Page 35 of Eternal
“Lilac Wine” by Jeff Buckley
Present
Idon’t know what’s annoying me more right now.
The fact that my next target is hiding like he’s some kind of ghost, or that Katarina is on her hundredth round of yelling at Viktor about the theme for tonight’s event.
She’s hell-bent on black and white, and he wants something with pearls. It’s hilarious because we all know how this is gonna go. Kat’s gonna win, she always wins. Viktor loves pissing her off, probably gets some sick pleasure from it.
I catch the smirk he’s trying to hide every time she yells at him. It’s the same look he used to get as a kid, right before he’d sneak up and scribble all over her perfect little drawings just to watch her lose it. She’d scream and cry, and he’d laugh like it was the best day of his life, then he’d hug her, with his small arms, and she’d stop.
Even back then, she was a control freak. If you didn’t play her games exactly how she wanted, you were done for. Total tyrant in the making.
And here we are, years later, in the same situation.
Some things really don’t change.
“There’s no way you actually think your shitty idea is better than what I planned for the past week.” Kat’s hands fly up in that dramatic way only she can pull off, glaring at Viktor, who’s trying way too hard to look innocent.
And then he laughs.
Loudly.
Oh, she’s going to kill him.
“Stop laughing, I’m serious, Vik!” She turns to me, catching me mid-email about the hotel where my target might be hiding. “Visha! Tell him that ‘something with pearls’ isn’t a real theme.”
I glance up, and there’s Viktor, grinning like a damn kid. “Yes,Kroshka, tell me you’d rather have a monotone party with only two colors.”
I shrug. “You know what? Both of your ideas are awful. Go with red.”
They both stare, Kat practically combusting on the spot. “You’ve got to be kidding,Visha. This isn’t a cheap ass casino,” she says, throwing me a dramatic glare toward me.
Viktor leans back, hands behind his head, still smirking like he’s ten. “Face it, Kat. I won.”
Kat huffs and rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Probably a curse. They’ve been pulling this routine since we were kids, and somehow, I’m always caught in the middle.
I get up, letting my laptop rest, eyeing them both. “Don’t tell me you came all the way here, to my place, while I was taking a shower, to argue and rope me in as the judge.”
They reply in perfect, unplanned unison. “Yes!”
“God help me…” I shake my head, grabbing a fresh cigarette and sighing as I light it. “Alright, here’s an idea: go black and white and pearls. Combine them both.”
Vik nods like it’s the smartest idea ever, while Kat throws her mood boards at him, groaning, “I hate you!”
He simply laughs, catching one of the papers. “Love you too,sistra.”
I head back to the window, phone in hand, and scroll to that page from the journal I’d snapped a photo of. I read it again, slowly, letting the words sink in.
Journal Entry - 12/02/1994.
Donovan Atler, CEO of a multinational wine company, Starline.
The moment Alexei and I met him, I knew Donovan was trouble. Last week, I found a bottle of wine from one of his hidden Slovenian companies waiting in my office, with a note, ‘The fire you start will burn you.’
It was a clear threat. Alexei wants me to ignore it, but I can’t. I owe it to my children to see this through.
Donovan's spending doesn’t add up. He flaunts a $2 million watch, yet his company’s debts are supposed to be larger than some countries' GDP.
