My bride’s eyes are wide, “And that’s what you’re doing with the Stepanov and Ivanov Bratvas?”
Grinning in a way that feels feral, I nod. “Exactly. But without the war pipes. And more explosives.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In which Morana has a clue.
Morana…
Even though the master bedroom feels empty when I wake up, for the first time in a long time, I have something to look forward to.
Cameron, that overbearing ass, already registered me back at the Royal Danish Academy, and even though it’s mid-term, my professors are suspiciously open to helping me catch up. There’s a comfortable little area off the master bedroom suite, and I was escorted there today by a beaming Miss Kevin to find a desk set up with a view of the back gardens and the oak tree with the swing. There’s an alarmingly expensive MacBook already set up with every possible study accessory covering the desk.
I’d tried to go back to my old room to change, but our ever-helpful butler cleared her throat. “Ah, you will find that your things have been moved into the master bedroom. Should you need more space, there is also an alcove on the other side of the suite that could be converted into another dressing room.”
The one I’m apparently now sharing with Cameron is larger than some third-world countries, so I’m not sure how much room she thinks I could possibly need. “Thank you, Miss Kevin, this is all… very over the top and signature ‘Master MacTavish,’ but truly,spasibo.Thank you for all the time you’ve spent setting this up. It’s wonderful.”
Then she does something that is so nice. Very gently, she pats my arm. The touch almost makes me cry and I realize that other than the filthy sexual congress I’ve been getting up to with my husband, no one has touched me. Not like a friend. Like someone who cares.
Miss Kevin leans forward, speaking precisely, but gently. “I am so very happy you are here.”
She leaves the room before I can cry and make a complete fool of myself, and then I find Bad Cat so I can lavish the rest of my unseemly emotion upon him.
“How was your day?”
I get an illicit thrill when Cameron Facetimed me. It was late and I was eyeing his huge, comfortable bed when the call came in.
“Good,” I say happily, “thank you for registering me even though I was perfectly capable of registering myself, but there’s-”
“I wanted to make it easy so you could get started right away,” he interrupts, “I know you’ve missed your classes.”
“Okay, thank you again but-”
“Is your new study comfortable? We can set you up in the library if you’d prefer-”
“Okay Cameron I need you to listen for a moment!” I thunder.
His brow goes up. “Fine lass, ya’ don’t need to get all Bessie about it.”
“I can tell I’m really going to hate that phrase soon. Please hear me out. I told you that my father never talked business when I was around, right? But I remembered something that could possibly be of help?” I hate that the sentence comes out like a question as if I really am a useless Bratva princess.
Cameron’s tired, I can tell but his attention is focused on me.
“I was going over study notes today and reading about Ivan Aivazovsky, he’s one of the most famous maritime painters from Russia.”
“Go on,” he’s rubbing his eyes.
“Then, I remembered a conversation between my father and a couple of his brigadiers. They were making a joke about how useful Aivazovsky’s work was, because he’d painted one picture from a port that was no longer in use, and it was perfect for late-night shipments.”
Leaning forward, he nods, smiling warmly. “My clever wife. You know where the artist painted that picture, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I bounce a little, “It’s an oceanfront location about fifteen miles from St. Petersburg, just outside the town of Sosnovy Bor. When Aivazovsky wrote about that painting, he praised the location for its ‘peaceful desolation.’ It would be ideal because there’s even a railway system close by.”
“If you were here right now I would make you come until you lost consciousness,” he blurts. “It’s genius. It’s something that even O’Rourke didn’t know. My brilliant, clever wife.”
“It’s just a lead, it may not go anywhere,” I shrug, “but I’m happy I thought of something that might help.”
He leans back against the pillows on his bed. His hand not holding the phone is moving lower and I press my lips together. “Where are ya’ at, lass?”
