Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Once again, I feel like I’m trying to reach for something I can’t quite grasp. Rafail notices my distraction and steps in close, his voice a low murmur as he nudges my chin up with a gloved hand. "Distracted, little swan?"
I smile, managing a nod, but he watches me with a hint of calculation in his gaze as if he’s measuring my reaction to everything we pass. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead and takes my hand, leading me into a nearby café, the words Zimnyaya Roza emblazoned out front.
“Anything you need?”
“Hot coffee and something buttery and sweet,” I say in a rush of words. I feel anxious and weighted down. I want some reassurance.
“This city is charming,” I tell him as he opens the door, the warm, powerful scent of strong coffee enveloping us. Orthodox churches stand beside sleek, minimalist buildings. The cityscape is dotted with old-fashioned iron street lamps and faded stone archways leading into courtyards, a slower-paced life compared to Moscow, not far from here.
“I love Zalivka,” Rafail says with feeling, eliciting a fist bump from another patron who overhears. “Here, we’ve managed to keep small businesses operating that have been owned for generations.”
“Mr. Kopolov.” A burly man with a ruddy face and red nose, wearing a flour-covered apron, wipes his hands on it and comes to see us. “Welcome. You pay nothing when you’re here, sir, you know that.” He turns his attention to me. “And is this your wife?”
Rafail’s arm comes around me with pride. “Meet my wife, Anissa. Anissa, Cecil is an old friend.”
I smile shyly as others glance our way, and I pretend to look over the menu. I can’t help but wonder how much the Kopolov family had to do with any of that. Keeping large businesses out of town is in their best interest.
They talk to each other like buddies, and it’s good to see Rafail’s stern gaze soften a little. “We have a stall in Old Square at the festival,” Cecil says. “We hope to see you there.”
Rafail nods. “I’ll do my best.”
Cecil claps him on the back. “It would do well for our biggest benefactor to come so we can thank you.”
“Precisely why I’m not sure I’ll show,” Rafail says wryly.
Cecil goes to the back, and I turn to Rafail. I’m seeing him in a whole new light.
Benefactor.
First, Yana’s biggest support, and now this.
“Tell me about the festival?” I ask him as he steps up to the counter to order. “I’ll have a hot mocha latte and one of the chocolate-covered biscuits, please.”
Cecil has a sharp word to the cashier, who promptly declines any payment.
We walk back to a table and sit. “The festival has handcrafted goods and artisanal gifts in outdoor stalls, everyone haggling over prices.
“Oooh. I’d love it. It’s gorgeous here.” Familiar yet… not.
Wordlessly, he takes my hot latte and blows on it to cool it down before he hands it to me. My heart melts a little.
“When your leg is better, I’ll take you to the river. There’s a bridge that connects the city center and all the bustle and stands to the quieter residences. When the river freezes, we ice-skate across, and in the summer, it’s in full bloom.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “My family loves it. Zoya is all about the shops, and Yana is all about the flowers.”
I swallow a bite of my food. “And Rodion likes it because there are local ladies?”
Rafail snorts. “Exactly.”
When we leave the shop, thick snowflakes still come down. They melt on my warm cheek as Rafail brushes stray snowflakes from my coat with a gentleness that surprises me. His hand lingers on my shoulder, his touch unexpectedly tender, and for a moment, I feel like we’re not two people wrapped in secrets but simply… together.
“You like it here,” he remarks, watching me with an almost bemused expression.
“Yes, I do,” I say softly, and I feel my guard slipping under his gaze. “It’s beautiful, even if a little… heavy.”
He laughs, a sound low and warm. “That’s Zalivka. Heavy with history, yes. But it’s a good place, full of loyal people. People who know how to survive.”
But as we walk, a prickle of unease crawls over me, like we’re being watched. Rafail feels it, too, his grip on my hand tightening as his gaze sweeps the street with a hardened look. He pulls me closer, his arm wrapping protectively around me.
“Stay close,” he murmurs, his tone unreadable.
I reach for Rafail’s hand. The cold air sharpens my thoughts, and without fully realizing it, I find myself saying, "You had so much to shoulder as a guardian. You still do. Not just running an empire but… your family. And Yana. It couldn’t have been easy."
Rafail’s gaze sharpens, his jaw clenching for a moment before he nods, an almost imperceptible gesture. The doctor’s questioning made it easier for us to broach this subject. "Yana has always been my sister," he says, his voice quieter than usual as if sharing something fragile. "But… if my father had known she was different—if he had known she was truly herself—he would’ve killed her.”