“And what is it to you? Just revenge, right?” I burst out.
“There you are…” He grinned triumphantly. He parked in front of the café, but before I could hop out, he clasped my arm and chin to bring me closer. His mouth touched mine in a brief kiss. And when he pulled away, he said, “Never give me the docile act again. That is not you, and if it weren’t my sister you were meeting today, nothing would have stopped me from sitting with you in that coffee shop.”
“Can I go now?”
“Call me when you’re done.” Kirill let me go, and I did my best not to scamper out of the vehicle like I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
I greeted Renz and Liz. They gave me a wave and a smile before Renz tilted his head to the corner.
Aralina was already sitting in one of the booths near the kitchen.
“Hey, were you waiting long?”
She signed, “No. Was that Kirill with you?”
“Yes, and don’t ask me why.” I slid into the booth facing her.
Renz came over. “What can I get you, ladies?”
“The usual cappuccino, and do you have the bacon and egg brioche?”
My cousin smiled. “We do.”
“You should try it,” I told Aralina.
She shrugged and gave two thumbs-up.
“Duplicate my order.”
“You got it.” Renz left to get our orders.
“I’m uneasy about Kirill changing his morning routine,” I told Aralina. “Are you sure you’re the only one who knows about this? No one knows you have it?”
Aralina pushed the folder to me and I flipped it open. It was a picture of Ivan and a young girl of about five who was definitely not Aralina. It explained her reaction yesterday when she caught the tail end of conversation in Ivan’s office mentioning an illegitimate child. Was this the picture he was looking for? Who was the girl?
I flipped the picture over to read the dedication again before Kirill had interrupted us last night.
Thought you’d like to have a memento of her.
Love,
Renée
So, was Ivan lying to me about Duncan King? If so, then there was no question Kirill had learned his lying skills from his father.
“You didn’t tell me where you got these,” I said.
“In the attic.” Aralina showed me her screen. “Mama redecorated a few rooms, including Papa’s study. You should have seen the stacks of boxes. Papa doesn’t get rid of anything.”
“What were you doing in the attic looking through his things?”
“I used to sketch in that room because I love the lighting there. Our things got mixed up.”
Plausible explanation.
I looked over the other handwritten notes, and an unfamiliar handwriting caught my eye.
We need to talk.
