9. Ofelia #2
But this time, the wall of silence drives me just a little crazy. Nor can I think of any diplomatic way to get the answers I want. Lars, my easiest target, wanders off to the shower, yawning widely, before I have a chance to get him on his own.
Fortunately, my little sister isn’t constrained by any of my concerns.
“I want to know what happened to Alexei.” She glares daggers at Mickey, who is unshaven, has red-rimmed eyes, and is still wearing last night’s shirt and suit pants.
“Hush, Masha.” Darya hugs her close, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. “Alexei had to go away.”
Really? My heart falls a little further.
“He said he’d be here this morning.” Masha doesn’t look remotely mollified. “And he never breaks his promises.”
I don’t miss the flash of pain that crosses Darya’s face.
She promised Alexei that she’d come back for him when she and Deda Sergei escaped the Orlovs.
Although she never talks about it, I know she still feels terrible guilt at leaving her brother, even though it was Alexei’s choice to stay.
Neither of them could have imagined how long it would take for her to see that promise through—nor the bloody circumstances under which they would eventually be reunited.
That’s the thing about promises. You never know how they’ll be fulfilled.
“Alexei wouldn’t have broken his promise to you if he had any choice, myshka,” I say, taking my sister’s hand.
“It must have been something very urgent. But he’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.
” I glance at my brother, who, taking the hint, clears his throat and nods, giving Masha his best attempt at a reassuring smile.
“Alexei had to go away in a hurry,” he says. “But you’ll see him soon.”
Masha’s frown deepens. “When?” she asks bluntly, her bright blue eyes piercing Mickey like lasers.
“Oh, you know Alexei.” Lars, emerging from the shower, saves Mickey by answering for him.
He gives Masha the wide, loose grin that is almost impossible not to return.
“He’s even busier than your papa, and just as terrible at answering questions.
Go and shower, Mickey,” he says, pushing my brother toward his room.
“We need to get moving.” Turning his smile back to Masha, he goes on in his light, infinitely reassuring tone.
“Alexei will be fine, Masha. You’ll see him soon. ”
She stares at Lars for a long moment, and despite her young years, I don’t envy him being pinned beneath her scrutiny.
Masha has an uncomfortable ability to sniff out bullshit, possibly a side effect from spending the first years of her life as the only infant in a world of very unpredictable adults.
“You don’t know where he is either,” she pronounces finally. “And you’re worried about him.”
An uncomfortable silence falls over the room as everyone searches for an answer to give her.
Masha, however, having delivered her judgment, is no longer interested in answers. “We may as well go to that dance shop I told you about,” she says imperiously to Darya, standing up. “There’s no point staying here. They don’t know any more than we do.”
I bite back a smile. Darya casts me an apologetic look.
“Go,” I say, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be fine. Bryce can give me a ride back to my flat.”
“I was planning to spend some time with you,” she says, looking worried.
“Don’t worry. Honestly.” I hug her. “Masha never gets to spend time with you on her own since the boys came along. You should make the most of the weekend and take her shopping. She’ll love it.”
“Are you sure?” Pulling back, Darya scrutinizes my face. “It’s been such a crazy time. I’m sorry about this trouble with Alexei.”
“Oh, don’t be.” I wave her away, giving her my best reassuring smile. “It’s just life, right? And anyway, I want to hang out with Benny and Lourdes.”
She looks relieved. “Of course you do. Well, if you’re sure . . . ?”
“I am.” I hug Masha and see them both to the door, almost hustling them out of it in my haste to get Lars on his own, while Mickey is still in the shower.
Finally they’re gone. I spin around, but Lars, clearly expecting my questions, holds up his hands warningly.
“I don’t know where he is, darling, I swear. As soon as I do I’ll tell you.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Really, Lars? Not the filtered version Bryce and Luis gave me. Alexei left most of his things including his laptop here, so it has to be something urgent.”
“You know Lex,” he says, doing his best to maintain a light tone. “There’s always someone trying to kill him.”
Kill him? Cold horror runs through my veins.
“Oh, darling.” Seeing my face, Lars drops his casual facade. “Lex ran into some trouble in Miami a few days ago. He needs to lie low for a while, out of the US. Mickey and I organized a new identity for him—that’s one of the reasons we didn’t make it to your recital.”
He shakes his head slowly, his uncharacteristically grim expression making him look uncannily similar to Alexei.
