When I come back down to the main floor in jeans, a sweater, and my thick coat, Yulia is already there waiting in the foyer, her cheeks pink with excitement, holding a tiny satchel shaped like a cat. Her grin widens when she sees me.
“You said city?” she chirps.
“I did.”
“Can we go to bookstore?”
“Thebookstore,” I correct. “And of course. We can go wherever you’d like.”
She beams like I just told her we’re going to Disneyland.
Our driver is already parked outside in the circular drive, standing beside the car with a quiet, impassive expression. He nods once as he opens the door for us, and Yulia climbs in without hesitation. I slide in after her, the door closing and sealing us inside the warm interior.
It isn’t until the wheels start moving and we pull away from the mansion that I realize I’m breathing a little easier. The farther we get from the estate, the more my shoulders loosen and the tension in my jaw dissolves.
Yulia leans against me in the back seat, her small hand reaching for mine without looking, like it’s instinct. I squeeze it gently and smile when she starts pointing out signs and shop names, practicing her English.
“Bank,” she says proudly, tapping the window.
“Yes, perfect.” I grin. “What about that one?”
She squints. “Pharmacy?”
“Nice. And that one?”
“Grocery store. Can we get snacks?”
I laugh. “That’s up to your appetite, Miss.”
The rhythm of the conversation feels light, easy. Like something out of a normal day and we’re just two people exploring a city. Not two captives sneaking moments of freedom beneath the watchful eye of an invisible gatekeeper.
Eventually, the driver pulls onto a quieter street with less traffic and smaller storefronts. Several shops are tucked together like mismatched teeth, their bright windows colorful and inviting.
“This is perfect,” I murmur to the driver.
We climb out of the car and are immediately hit with the crisp, city-cold air and the scent of something faintly sweet from a nearby cafe.
Yulia bounces on her toes. “Books first!”
I nod and follow her into the bookstore, a cozy little place with warm lighting and tall shelves that wrap around the entire shop. She speaks quickly to the cashier in Russian when we make our purchases, gesturing to me. I don’t understand everything, but I catch the phrase,moya uchitelnitsa, which I know from her telling me means “my teacher”.
The cashier smiles kindly and slips a free bookmark into the bag before sliding it across the counter toward Yulia.
Next is the toy shop.
She drags me to a wall of plush bears and insists we buy at least one of everything.I laugh and manage to talk her down to two, a small white bear wearing a knit hat and a bigger brown dog with button eyes and a pink tongue sticking out of its mouth.
“You sure these are the lucky ones?” I tease.
She hugs them both to her chest. “They chose me. Very lucky.”
Fair enough.
By the time we stumble into a cozy cafe tucked between a flower shop and an antiques store, I almost feel normal again.
Inside, it’s warm and bright, the scents of cinnamon and espresso wrapping around us. Fake vines crawl along the window frames and are tacked at the top and little marble-topped tables are scattered around with folded menus already placed in front of each seat.
I half expect to hear French jazz playing when we grab a table facing the sidewalk.
