Page 53 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
Chapter 16 - Anya
This morning I spent a few hours at the salon, getting my hair done. After that, I stopped to get a manicure and pedicure. My toes are bright minty turquoise, and my fingers are a gorgeous pale pink. My hair is lustrous and golden, hanging around my shoulders. I feel amazing.
Fresh and pretty and very happy.
Things in the house have changed since the party at Ardalion’s in LA. I’m so glad I found the courage to tell him I was sorry. And I’m so grateful that he found it in his heart to listen and acknowledge it. Obviously, as I told him, it doesn’t change what I did, but it has taken a weight off the air between us.
I have a lot more freedom now. I come and go as I please. I have one security guard instead of seven. I’ve been exploring San Diego, shopping, spoiling myself, sightseeing, trying out some incredible restaurants, and spending days lying in the sun on the beach.
It’s amazing—but it’s still lonely.
When I was dating Emmanuil, he would sneak away from work to spend his lunch breaks with me. He would sometimes work from home just so we could be near each other, even when we weren’t out doing things. The simplest things, like going for a walk or roaming the old vintage shops, we did together, and they became the most special memories.
I’m walking down one of the old streets now, filled with thrift stores and vintage boutiques, and it’s lovely, but I miss him.
I push open the glass door of a quaint-looking store, a bell chimes above my head, and I glance up to see an old brass bell molded to look like it’s made from lace.
“Hello, dear.” A little old woman behind the counter says, smiling happily at me. “Are you looking for something in particular?” she asks, coming out from behind the counter.
Her dress is made from old floral material, pinched at the waist and edged with white lace. She looks elegant and purposefully put together.
Her gray hair is pulled into a tight, slick bun, not a hair out of place, and her lips are dabbed with pink lipstick, a touch smudged at the corner.
“You look wonderful,” I say, grinning at her. “I love your dress.”
“Oh, thank you,” she gushes. “I’ve had it since I was—since I was you’re age, actually. My husband still tells me it’s his favorite one.”
“Is this your shop?” I glance around at the tidy shelves, full of interesting treasures, but packed neat and orderly.
“Yes, Trevor and I decided to open this place five years ago. And it’s been a dream. I just love all the little trinkets from our past. They each bring back memories and often bring a lot of joy to our customers.”
I walk over to one of the bookcases, gently touching the spine of an old book.
“Edgar Alan Poe,” I mutter, expecting to find something more likeLittle House on the Prairiethan this.
“And we have Wells and Lovecraft.”
I pick up a copy of Metamorphosis and carefully open the cover, gasping when I see it’s a first edition.
“Aah, my husband read that book a hundred times.”
“Franz Kafka did have a very unique imagination,” I giggle. “This book in particular was rather odd.”
She laughs. “I imagine it being a rather accurate account of what would happen if someone woke up and discovered they were a bug.”
“It’s a first edition, though. Why would you want to sell it? And you have it priced far too low,” I remark.
“Because money means very little when you reach a certain age. Like I said, we just hope to bring a bit of joy to other people now. I have everything that makes my heart full.” She gently touches a heart-shaped locked around her neck, a dreamy smile on her face.
Noticing my eyes on the locket, she opens it to show me a tiny black and white photograph of her husband. “That’s Trevor,” she says proudly.
“Is he—"
“Still driving me crazy? Oh yes, every day.” She huffs. “But I can’t imagine my life without him.”
I think about Emmanuil, how happy we were together, how I know I’ll never find that with anyone else.I really miss him.My heart clenches tightly.
“I’d like to purchase this book. And the Lovecraft, he’s my favorite oddity.”
