“I saw a children’s art exhibit when we were in New York. I was impressed by how sophisticated some of it was. It made me think, what if some of your orphans painted pieces for an auction? Here, let me show you.” She reached into her purse for her phone, pausing to listen to something Clair was saying about another event they had tried.
Beside him, Aleksy snorted.
Mikolas dragged his gaze off Viveka, lifting a cool brow of inquiry. He had let things progress naturally between the women, not pursuing things on the business front, willing to be patient rather than rush fences and topple his opportunity with the standoffish Russian.
“I find it funny,” Aleksy explained. “You went to all this trouble to get my attention, and now you’d rather listen to her than speak to me. I made time in my schedule for you tomorrow morning, if you can tear yourself away...?”
Mikolas bristled at the supercilious look on the other man’s face.
Aleksy only lifted his brows, not intimidated by Mikolas’s dark glare.
“When we met in Athens, I wondered what the hell you were doing with her. What she was doing with you. But...” Aleksy’s expression grew self-deprecating. “It happens to the best of us, doesn’t it?”
Mikolas saw how he had neatly painted himself into a corner. He could dismiss having any regard for Viveka and undo all her good work in getting him this far, or he could suffer the assumption that he had a profound weakness: her.
Before he had to act, Viveka said, “Oh, my God,” and looked up from her phone. Her eyes were like dinner plates. “Trina has been trying to reach me. Grigor had a heart attack. He’s dead.”
* * *
Mikolas and Viveka left the party amid expressions of sympathy from Clair and Aleksy.
Viveka murmured a distracted “thank you,” but they were words that sat on air, empty of meaning. She was in shock. Numb. She wasn’t glad Grigor was dead. Her sister was too torn up about the loss when she rang her, expressing regret and sorrow that a better relationship with her father would never manifest. Viveka wouldn’t wish any sort of pain on her little sister, but she felt nothing herself.
She didn’t even experience guilt when Mikolas surmised that Grigor had been under a lot of stress due to the inquiries Mikolas had ordered. He hadn’t had much to report the other day, but ended a fresh call to the investigator as they returned to the hotel.
“The police on the island were starting to talk. They could see that silence looked like incompetence at best, bribery and collusion at worst. Charges were sounding likely for your mother’s murder and more. My investigator is preparing a report, but without a proper court case, you’ll probably never have the absolute truth on how she died. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, accepting that. It was enough to know Grigor had died knowing he hadn’t got away with his crimes.
“Trina will need me.” It felt like she was stating the obvious, but it was the only concrete thought in her head. “I need to book a flight.”
“I’ve already messaged my pilot. He’s doing his preflight right now. We’ll be in the air as soon as you’re ready.”
She paused in gathering the things that had been unpacked into drawers for her.
“Didn’t I hear Aleksy say something about holding an appointment for you tomorrow?” She looked at the clothes she’d brought to Paris. “Not one thing suitable for a funeral,” she murmured. “Would Trina understand if I wore that red gown, do you think?” She pointed across the room to the open closet.
No response from Mikolas.
She turned her head.
He looked like he was trying to drill into her head with his silvery eyes. “I can rebook with Aleksy.”
So careful. So watchful. His remark about coming with her penetrated.
“Do you need to talk to Trina?” she asked, trying to think through the pall of details and decisions that would have to be made. “Because she inherits? Does his dying affect the merger?”
Something she couldn’t interpret flickered across his expression. “There will be things to discuss, yes, but they can wait until she’s dealt with immediate concerns.”
“I wonder if he even kept her in his will,” she murmured, setting out something comfortable to travel in, then pulling off her earrings. Gathering her hair, she moved to silently request he unlatch the sapphire necklace he’d given her this evening. “Trina told me he blamed me for everything, not her, so I hope he didn’t disinherit her. Who else would he leave his wealth to? Charity? Ba-ha-ha. Not.”