CHAPTER 4
ILAY
"Mr. Ivanovich," the receptionist says with a smile that is a little too wide. "You're early today."
"I'm taking my daughter to lunch."
"Of course, let me call her classroom." She glances at the single yellow rose in my hand like she does every time I come to pick up Anya, and I can tell she wants to ask about it but she never does.
She picks up the phone and speaks quietly into it, and a few minutes later a door down the hallway opens and a tiny blonde figure comes barreling toward me at full speed.
"Papa!"
Anya crashes into my legs and wraps her arms around them, and I crouch down to scoop her up into my arms.
"Hello, princess," I say while pressing a kiss to her forehead and handing her the rose. "How was school?"
She takes the rose and holds it to her nose, inhaling deeply before answering. "I survived."
I bite back a laugh. "Did you now?"
"Yes, and I was brave like you said, and I only cried one time but it was small so it doesn't count."
"I'm proud of you."
She beams at me and then her expression turns serious. "Papa, is it time for the secret mission now?"
"First we eat lunch, then we do the secret mission."
"Where are we eating?"
"Wherever you want."
Her eyes go wide and she taps her chin with her finger. "I want pasta."
"Then pasta it is."
I carry her out of the building and Viktor is already holding the car door open for us.
I slide into the backseat with Anya on my lap and she immediately starts playing with my watch, twisting it around my wrist and examining the face like she has never seen it before even though she does this every single time she sits with me.
"Papa," she says without looking up from the watch.
"Yes, princess?"
"Is the secret mission about Mama?"
"What makes you think that?"
She looks up at me with those green eyes that are so much like her mother's. "You said it's a secret for Mama, not from Mama, and Valentine's Day is coming."
I stare at her. "You figured that out by yourself?"
She nods proudly. "I'm smart."
"You are," I agree. "Too smart."
"So what are we getting Mama?"
"Many things."
"Like what?"
"You'll see."
She pouts. "I want to know now."
"Be patient."
"I don't want to be patient, patience is boring."
"Where did you hear that?"
"Mama says it when she's waiting for food."
I laugh and shake my head. "Of course she does."
Viktor takes us to an Italian restaurant that Anya loves, and I carry her inside where the hostess immediately recognizes us and leads us to a private table in the back.
Anya insists on sitting in her own chair instead of a booster seat, and she straightens her spine and folds her hands on the table like a tiny businesswoman about to conduct a meeting.
"I will have the spaghetti with meatballs," she tells the waiter with complete seriousness. "And apple juice, not orange juice, and the meatballs have to be cut into small pieces so I don't choke."
The waiter looks at me with raised eyebrows and I shrug.
"You heard her."
"And for you, sir?"
"The carbonara and a water."
The waiter nods and disappears, and Anya turns to me with her hands still folded on the table.
"Now tell me about the secret mission."
"We're going to pick out some things for Mama's Valentine's Day present."
"What kind of things?"
"Flowers, jewelry, a bag, a dress, candles."
Her eyes light up. "Can I help?"
"That's why you're here."
"Really?"
"Really."
She bounces in her seat with excitement. "This is the best day ever!"
Our food arrives and Anya attacks her spaghetti with enthusiasm, getting sauce on her chin and her cheeks and somehow on her forehead. I wipe her face with a napkin and she squirms away from me.
"Papa, stop, I'm eating."
"You're wearing more than you're eating."
She giggles and shoves another forkful of pasta into her mouth.
When we finish lunch I pay the bill and carry Anya back to the car, and Viktor drives us to the first stop on our list.
"Are there any more yellow flowers?" Anya asks while standing on her tiptoes to peer over the display case. "Mama loves yellow flowers."
The florist, a middle-aged woman with dirt under her fingernails and a kind face, looks down at Anya with a warm smile. "We have plenty of yellow flowers, sweetheart, what kind does your mama like?"
"Yellow roses and sunflowers," I say. "I need daily deliveries to my wife's office starting tomorrow and ending the day before Valentine's Day."
The florist pulls out a notepad. "Of course, how many flowers per delivery?"
"First day one hundred yellow roses, second day one hundred and fifty, third day two hundred, fourth day three hundred, fifth day four hundred, sixth day five hundred."
The florist stops writing and looks up at me. "I'm sorry, did you say the deliveries increase each day?"
"Yes."
"And the final delivery is five hundred roses?"
"Yes."
