Chapter 48
Zina
A Few Months Later
It was a bright, crisp August morning in Paris when the knock came, just as I was flipping Samovar’s sign from Fermé to Ouvert.
I opened the door to see Gabriel in his nice, official suit.
Though his face was clean-shaven and more rested than before, the expression on it was brittle.
I had seen him only a handful of times in the few months since Baba Valya’s death, and only when dealing with the police.
Having him here, with no one else present, not even my cat, was unnerving.
It brought it all back. I was glad my dress was loose enough not to give away the subtle shift in my body, my belly starting to protrude, the child inside growing strong. I wasn’t sure what to tell him yet.
“Would you like some coffee?” I offered, suppressing the nervous tremor in my voice.
I didn’t wait for his answer. I hurried to grab the coffeepot and two cups, white porcelain, the best we had, and motioned to the table above which the gilded mirror used to hang.
My throat thickened at the memory of Baba Valya’s fortune-telling lessons, the loss of her shooting through me like Olga’s icy energy, catching me way off guard. Grief was unexpected like that.
Morning was usually my favorite time at Samovar. With Katya and other people coming and going, the tearoom didn’t feel as empty without Baba Valya. But right now, this early and with Gabriel here, it did.
I handed Gabriel a platter of syrniki, the fried cottage cheese cakes I had made earlier, along with pots of sour cream and strawberry preserves. The smell wafted over to me, turning my stomach in hunger and aversion both.
His eyes grew large at the food. “I thought you hated to cook.”
A laugh. “I still do. But I need to help Katya with it, so here I am.”
Gabriel nodded, grabbing a syrnik and taking a ravenous bite. His eyes now practically popped out of his head. “This is really good, Zina. Sinfully good.” He glanced around. “And I like what you’ve done with the place.”
The wards from the Grand Duke’s spiritual infestation were long gone.
I had repainted the walls a light gray and replaced the scarlet metal tea tins with similarly gray ones.
The color of the spirit world, of Mama’s eyes—and mine.
I rehung the paintings and sketches from the émigré artists where they had been.
In place of the mirror, I put up a large photograph of the Eiffel Tower.
I wanted this place to be me, all of me.
All nationalities, too. French and Russian, light and dark, warm and cool, the life in fortune-telling and divination, the death in séances.
I shrugged. “It needed a change.” A shadow fell over me at the thought of why.
Not only Baba Valya’s death, but Olga’s also.
Now, the tearoom held the memory of four deaths, two graves, and a host of spirits.
I had kept the Grand Duke’s body in the Russian cemetery, purchasing a new headstone for him; while his treasure, which I found buried by his body, as Baba Valya had told me it would be, I divided among those on rue Daru who needed it.
“It did need a change. I am glad you did it.” Gabriel shifted in his chair. Put down his fork and knife with a clatter. “That is why I am here. I wanted to let you know the Grand Duke’s and your mother’s cases have officially been closed following our investigation into Olga’s confession.”
Gabriel didn’t mention the police investigation into Olga’s death that happened after the events of that night.
Lucian had already given me the good news the evidence was thankfully straightforward and corroborated my story. It was fortunate that Gabriel saw how Olga had stepped into the blade herself and with no help from me.
He cleared his throat. “I also wanted to tell you the tearoom is now rightfully yours, as your grandmother, being the rightful owner, left it to you after her death. You are the sole owner of Samovar, Zina. Congratulations.”
I knew it, yet it was gratifying to hear all the same. “Thank you.”
“And—Prince Alexander is on his way back to Russia.”
“He is?” Now my heart gave a massive thump; fuzzy black spots danced across my vision.
A few days after that night, Lucian had come by to tell me that Alec had been arrested at Chateau de Rêve as an accomplice in Olga’s attempts on my life and Baba Valya’s.
As were Madame Corbin, Boris Antipov, Countess Bobrinskaya, and Vera de something.
I received a kind note from Vera’s daughter, Claudia, apologizing for her mother’s role in the messy business, and one from Nikolasha, who expressed his shock over his relations’ deplorable actions.
He also invited me to Choigny, where he was now ruling Russian upper-class émigrés as the undisputed Romanov heir.
But I had enough of those rich, entitled Russian émigrés.
My life, along with my home, was on rue Daru, and I would keep to my kind of émigrés, lost and poor and perfectly charming.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said to Gabriel, finally daring an exhale. It was over, truly over, and all I felt was empty, wrung out, still nostalgic and grief-stricken.
