I glance over my shoulder just once before I leave. This is harder than I thought it would be because, for the first time, I have someone else to live for. It strengthens my resolve. I will not die today.
Katya
Mila Lenkova is both exactly how I imagined she would be and not at all what I imagined at the same time. She's as beautiful as her reputation suggests. She's tall, though still an inch or two shorter than me.
Her chestnut hair falls in waves over her shoulders and she has bee-stung lips that make me seriously contemplate getting fillers for the first time.
It's clear she's tough. Her manner is reserved and there's a shrewdness in her gaze that lets you know she's watching every move, assessing the level of threat in the room.
There’s something about her that reminds me of a coiled snake. She could strike at any moment.
She’s civil to me, bordering on cold, but when she speaks directly to Niamh she's almost girly. They treat each other like sisters, something I find myself envying. I'd like a relationship like that.
Perhaps Anna and I will grow closer once we've spent more time together, but I can't see us forming a familial bond.
"Do you ever miss it?" I ask Mila as I pour her another cup of tea. Maria has been learning to make it the Russian way. She even obtained a samovar from who knows where. "Russia, I mean."
"I miss the food. You can't get decent medovik outside of Moscow."
Coming from St. Petersburg I would dispute that. Our bakeries are incomparable.
"I do crave a decent sharlotka." It's my favorite dessert. Maria could probably make one for me if I asked. "And vodka."
Mila nods. "That's easily fixed. What you can't buy are the winters."
I nod. "I imagine I'll miss those too."
"Marseilles is so hot all year round," Mila says. "There's no respite."
Niamh shakes her head. "Listen to the pair of you complaining about the weather. Come spend December in Scotland with me and you'll soon realize you're better off here."
I frown at that. "Is Scotland as cold as Russia?"
"Not quite," Niamh admits, "but in winter it can be very gray and rainy. Try going a month without seeing the sun and then you can grumble."
Mila snorts derisively. "You were moaning it was too hot in Glasgow last week." She turns to me and lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Complaining about the weather is a national pastime for the Brits.”
That earns her a playful punch on the arm from Niamh. I smile at the good-natured bickering. Beneath their formidable reputations, they’re just ordinary women, like me.
As the conversation lulls, Niamh sets down her cup and pins me with an inquisitive stare.
"So tell me, Katya, how are things with Gabriele? Did I make a mistake putting you two together?"
I consider the question. It has not been plain sailing for me and my husband but there have been plenty of moments where I've seen the potential for something great to develop.
"No, you didn't make a mistake. We have our disagreements, but everyone does, I think?"
"Oh, god, yes," Mila says. "There are days when I want to wring Nicky's neck."
"Ah, but you could wring his neck if you wanted to," Niamh says. "Katya does not have that option."
"No," Mila agrees. She throws me a wicked smile. "You have other weapons at your disposal and I'm sure you know how to use those."
"I'm learning." As Mila and Niamh exchange a look, I worry I've said the wrong thing. "Not that my marriage is a battle, you understand?"
"Of course not," Niamh says.
As I sip my tea, a wave of dread sweeps over me. Until now I've been keeping a lid on it.
