A radio was on the counter, playing some old song. Candles were lit, giving the room a swaying dimness, three reflections bouncing back to me from the expanse of glass.
Scarlett was at the counter, a couple of bowls around her. A light over the sink gave her brighter light to see by. It seemed like she was baking enough for over a hundred people, at least.
Lev and Nino sat at the table, drinking vodka, laughing. Another guard, one of my father’s, stood behind Lev, wary eyes constantly on him and the door.
Lev and Nino were discussing the value of getting married—its pros and cons. Lev’s accent was heavy, and sometimes I had a hard time understanding him. Nino’s face pinched with confusion when he’d say something that he didn’t understand, but he seemed to be keeping up.
Scarlett was in her own world, her sleeves rolled up, elbow deep in raw dough. She was being unusually quiet, turned in, reflective, and she’d never been so beautiful.
Lev drank and offered his opinions, but mostly I watched him watch her. He noticed everything I had.
I didn’t fucking like it. I didn’t like that these men surrounded her when it should have been me.
A flare of jealously burned me deep.
No matter how different I became, one constant never changed in me—she would always be mine alone.
Let her take her pick of the men I’d grow into and sometimes grow out of, as long as she choseme, the world was a safe place.
Lev spoke to her in Russian, which made me go completely still. It was like they were communicating in a secret language made for them. Might as well have been. No one in this house understood him but Scarlett.
She stopped what she was doing, staring at him through the glass. “Do I have any regrets in marriage?” She translated his words so that Nino could understand.
Lev nodded, taking another drink straight from the bottle.
Her brows pulled down, and she looked away from him, going for a dishtowel that was stained with dabs of clinging dough.
“I do not believe Signora Fausti has any of these.” Nino waved his hand, giving Lev a hard look. “Regrets.”
“I do,” she said. Her voice came out quiet, but as deadly as a strike from a poisoned tipped dagger—to my heart.
“You do?” Nino’s thick eyebrows rose so quickly that they nearly touched his hairline.
“I do.” She walked over to the oven, opened the door, and looked in. A sweet, warm scent drifted out after she closed it. “I would’ve gotten married before. Earlier, I mean. I would’ve had Brando marry me on my father’s property, out in the woods, and then never left home.”
“Your photographs!” Nino said, his voice rising. “This—” he waved the vodka bottle around, some of it splashing on his hand “—this father’s property could not have compared to the wonders I have seen in your pictures! Signora, you were…incantevole.”
Her mouth twitched. “Enchanting?”
“Sì!” Nino popped up from his seat, but then sat back down quickly, as if the world had felt unsteady. His usual dark complexion blanched for a second. “I do—I mean—ah—I have never seen a wedding quite like it. Your gown,” he finished.
“You know who I find enchanting?” Scarlett asked causally.
“Don’t go there, Scarlett,” I muttered to myself. “Stay out of it.”
She hesitated, but ignoring our telepathy, went for it anyway. “Dr. Musa.”
“Dr. Musa?”
“Dr. Musa?”
Lev and Nino repeated her name at the same time. Lev hadn’t met her, but Nino had.
“The woman with the—” Nino made a motion around his head, describing her curly hair.
At Scarlett’s nod, he made a face so close to Oscar the Grouch that Lev laughed. Even Mia stared at him sometimes, and we all wondered if she was trying to place the connection. One time she imitated Oscar the Grouch to him, but he never caught on. We had.
“Her hair is taller than she is!”
