Chapter Eleven
Anastasia sat in the ornate wing-backed chair, looked at her nails and felt totally and utterly bored.
Walter and Kiki had retired for the night and the children had long since been put to bed.
On the other side of the opulently framed fireplace, Dimitri was chewing the fat with Lysander while they watched the flames crackle.
Although they came and went as they pleased, all the adult children lived in the Steinherr mansion, or stayed there when they were visiting from the US or, in Caspian’s case, between surf trips.
It was a given that in a small town like Kristalldorf, they would live in the family’s immense mansion.
After covering American politics and Lysander’s latest cases, Anastasia stood up and yawned performatively.
‘All this legal talk is such a bore,’ she said, with a wince. ‘I’m going to bed.’
Dimitri looked up at his wife to ask if she wanted him to come to bed too. He didn’t even speak before she answered his question out loud.
‘Don’t be silly, you boys stay up all night if you want, I need my beauty sleep.’
‘Night sis!’ Lysander said with a smile, giving her hand a brief squeeze as she walked by.
Dimitri rose to kiss his wife goodnight but she was already out the door. She didn’t care for him to come near her. She didn’t care much for his company at all.
Anastasia was coming through a particularly wild patch when Dimitri arrived in town thirteen years ago; even wilder than her teen years breaking out of boarding school.
She was twenty-four and partied out after doing ridiculous amounts of coke and living it up with every count, prince or rock star who’d blazed through Kristalldorf.
Dimitri Diamandis, with his decent looks, own wealth, and quiet, nurturing manner, was just what Anastasia needed.
She knew she already had a job for life in any one of her father’s hotels if she wanted, although her work ethic wasn’t that of Vivian’s, but on falling in love with Dimitri she realised that perhaps she should try being a mother.
Maybe that was what she was craving. Stability that had been stolen from her when her own mother died when she was just seven.
Dimitri was fifteen years older, the son of a Greek shipping tycoon and a highly respected lawyer.
After a huge wedding in the Alpenrose, and three children in quick succession, Dimitri had served his purpose.
Sex with him was boring and functional, his libido was almost non-existent and at fifty-two he wasn’t ageing well.
Fatherhood had made him lose his hair at an alarming rate, and suddenly his kindness came across as dullness to Anastasia.
Since Ophelia had been born eight years ago, they had sex infrequently, and Dimitri didn’t seem to mind.
Motherhood really hadn’t excited her in the way she’d hoped either.
She loved her three children, of course.
She loved the perks of having a Greek island for the summer thanks to her father-in-law, but she would have preferred it if she could go there on her own.
At least Nanny Iris travelled with them everywhere.
And in term time the children were usually at boarding school.
Anastasia continued down the hall to her and Dimitri’s grand bedroom and slumped back onto the bed without even taking off her boots.
As she stared at the elaborate ceiling rose that held a chandelier, she plotted her next move.
Since motherhood hadn’t inconvenienced Anastasia much, she had enjoyed the perk of hospitality cosplay that comes with Daddy owning a portfolio of hotels.
She had been the head of sales and marketing for all the hotels in the group, before realising she didn’t like number crunching.
She had been the head of banqueting before realising she liked eating caviar more than discussing the margins of it.
And she had been the head of human resources, before realising that people weren’t really her thing.
Anastasia had been eyeing her father’s three chalets in Seven Summits that currently sat vacant yet incurred large weekly cleaning bills.
They could reap revenue and be exclusively hers: she could handle the management of Snowbell, Aster and Orchid: the rentals, the bookings, the staffing.
She could hold events there. Fashion shows and salons.
Cultural gatherings. Taking them on would also give her a constant rotating escape in this small town: a place where she wouldn’t have her baby sister knowing her every move.
So it was highly inconvenient last Christmas, when Walter gifted his daughters the Anna Maria and said they could co-manage it.
Why assume she yearned to co-own a hotel with Vivian of all people?
Anastasia wanted Seven Summits. If she made them a success, perhaps her father would see her as the right heir to take over the Steinherr empire when the sad day came.
Yes, yes, everyone knew Vivian was a workhorse, but surely Anastasia was the face of the business.
As she looked at the chandelier she remembered it was Friday night. Her lover would be back in town. She picked up her phone and dialled a number she had promised she would stop calling, a number she couldn’t resist.
‘I need to see you,’ she purred. ‘Usual place, usual room.’
And within minutes she was heading back down the sweeping staircase.
‘I’m just off to the hotel,’ she said, peering into the drawing room – Lysander and Dimitri were now smoking cigars by the roaring fire.
Lysander was surprised.
‘Now?’ Dimitri asked, puzzled.
‘Yes, there’s some business I need to attend to …’
‘OK, don’t work too late,’ Dimitri advised.
‘I won’t,’ Anastasia said, leaving the mansion, wrapped in her long fur coat, with nothing underneath except a see-through net negligee.
As she stepped into the cold night her nipples tingled as she gave a furtive look at the Anna Maria on the other side of the river and carried straight down the left bank, towards the Silberblick, which was managed by a discreet German who was so terrified of Anastasia he never queried her regular use of room 204.
She didn’t like to conduct her affairs right under her sister’s nose. It wasn’t good for business or family.