“Of course. Lucian wanted to be here, too, but I asked to come on my own.”
Aside from police matters, I had met Lucian several times at Parc Monceau, where we had shared food and conversation together under the sun-dappled trees.
I couldn’t bring myself to call him Father but knew I wanted a relationship with him, my mother and grandmother having forgiven him.
I had to take it slow, though. “Why did you come on your own?” I asked Gabriel, pouring myself some coffee. I didn’t look into my cup, not yet.
He hesitated, then plunged in. “You saw my departed sister, Marthe, at that séance, didn’t you?”
I blinked. There was no longer any reason to keep it from him. “I did.”
“And she told you she couldn’t move on?”
“She did. That you have to move on first.”
He had visibly paled but gave a short nod. “So you have seen the spirits the whole time…the Grand Duke. You saw him that night, too, along with your grandmother?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I was afraid for my grandmother, that she would be blamed for a crime she didn’t commit. That’s why, well, I didn’t tell you earlier. But—” I broke off. “Did you see the spirits that night?”
Gabriel shook his head. “I felt something, though. And the way you were talking…Well, I understand you, is what I am trying to say.” Then: “I am trying to move on, too.” He forced a smile to his still-white lips.
“Marguerite painted her first picture since her convalescence the other day. The treatment seems to be working.”
“Oh, I am glad. So, so glad,” I said, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. At least something good had come from all of this, and I was truly happy for them.
Again, Gabriel hesitated. Finally: “I also wanted to say I am sorry one more time. Because I did mean it. And I still do. Because I love you, Zina. I think I always will. I was…wrong to accept that money from Olga, but please, you must believe me—maybe you can see, well, by my aura, or energy, or whatever it is you can read—”
“I believe you, Gabriel, without your aura. And Olga told me how disappointed she was in you.” I smirked.
He mirrored my smirk, reminding me how we had started, whisking me back to our night together, my body responding to his proximity, aching for him. “I wager she was.” His voice was gravelly, holding in it his own ache.
“And I forgive you,” I hurried to add. But I was also reminded how we had ended.
His betrayal, forgiven yet not forgotten, still rankled.
I wasn’t ready to let him back in. I didn’t know when, or if, I could.
Perhaps we were meant to stay an anomaly, a conundrum, our togetherness never quite fitting.
And something within me whispered of the need to be on my own.
Like Baba Valya. Like Mama. Like so many women of our family, raising their daughters, running their businesses, without their men.
Unencumbered. Free. Or as free as we could be.
I blew out a breath, like Baba Valya used to.
“I need…time. To grieve, but also to…” I gestured to my surroundings, the tearoom, the fortune-telling and séances, doing it all without my grandmother.
But with Katya, who stood by me as she always had.
And who promised to stay and work for me—with me, I had corrected, making her a co-owner of our establishment.
“And…” It was there, at the tip of my tongue, that I was pregnant, that I would have our child.
But the words wouldn’t come. I knew I would tell Gabriel someday, but not today.
For now, I had to do what was best for my child and me, then decide what to do about Gabriel later, without my grief and loneliness influencing my decision. But. “I do love you,” I told him, placing my hand on his. I knew I did. Like him, I always would, whether we were together or not.
Gabriel gave me a quick smile, the flicker of disappointment in his face suppressed. “I won’t take any more of your time.” He squeezed my hand, just as quick, and let go.
“You haven’t,” I said, in earnest. “Thank you for coming, for everything.”
He winked. “Anytime.” He gathered his things and headed for the door.
He turned slightly before reaching it. “If you ever wish to clear your head, Mademoiselle Lenormand, you can find me at Parc Monceau. Especially in the afternoons, when I take my lunch break. You know, to eat something, to meet a friend.”
I laughed. “I will keep that in mind,” I said, and I would. Maybe in some not-too-distant future, I would find him again. Maybe we would find each other.
After Gabriel left, I sat back down, in front of my coffee cup.
I considered looking inside to see whether the coffee dregs had anything to say about us.
But I decided not to. Some surprises were too life-altering to spoil.
Some surprises were worth saving for a day in some hazy tomorrow when all would be revealed naturally, as life tends to do.
Even for a girl as impatient as me. Even for a fortune teller. Even for Baba Valya’s granddaughter.