She blinks a few times and then continues writing. "One hundred, one fifty, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred, yellow roses, daily deliveries."
"Add fifty sunflowers to each delivery as well."
"Fifty sunflowers, got it."
Anya tugs on my hand. "Papa, can we add pink ones too?"
"Which pink ones?"
She pulls me toward another section of the shop and points at a bucket of soft pink peonies. "These ones, they're fluffy."
"Those are peonies," the florist says. "Very popular for Valentine's Day."
"Add thirty pink peonies to each delivery," I tell her.
She writes it down. "Thirty pink peonies added to each daily order."
I walk through the shop examining the different flowers while Anya trails behind me, and I stop in front of a bucket of white flowers with delicate petals.
"What are these?" I ask.
"Gardenias," the florist explains. "Very strong fragrance, very romantic."
I pick one up and bring it to my nose, and the scent is overwhelming. "Too strong, Iris prefers subtle scents."
Anya nods in agreement. "Mama doesn't like smelly things."
We continue through the shop and I select a few stems of eucalyptus to add to the arrangements for texture, and I instruct the florist on exactly how I want the bouquets arranged with the roses as the focal point and the peonies and sunflowers as accents.
"Now the vases," I say. "I don't want cheap glass, I want ceramic in a soft cream color, different sizes for each delivery so she can display them throughout her office."
The florist leads us to a section with vases and I examine each one carefully before selecting a set that meets my standards.
"Send the invoice to my assistant and she will handle payment," I say. "The deliveries must arrive at her office by 9 AM each day without fail."
The florist nods. "9 AM sharp, understood."
"And if for any reason your delivery person has trouble getting the flowers to my wife, they call me directly." I hand her a card with my number. "I will handle it."
The florist takes the card and tucks it carefully into her apron pocket. "Of course, Mr. Ivanovich."
Anya extends her hand to the florist for a handshake and the woman takes it with a delighted laugh.
"Very professional," she says.
"Thank you," Anya replies. "Now we have to go buy Mama jewelry."
Viktor drives us to a jewelry store in the upscale part of the city where the windows display diamonds and gold under soft lights and security guards stand at the entrance in fitted suits.
I help Anya out of the car and she smooths down her dress before taking my hand, and we walk into the store together where a salesman in an expensive suit approaches us immediately.
"Mr. Ivanovich, it is an honor to have you in our store today, how may I assist you?"
"I'm looking for something special for my wife for Valentine's Day."
"Of course, please follow me to our private viewing room where I can show you our finest pieces."
He leads us to a room in the back with velvet chairs and glass cases filled with jewelry that sparkles under the warm lighting, and Anya climbs onto one of the chairs and sits with her legs dangling off the edge.
"What kind of piece are you looking for?" the salesman asks. "A necklace, bracelet, ring, earrings?"
"A necklace first, something with a teardrop pendant since my wife prefers that shape over round or square."
The salesman nods and pulls out a tray of teardrop pendants in various sizes and settings.
I examine each one carefully, picking them up and turning them in the light. "She doesn't like anything too heavy so it needs to sit light on her neck, and she prefers white gold over yellow."
"We have several pieces in white gold," the salesman says while pulling out another tray. "These are our lighter settings."
I pick up a teardrop diamond pendant surrounded by smaller diamonds and hold it up. "This one, the chain is delicate and the setting isn't bulky."
"Excellent choice, sir, that is a five-carat diamond pendant with a halo setting."
Anya leans forward to look. "It's sparkly, Papa."
"Mama likes sparkly things, doesn't she?"
Anya nods eagerly. "Very sparkly."
"We'll take this one," I tell the salesman. "Now earrings, she has sensitive ears so I need something lightweight with a secure backing, no heavy drops that will pull on her lobes."
The salesman pulls out a tray of earrings and I scan them quickly before pointing at a pair of teardrop studs that mirror the pendant.
"Those, they match the necklace and they won't irritate her ears."
"You know your wife very well, Mr. Ivanovich," the salesman says with genuine admiration.
"I pay attention."
The door to the viewing room opens and a woman in an elegant dress walks in with a little boy around Anya's age. He has dark hair and is wearing a little suit, and the moment he sees Anya his eyes go wide and he stops walking.
He stares at her.
I notice immediately.
"Little boy," I say calmly. "Take your eyes off my princess."
The woman freezes and looks at me, and recognition flickers across her face. "I apologize, Mr. Ivanovich, we didn't mean to intrude."