Page 12 of Scarlet Angel

“I am.”

“Brilliant.” She clasps her hands together. “We can go to London. Lunch. Shop. You’ll want to go through Willow’s things in the flat, yes? She had trunks of clothes. I’m not even sure she finished unpacking.”

I place a hand on Lina’s forearm. She’s making my head hurt.

“I’ll be back,” I say.

The leaves crunch underfoot, and my heels sink into the soft sod with each step, forcing me to put the weight on the pads of my black leather Louboutins.

Like a good daughter, I hug my mother. Her ice-blue eyes are frigid, but the lipstick she’s chosen is a warm rose.

“It’s not proper for you to remain behind,” she says in Italian. “Please don’t do this.”

My mother has spent almost two decades as a widow. The proper action in our circle would have been for her to remarry. But in our world, proper is best used as a tool to instruct others how to live.

“Do not worry yourself,” I respond in our native tongue. “I’ll be back under your watchful eye before you know it.”

Her gaze bypasses me, looking over my shoulder. I don’t follow her gaze, as it’s quite unnecessary. I sense his approach. Heat travels up my spine, emanating across my rib cage.

“It doesn’t look good,” she says under her breath. “He’s not married.”

I fail to suppress my snort of derision. “It’s too late for my reputation, Mama.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yes. Whose faultisthat?”

Surprise widens the whites of her eyes. I’ve never placed the blame at her feet before, but she’s never implied I’m at fault either. I welcome the anger surging in my veins. It’s much more productive than sorrow. I’m taller than my mother, and I lengthen my spine, rising inches above her crown.How dare she?

“Catarina, come. It’s been an emotional day,” my uncle says, seemingly oblivious to the ratcheting tension.

He doesn’t wait for her but continues on the path to his wife and son.

“Better not let them wait. It wouldn’t beproper.”

Anger flashes in my mother’s eyes. I thrust my chin upwards and glower, daring her to make a scene.

Nikolai and Lina step forward, flanking me.

“Return soon,” she says in Italian. “Be good.”

“Did she just tell you to be good?” Lina asks when the car door closes behind my mother.

The three of us stand in a line, waiting for the limousine to drive away. The tinted windows prevent us from seeing inside.

“Do you know Italian?” I ask.

“I dabble. She did, didn’t she? She’s like my brother here, treating you like a child.”

“Not a child,” I say. “An asset.”

Given Nikolai’s blank expression, I doubt he’s listening to us, but Lina leers at her brother. I should’ve kept my thoughts to myself.

“Is there anything else we need to do?” I ask.

“The caretaker will be here shortly,” Nikolai answers. “Would you like to remain behind? Would you like some time alone?”

While I do wish for privacy, I don’t care to witness a piece of machinery drop buckets of dirt into the holes. All the same, his thoughtfulness is unexpected.

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