Once again, the voice in my head tolls out ominously.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Jennifer arches her brow once more, as if she can hear that damn voice ringing in my head like a bell. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
The silence stretches on for a few minutes. I watch her carefully. I see the way her jaw stays locked tight like a steel trap. The way her knee bounces frenetically. The way she adjusts the rings on one finger again and again and again.
She is suffering.
Maybe she doesn’t have a few years left in this world after all.
“Do you love what you do, Jennifer?” I ask suddenly. She opens her mouth to reply right away, but I hold up a finger to make her pause. “Think about it before you answer.”
Her frown deepens and she is quiet for a long moment. Then: “It… it’s all I’ve ever known.”
“We’ll find something else for you to do.”
“Like what?” she asks defensively.
“Live, Jen,” I tell her softly. “You’ll finally get to live.”
She tilts the glass to her lips, drains it once more, and then unwinds off the couch to head for the bar again.
“How about this?” she says over her shoulder. “I’ll start living my life when you do.”
35
OLIVIA
I look out across the lake from my perch in the garden. I’ve stayed well clear of it since the confrontation with Aleks three days ago.
But it winks at me from a distance, sunlight glinting off the surface, beckoning me forward.
I ignore it and stare down at my notebook.
The maids don’t just bring in food on trays anymore—they bring fresh paper and sharpened pencils, too. And for all that, I’ve only managed to create a handful of half-assed sketches I’d never in a million years consider submitting to any employer I cared about.
I put my pencil down and study my latest piece. My brain decided to become the space where ideas go to die, so I opted for a landscape. Stupid, boring, obvious. And the art reflects that.
When the gardeners arrived to trim the hedges, I thought I’d take their likenesses. But they’re coming out strangely misshapen, and the hedges they’re trimming look like hunks of unformed clay.
“Where did my talent go?” I whine.
I’m feeling repulsively sorry for myself. The cold doesn’t help matters. My nose is a snot faucet and I have to stop drawing every thirty seconds to hack up a lung.
Talk about kicking a woman while she’s down.
I put my sketchbook down and kick my feet up on the table in the middle of the sitting area. The balcony overhead offers shade.
And, when someone’s hands drape over the railing to alert me to their presence, it offers the perfect hiding place.
I tuck my legs back into the shadows and listen. I expect it to be Aleks, but I hear a woman’s voice instead. Yulia.
“Yes, of course… This is not my first time, darling…”
She’s on the phone with someone. Her tone is friendly, almost flirtatious. But there’s a serious bent to it at the same time. She’s talking business, but trying to keep it light.
“She’s perfect. Pretty and innocent,” she says.
Is she talking about me? I think for a moment in a very uncharacteristic bout of self-centeredness.
“Yes,” she continues. “Sophie Gonzales, that’s right.”
Ah. Apparently not.
The conversation continues for a few more minutes, nothing but some casual chatter and laughter before she wraps it up.
“Of course, darling. I’ll see you there. Ciao.”
A few moments later, Yulia comes down the staircase next to the balcony. When she steps onto the patio below and sees me, she startles.
“Dear Lord, Olivia! How long have you been there?”
“Most of the evening,” I tell her. “Getting some drawing in.”
Her eyes flicker distractedly over my paper. “Oh, that’s nice. How are you recovering from your cold?”
“The maids keep you informed, I see.”
She smiles and takes the vacant seat next to me. “It is my job. I am the head housekeeper, after all.”
“I’d say you’re a little more than that, no?”
“That’s sweet of you to say, darling. Really, though, I don’t mind so much. Especially now that I’ve found some friends outside of this oppressive realm.”
“Wow,” I say. Simple as it may seem, I’m kind of happy that she feels she can be so open and honest with me. “Well, then I’m glad for you.”
“Thank you, dear.”
She gives me a maternal smile and I feel slightly comforted. These past few days of isolation have been harder on me than I’m willing to admit. It’s nice to sit here with a woman who’s kind, who’s warm, who’s willing to listen.
Her son shares none of those qualities.
“The cold has passed,” I tell her belatedly. “I’m all good now.”
“I can see that. Wonderful news.”
“And you?” I ask. “You’ve been well?”
“Very.”
She doesn’t offer much more than that, so I decide not to pry. I look out towards the lake. I don’t realize I’ve sighed out loud until Yulia mentions it.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“Oh, uh, no. It’s nothing.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Feeling a little lonely?”
“I’m feeling all kinds of things, to be honest,” I admit. “Lonely is definitely high on the list. It seems that everyone who wants to talk to me is off-limits.”
Yulia nods in understanding. “Is my son being difficult with you?”
“As far as I can tell, he’s been difficult with everyone since the day he was born.”
“You’re right about that,” she chuckles. “He’s always been hot-headed. When he gets angry, he often gets irrational.”
“Makes sense. But still, I don’t understand why he’d have such a problem with me talking to either one of you.”
“Either one of us?” Yulia asks curiously.
I realize she doesn’t know about my run-in with Vlad. “I met your husband a few days ago.”
“Oh, I see.” She looks mildly surprised, but she takes it in her stride. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”
“He is.”
She gives a soft smile. “You can only imagine what he was like in his youth, when he was healthy. When he chose to be, he was the most charming man I’ve ever met.”
“I guess the apple fell extremely far from the tree then,” I mutter.
Yulia laughs. “The world throws itself at the feet of beautiful people. Aleksandr has always been handsome. Vladimir wasn’t blessed with quite the same fortune. He learned to use his charisma instead.”
“So you’re saying if Aleks were ugly, he’d be more pleasant to be around?”
She laughs again—but this time, far out of proportion to the level of humor I’m bringing to the table. It builds and builds until she’s doubled over, wheezing and crying, slapping her knee again and again.
At first, I laugh with her, but when it keeps going, I fade off nervously and watch.
Eventually, she recovers. She dabs away the tears on her cheeks and says, “Pardon me. I… haven’t been myself lately.”