Their personalities are so polar opposite that usually the physical likeness between the two is easy to miss, especially given Alexei’s lone eye.
But at times, like now, when Lars can’t quite hide his laser-sharp focus behind the laid-back persona he shows the world, the two of them could almost be twins.
“Then this morning,” he goes on, taking my hand and covering it with both of his, “Lex realized someone had him under surveillance. He went down to confront them. The next thing we knew, there were bullets flying, and he had to make a run for it. He cut comms and disappeared. We have contingency plans in place, so I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later, but for now, that’s it, Ofelia. That’s all I know.”
I stare at him, but somehow I already know he’s telling the truth.
Lars strokes my hand, watching me. Then, reading my eyes, slowly his own narrow in comprehension. “He didn’t run because of you, Ofelia.”
The gentle way he says it is somehow far more devastating than if he’d made a callous remark.
I blink back a sudden, salty-tasting urge to cry, not least the result of the high emotions of the past twenty-four hours.
“And he didn’t just come to Paris because he was running from Miami, either,” Lars continues. “Lex could have gone to a thousand places. He chose to be here, at your piano recital.”
His words are so unexpected, and yet so profoundly what I need to hear, that I grip his hand. “I need to know that he’s all right. Will you tell me when you hear from him?”
He glances down at our joined hands. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I’ll tell you when I hear from him. Although after seeing you together last night, I imagine you’ll hear from him before I do.” A spasm of something I can’t read flashes through his eyes, there and gone.
My face burns with a sudden rush of heat. Lars, taking it in, gives me a twisted smile, his eyes flashing once again with that same emotion, something dark and painful and quite unlike his normal easygoing jocularity.
“Don’t worry about Lex.” There’s a slightly rough edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. “I’ve spent a lifetime worrying that he’ll die, but somehow he never does. He just never quite manages to live, either.”
Before I can ask what exactly he means by that, Mickey emerges from his suite looking marginally less terrible.
“Come on, Lars,” he says, his voice rasping with exhaustion.
“My father is expecting us. Let’s go.” He glances at me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, unconsciously echoing Lars’s words a moment ago.
“Lex will be fine, Ofelia. He always is.”
Benny and Lourdes don’t emerge from their respective beds until midafternoon, by which stage Mickey and Lars have been gone for hours, sequestered in my father’s hotel a few blocks away.
“How I fall asleep?” Lourdes shakes her head, yawning, her Spanish accent heavier than usual with tiredness. “I am in the Jacuzzi, and Mickey give us cocktails, and this is all I remember.”
“Two minutes in that Jacuzzi,” Benny says, “and I’m ashamed to say both of us could barely stand. Even so, I carried you to bed and tucked you in like the gentleman I am, before passing out myself.” He grins wickedly. “In Lars’s bed, obviously.”
“I am so sad we end the party!” Lourdes sips her coffee, looking adorably disheveled. “But you,” she says, eyeing Benny slyly. “You and Lars are making so much noise when I wake up this morning, I have to put pillow over my head.”
“The man is a fucking god.” Benny is clearly elated, despite looking rather the worse for wear.
“I thought he was a Viking?” I hand him a chilled orange juice, which he gulps gratefully.
“You can call it Heaven or Valhalla,” he says, wiping his mouth and grinning. “Either way, this morning was definitely a religious experience.” He beams, looking entirely unrepentant, and Lourdes giggles.
Neither seems to have noticed anything remotely unusual, which strikes me as strange, given the events of the night.
“This morning?” I try to keep my tone casual. “You’re slipping, Benny. I thought you’d have kept Lars up all night.”
“Sadly, no.” Benny shakes his head. “I have no idea what was in those drinks your brother made, but they were fucking lethal. I could barely stand up after one, and I’m usually indestructible. Fortunately,” he says, giving me a saucy wink, “I had a very pleasant wake-up call.”
I smile blandly, but inside, I’m absolutely seething.
Family business is one thing.
Drugging my friends to get them out of the way is a different matter entirely.
I am going to murder my brother.
Bryce casts me a warning look that only confirms my suspicions. “So,” he says, clearly determined to distract Benny and dissuade me from asking any more awkward questions, “Andersson is actually gay, then? We’ve never been too sure which way he rolls.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure Lars rolls anything on offer,” Benny says cheerfully. He gives Bryce and Luis a flirty glance. “But after the night I just gave him, I predict he’ll roll in my direction again before long.”