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Lina
“I got daffodils, Mama.” Moving the vase to the left of the headstone, I sweep away a few cherry blossoms that float from the tree above. “I was hoping the market would have tulips, but Mrs. Safir said not until next week.”
Leaning back, I decide the modest marker looks as good as possible. “Polina got married last night, and her Bratva husband spared no expense. There was caviar with blinis, duck, and a hot buffet that would’ve made the Tsar proud.”
A couple walks past on the sidewalk, and I lower my voice. “Nothing to see here, just a pitiful daughter talking to her mother’s headstone.” The man glances briefly over his shoulder, and I’m glad I no longer care if people give me strange looks. Tending to Mama’s final resting place makes me feel better, and if boring her poor ghost with the details of my week helps, then so be it.
Opening my tote, I pull out my thermos and a small glass container filled with sandwiches. “I wasn’t very creative this week and just put the Olivie salad on rolls. I added ham like you used to do and some pickled red onion too.” Flipping off the lid, I hold it up. “They look pretty good, don’t they?”
I pour a cup of tea and then lean back on my hands. “Back to the wedding...the cake Stasia made was a huge hit. People even went back for seconds, and it was only because of her quick thinking that we were able to save the top tier.”
Scanning my surroundings, I ensure no mourners are near. “Yuri was there, Mama. And we spoke. His eyes never left mine during the short encounter, and he said some lovely things.” I smooth out the hem of my dress. “Most people fear him, but I don’t. If he gave me his bloody hand, I would probably take it.” I lean closer. “He wore the black Armani suit, and I must say, it’s some of my best work. It molded perfectly to his frame and showcased his bulging biceps like a dream. There wasn’t a more attractive man in the whole room.”
Rubbing a cherry blossom between my fingers, I sigh quietly. “He makes me feel safe. Which doesn’t make sense since he’s probably responsible for filling half this cemetery. Tell me, Mama, do the Orlov women have some weird genetic thing that makes us fall for disreputable men? I mean—” The sound of footsteps approaching makes me swallow the rest of my words.
“What a surprise!”
Turning at the deep voice, my mouth falls open. “Mr. Novikov.”
“Yuri.”
“Of course.” I begin to stand and see his hand go up.
“Don’t let me interrupt your picnic.”
“What are you doing here?” Covering my mouth, I wince. “I didn’t mean—”
“Like you, I was visiting my mother’s grave.”
Pushing myself to my feet, I wipe the cherry blossoms off my dress. “I didn’t realize you were motherless too.”
“I haven’t thought of it like that, but I suppose that’s exactly what I am.”
Words fly around in my head, and I can’t seem to grab five since I’m struck mute once again by the site of six feet plus of killing power draped in Italian wool.
“Can I join you?”
He gazes at me with unblinking eyes. “Here?”
“I could take you to dinner if you’d prefer.”
His mouth lifts in a wry smile and I step back. “No. Of course.” I take my place on the blanket and watch him remove his coat. He’s wearing the Loro Piana charcoal gray suit. A perfect choice for the spring weather and one of my favorites. “You must think it strange to bring food to the cemetery.” I watch him sit down gracefully and wonder how he manages it being so large.
“I’ve noticed many people bring chairs and drinks, so a picnic doesn’t seem out of place.”
“Mama passed away last year, and I still have a lot to tell her, so I come on Sunday and share how my week went.” He gives me a faint nod and I grab the glass container. “Are you hungry?” “It’s—”
“Olivie salad.” His mouth lifts into a pleased smile. “My favorite.”
“Really?” I quickly hand him a napkin. “Please help yourself.”
“Thank you.”
Taking one from the dish, he holds my gaze, making me feel like a sledgehammer is pressing against my chest. “It’s a variation on my mother’s recipe.” He eats the small roll filled with Russian potato salad in three bites and smiles.
“That was delicious.”
“Have another.” I place one on his napkin and then take one of my own. “So—”
