owners had a royalty complex, I think, but the building was too big and impractical to maintain, so they sold it off.”
“And that’s where you came in?” she guesses.
I smile. “I hoped I could do something with it. I wasn’t sure what, but I wanted to build something of my own. Something that belonged to me and that I could pass along to my children.” I lead her around the room, pointing through plate glass windows at the magic happening in the production area. “I wanted at least one part of my life to be completely transparent. The guests can see what every step in the process looks like. There’s no curtain to pull back.”
Laila takes it all in before her eyes finally land on me. “It means a lot to me, Arsen… that you brought me here.”
I caress her hand. “I want you to know that my life—my legacy—is more than just blood and violence,roza. It involves more than decisions that hurt people. I’m employing local people here, giving back to the area so they have a way to support themselves and their families. I’m trying to make a difference that will outlive even me.”
She cups the side of my face, those deep blue eyes boring into mine. “You don’t have to convince me, Arsen Adamov. I already know you’re a good man.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
She grins and kisses my cheek. “I would.”
40
LAILA
I can’t take my eyes off the sign hanging over the entrance of my yoga studio.
The Rose Garden.
It’s a little on the nose, but hell, I’ve earned the right to be sentimental.
I’m plucking a champagne flute from the drink table when I notice someone walk past the front window. The grand opening celebration isn’t supposed to start for another hour, but I nod to the beefy security guard at the door to let them in.
If someone else is as excited as I am for things to get rolling, they’re more than welcome inside.
The moment the door opens, I regret my decision.
My father shuffles into the studio like he’s too tired to pick up his feet. His eyes dart around the space, and I’m sure he’s putting together an itemized list of what a place like this must have set me back—and how much he could hawk it all for.
I thought he was gone. I thought he left.
When I last asked, Arsen told me he was far, far away. Part of me wondered if Arsen did what I didn’t have the strength to ask him to do and killed my father. I can’t say I would’ve mourned him.
But here he is.
All I can do is stare at him, wishing there was someone next to me. Arsen is getting Nina dressed, Kira wanted to help but Misha came down with the sniffles, and Guilia just left to go gossip with the waitstaff at Carrie’s Bakery next door.
