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As it is, she doesn’t have the energy.
In some ways, I’m grateful for that. It makes things easier.
In other ways, it breaks my heart.
“Alright,” she relents, the weariness in her voice catching. “I’ll see you soon, Laila.”
As soon as I get off the phone, pain rockets up my leg. I don’t usually lie in bed this long, and my hip doesn’t like it one bit.
Gingerly, I massage the angry joint until it’s appeased and I’m safe to stand. Then I pad into the bathroom, which I’m horrified to realize is immaculate and gorgeous. I almost cry when I find the recessed keypad in the shower that changes the shower setting from rainfall to jet, working knots out of my neck and shoulders I didn’t even know I had.
Once I’ve showered and dressed—in one of the three outfit changes Arsen allowed me last night—I feel ready to explore beyond my room.
The house is huge—vaulted ceilings, broad hallways, double doors leading to every room. And yet, it’s cozy. Warm woods, lush fabrics. It feels like a storybook castle… if storybooks involved organized crime rings and unconventional job interview processes.
I make it all the way to the bottom of the staircase before I hear footsteps coming from the opposite direction.
A tall woman emerges through an arched doorway. She’s wearing round glasses and her snow white hair is fastened in a severe knot at the base of her head. I’m half-worried she’s going to crack me on the knuckles with a ruler and send me back to my room to pray the rosary as punishment for wandering.
Then she smiles and transforms. “You must be Miss Laila.”
“Polina?” I hazard a guess.
“My reputation precedes me! As does yours.” She grins down at my belly. “It’s going to be wonderful having a baby in the house. May I?”
She reaches towards my belly, and I’m too surprised to even think about refusing her.
The second her hand grazes my stomach, she jolts. “Oh my! She’s saying hello.” Polina leans down, speaking to my belly now. “Hello to you, too, little princess.”
“You know I’m having a girl?”
“Well, of course,” Polina says, a tiny crease appearing between her brows. “Arsen told me the moment he found out. He was so excited.”
I do my best not to laugh in her face. “Arsen? As in Arsen Adamov? We’re talking about the same man, aren’t we?”
“I’ll admit, he’s not the easiest man to read, but I’ve known him since he was in diapers. I’ve learned all his tells.”
Polina seems so nice. Does she know he’s a criminal?
She gestures for me to follow her down the hall. “His mother, God rest her soul, hired me and designed this house. This house and Arsen were her singular passions in life.”
“I take it she passed away?”
“When Arsen was only thirteen.” Polina presses a hand to her chest like the thought of it still breaks her heart. “Cancer. Horrible stuff. Arsen was very close to her.”
Goosebumps race down my arms.
Arsen lost his mother to cancer, and he didn’t mention it to me.
It’s not like he bothered mentioning anything else, either, but this feels like a pretty glaring omission. I know I’m just a womb to him, but he can relate to what I’m going through better than almost anyone, and he decided it wasn’t worth mentioning.
Or he didn’t care to relate to me. That’s probably more likely.
Polina leads me through the house, talking about additions and renovations over the years—a basketball court when Arsen was ten, a sun room in the back when his mother was at her sickest. Then she forces me into a stool at the kitchen island and fills my plate with eggs, fruit, and toast.
“I’ll keep all of this warm for when your mother and her nurse arrive,” Polina tells me. “Selfishly, I’m thrilled to have a couple more old ladies around to talk to. Arsen works so much, and Natascha wasn’t good company even when she did stop by the house.”
“Natascha is—was—Arsen’s wife?”
