Igor would also be in attendance. No other women were to join the men, however. A purposeful move on his and Igor’s part as the restaurant they’d be dining in was owned by a man with significant ranking in the organization. Demyan would be seen with the current boss, and Igor, before any official announcement or event could happen. The reason for all of these careful plans and public meetings?
Vaslav’s retirement.
She didn’t have the first clue why all the pomp and circumstance was needed, but those were the kinds of details Vaslav hadn’t seemed interested in discussing.
Nonetheless, he wouldn’t be attending the meeting when he was barely able to lift his head from a pillow at the moment. She made the call to Igor whom she assumed would pass the news and change of plans onto Demyan.
According to Vaslav, it didn’t matter.
Without him, the lunch still served its purpose. Apparently, all it took for Vas to share his criminal dealings was a marriage bed. Vera liked to think a little trust and love worked to her favor there, too.
Not that Vaslav would say as much.
“I guess I better get my ass moving for that,” her father said after letting the silence extend on long enough that she had wondered if he fell back asleep.
“It is a two-hour drive,” Vera replied. “And we both know Vaslav doesn’t like when people are late.”
Even if he wouldn’t be there—that didn’t make a difference to Vaslav.
Demyan answered back with a scoff mixed into a laugh.
“Will you at least admit you like him a little?” Vera asked while her father’s grumblings about difficult—and fucking crazy—men continued.
In the background, much to Demyan’s annoyed sigh that rattled through the speakers of the phone, Claire said clearly, “Oh, don’t worry. He does.”
*
Not more than five minutes after Vera ended the phone call with her parents, Mira joined her in the set of suites across from the master rooms. Empty but for a pile of dusty cardboard boxes piled high in the corner, the bedroom suites featured a similar layout as the master with a main sitting room—larger than the spaces it connected to—leading to a bedroom with an en suite bath, and other rooms with similarly dark, bare hardwood floors.
“It needs a good wax,” Mira told her when she walked into the main room to find Vera bent over inspecting the condition of the floors.
Vera popped up straight, and turned with a smile. “Are all the floors original?”
“Most,” the older woman replied. “These ones are.”
Taking the cup of tea Mira offered on a tea plate, Vera nodded. “I see, thank you.”
“The contractor called,” Mira said while Vera lifted the cup for a sip of nutty tea. The news perked her interest, and Mira didn’t miss it, laughing before she clarified, “He called to say he was at the gate right before I brought your tea up. By the time he walks the icy drive, I’ve still got plenty to make it down and greet him before he can ring the bell.”
Vera rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe he makes the man walk from the gate.”
“Most everyone does. Even the mail. Mr. Pashkov’s rule.”
Right.
And there were a few of those.
Mira shrugged, then, her grin turning conspiratorial when she explained, “But I’ve heard the Christmas cards for those people come with generous gifts for anyone who is required to visit the property. And nobody’s complained.”
Vera’s brow lifted in reply.
The older woman winked, then. “Mr. Pashkov’s unspoken and often private generosity has treated the town and people gratefully.”
“And they reply in kind.”
Mira passed a playful shrug as she turned to survey the bare walls all around them. “You said it, not me. I heard you had plans for a couple of things?”
“The big windows,” Vera replied, widening her hands to frame the large, tall rectangular windows facing every four corner of the outer rooms except the dark sitting room in the middle. “I’d like to knock out a couple of walls and give it a bit of air exchange. That’ll help to keep the moisture from all the plants at a bearable level. It won’t rot the walls, anyway.”
“It does get a lot more sun throughout the day on this side of the house,” Mira agreed. “It’s a good spot for a plant room.”
It might be good for Vaslav, too, but Vera didn’t say as much out loud. He obviously enjoyed nature, and her penchant to bring as much of it as she could inside certainly couldn’t do him any harm.
Only time would tell.
“Did I also hear there might be a studio upstairs?” Mira asked.
Vera waved a finger in the other woman’s direction, only a little bit amused that Mira could manage to hear private conversations—and politely let Vera know as such after. “That was Vaslav’s idea,” she pointed out. “Besides, I don’t think I really want to do that. I don’t need my own private studio to dance in.”
Mira’s sober tone matched the heaviness in Vera’s chest when she said, “It’s okay if you do, though. And even better, if you can.”
Shoving her hands into the back pockets of her high-waisted skinny jeans, Vera replied, “Yeah, I guess.”
Mira didn’t press the topic. “Vaslav won’t be heading to the city for lunch, I suppose?”
One of the things Vaslav admitted to his new bride that he looked forward to the most once she moved in with him was that he wouldn’t need to depend so much on Mira. In fact, he wanted practically no one within breathing distance of him when his migraines made him sick, mean, and angry. Mira couldn’t really subdue her desire to help, but with Vera there, she didn’t have to feel so guilty about taking a step back.
“No, he probably won’t leave his bed today,” Vera settled on saying.
They could figure out tomorrow when it came.
Mira nodded at the news like it wasn’t surprising, but the glance she shot over her shoulder, her line of vision taking her attention beyond the door and across the hall to the master’s doors, gave her silent thoughts away.
That, or Vera had simply become more perceptive of those things in the time that Vaslav entered her life. His close scrutiny of people was not lost on her.
“Was there something Vaslav needed to know?” Vera asked.
Mira’s gaze quickly snapped back to Vera. Her initial hesitance made any rebuttal she might try weak before she could get the words out. “I—”
“Would he care if you didn’t tell him?”
That made Mira pause for even longer. “Actually,” she replied after more than a handful of seconds had passed, “he wouldn’t. He’s fine with where she’s found herself and how it will inevitably end. It can wait. God knows they’ve probably already been paid to see her through the end, if need be.”
It was the unidentified she that Mira mentioned which caused Vera to blurt out, “Well, I could always tell him.”
Who was this she? And why exactly did Mira talk about her predicament—whatever it was—like Vera should already know about it?
As it was, Vera did have a jealous streak. No, that wasn’t true. Possessive was more like it. Protective of her husband, too; that certainly fit the bill.