Page 60 of Scarlet Vows
Perhaps making it light, more modern, but with gravitas, and having some rooms as a shrine or homage to the man who ruled from here may work.
Or maybe just leave the downstairs as is and redo the study as a mix of Ilya and his grandfather?—
“Oh.” I stop as I step into the airy, spacious, modern kitchen.
Svetlana isn’t here.
Instead, it’s Ilya in a frilly apron, flipping bacon with a spatula.
“Did you do this?”
“No, I made Svetlana leave, and I’m just modeling the latest in aprons. You like?”
I giggle. I can’t help it. “I do. Very you, Ilya, but I thought you’d be in bed, nursing your headache.”
Why am I talking about bed? It puts some startling images in my head, like how he looks naked. He’s got a good body, muscular, fit, strong. I’ve often seen his well-worn gym bag, so he works out. In fact, I’ve heard Demyan complain that Ilya has a problem when it comes to working out, and Ilya’s ribbed Demyan, accusing him of being weak.
So yes, I think I’d like to see him?—
No. No, I wouldn’t.
“…Russian,” he says, but I didn’t catch what he said before that. “It only hurt a bit. But…that’s what the bacon, the scrambled eggs, and home fries are for.”
“The pancakes, too?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I might feel hungry. I’ve been up since before dawn because I went to the gym. But…maybe one of the men, or Svetlana, might be hungry.”
He puts fruit and yogurt on a placemat and a boiled egg in a cup. He also has a piece of whole wheat cut into soldiers and a bowl of granola and macadamia milk in a jug.
Then he adds a small bowl. “Cinnamon.”
“You remembered.”
“Down to your preferred milk.”
I straighten the cutlery. “I never had any doubt.”
I’ve never liked huge breakfasts, and this for me is borderline,but it’s what I like in the morning if I need fuel for the day.
I sit, and he adds a cup of green tea and a cup of coffee next to my mat. He pours himself a coffee and an OJ and then sits, tucking into his heart attack on a plate.
We eat for a few minutes in silence, then he points at my shirt with his fork.
“Explain.”
Heat rushes up into my cheeks, making them burn. “I passed a dog shelter on my way home yesterday and spent the day volunteering. Is that bad?”
“Why would it be?”
“It’s not a real career?”
“It could be if you wanted it, Alina. I’m glad you did something you liked. How’s the granola? Svetlana and I made the mix.”
“You and her?”
He grins and pops a bite of bacon into his mouth. “Okay,” he says in Russian, “I told her the things you like in it, and she made it. It’s the same thing.”
I bite down on my smile. “What brought the feast on? I’m also fine with toast or an apple.”
