Page 46 of Sapphire Tears

She meanders over to the stone fountain and drags a finger through the shimmering surface of the water. I watch her walk. She’s wearing a flowy white dress with thin straps and a thin skirt that moves whenever she does, that dances like it’s alive in even the slightest breeze. I can see the outline of her legs through the fabric.

The center of the fountain boasts a solemn-looking man, sitting on a rock face, staring down into the surface of the pond. June gazes up at him.

“This is beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s favorite part about this place.”

I wince as soon as I say it. Why am I bringing her up again? It’s weird that I’ve gone years without mentioning her, and now all of a sudden, I can’t seem to stop.

June looks at me with an unspoken question in her eyes.

“She worked here for a few years,” I explain. “The only time she was ever happy, I think. She started off as a cabaret girl, but when the manager discovered that she could play the piano, he put her to performing in the lobby.”

“Why’d she leave?

I stiffen instantly. Telling this story was a mistake. It can only end in sadness. “She met my father. He was staying at this hotel with some friends. He saw her, and decided he had to have her. When he checked out, he took her with him.”

I leave out the nastier parts of this chapter of my mother’s life. June doesn’t need to know how the fairy tale is woven through with lies and bloodshed, same as every other story of my family.

It’s better this way. Cleaner. Simpler.

I extend my hand to her. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

She takes my hand and we walk up the broad stone steps together. As soon as we reach the top of the landing, my lead contractor, Desmond, catches sight of us. He breaks off the conversation he’s having with some of his workers and comes scurrying over.

“Mr. Uvarov!” he says enthusiastically. “How nice to see you again. It’s been some time.”

“Business has occupied most of my time lately,” I explain as Desmond’s eyes veer towards June. “June, this is Desmond Mendez, my lead contractor. Desmond, this is June Cole—my fiancée.”

A part of me half expects her to protest at my choice of introduction, but she shows no sign of it.

“How wonderful,” Desmond exclaims, shaking June’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Cole.”

“Please, call me June.”

“June it is.” He beams up at me. “I know it doesn’t seem like it from out here, but we have made a lot of progress. How about a little tour?”

I glance at June. “Perhaps in a little while, when June has rested—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I’m fine. Not tired at all. I’d love a tour.”

“Then off we go!” Desmond claps his hands excitedly. He acts like a golden retriever puppy half the time, but there’s no better man in the country for this kind of work.

I let him give June the spiel as we go, while my gaze roams here and there. I didn’t have a plan when I bought the place. It was just a hollow, half-baked attempt to feel close to my mother again. It felt wrong to let anyone else have it.

Desmond chatters nonstop as he guides us through the first floor of the hotel, where the heaviest renovations need to be completed. But he’s right—there has been progress. Some of the pillars have been taken down and replaced with load-bearing walls instead. We still have to maneuver around scaffolding and clear plastic tarps, but I can see the new vision taking shape, bit by bit. It will be beautiful when it’s all done.

“The mirrors for the bedrooms arrived a few days ago,” Desmond informs us. “We’re keeping them in the grand ballroom for the time being until they can get installed. It’s quite the sight, actually. Come check it out.”

He holds open one half of a huge set of mahogany double doors. When we walk into the grand ballroom, June’s jaw drops.

This room is more or less complete. The ceilings are tall enough to feel like you’ve stepped into a cathedral, and the light slanting in through the windows high overhead is diffuse and beautiful. The marble floor is endless. An ocean of swirling white and black that runs unbroken from corner to corner.

Desmond is right, though—the mirrors are truly remarkable. Hundreds of them, each one gilt-edged and flawless, lie propped against the southern wall, refracting the light like we’re swimming inside a diamond.

“This is amazing,” June breathes. She steps out into the middle of the floor and spins around. Beyond us, her reflections follow suit, a thousand pirouetting Junes with flared white skirts and eyes bright like jewels.

Desmond chuckles under his breath, watching us with the kind of wry expression people reserve for young couples in the bloom of their first few years together.

---