“I understand that completely.” I crossed my legs. “So, you never wanted the traditional idea of a woman’s life?”
“When I was twelve, my mother died on her knees, scrubbing our kitchen. She’d forgotten to eat for days too busy taking care of us and not herself.”
I found the idea of that odd.
My mother was the complete opposite. Once she called me, complaining that one of her maids had taken off due to sickness and that it had forced her to figure out what the kitchen staff needed to prepare for dinner. One would have thought she’d been abused from all the whining.
Dima spoke, “Mom, you barely talk about my grandfather.”
“Because my father had bold beliefs and strong hands—ones that no one could escape, not even my brothers.” She fisted her fingers in her lap. “He built a small empire with stolen goods and thought he was a king. But he wasn’t.”
I quirked my brows. “What happened to him?”
“Someone killed him.”
“Did they find out who?”
She gazed out of the window. “I have no idea. My brothers and I fled the country after it.”
Hmmm. Doesn’t sound like that is a tough mystery to solve.
I left that topic alone and stared out the window too.
Two people in yellow suits opened another set of iron gates.
The limo drove through and continued down the road and ended at a luxury manor. The towering structure reminded me of Walsh Estates.
When the limo parked in front, three older gray men stood outside, donning designer suits and polished shoes. They were tall with muscular builds similar to Dima. Gray hair highlighted their hair.
One opened the door. “How was it?”
“Sad.” Mrs. Ivanov left the limo. “I need a drink.”
Dima climbed out and offered me his hand.
I used it to exit the limo.
Dima gestured to the man. “Rose, This is my Uncle Kirill.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand.
The other two men came to me.
Dima nodded at them. “And this is Uncle Artyom and Uncle Maxim.”
“You’re a very beautiful woman.” Maxim kissed my hand. “If I was younger—”
“You would get shot,” Dima finished.
Maxim loudly laughed, so much that he had to hold his stomach.
Smiling, Artyom stepped to me and moved his hand around in the air.
Oh. He’s speaking to me in sign language.
Dima sighed. “He said hello.”
Maxim grinned. “Artyom said more than that, Dima.”
“What did he say?” I smiled.
Maxim spoke, “Artyom said, ‘Now that he’s seen you, his soul has awakened and filled with the most enchanting light.’”
“That is so beautiful. Thank you.” I held out my hand to shake his.
Artyom signed something else and shook my hand.
Maxim translated, “He will forever be in your service.”
Dima rolled his eyes.
Mrs. Ivanov chuckled as she continued forward. “Come, Rose. Let the boys catch up. I want to show you around.”
The three uncles turned to Dima. Their faces no longer held humor. Their expressions were stern and serious.
Dima crossed his arms over his chest. “My uncles and I will need to catch up on things, Rose. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Nodding, I walked off with Mrs. Ivanov.
Why do they look upset with him?
Mrs. Ivanov spotted me watching Dima talk to his uncles and waved it away. “Don’t worry for Dima. Those are his uncles, respectfully requesting an update on what’s going on in Paradise. Sometimes it’s difficult for the older generation to let go of things.”
She guided me up the stairs. “Death is always bad for business. No matter what sort of business. Don’t you agree?”
I approached this topic carefully by remaining quiet and nodding.
A butler opened the door. “Would you like tea, Ms. Walsh?”
“No, thank you.”
A staff waited by with their heads bowed.
And the grand tour began.
The mansion was massive. There was no way she showed me everything. In the back there was a tennis court and croquet lawn. On the main level, there was a swimming pool, billiards room, bowling alley, and wine cellar.
Upstairs was even bigger.
There, we only went into one room at the end of a long carpeted hallway.
She gestured for me to enter.
I did.
“This is Dima’s old bedroom.”
“Oh.” For some reason, excitement bubbled through me.
I walked further inside, drinking in every detail.
A king size bed stood in the center of the room, unlike most beds that had one side of the bed close to the wall. No other furniture existed in the room. Meanwhile, large oil paintings of Dima covered every inch of the walls.
“When Dima stays, he never sleeps in here anymore.” She frowned. “I have no idea why.”
I took in the various paintings of him on the wall. They were all at different stages of his life. One showed him as a baby. Others displayed him growing into a little boy, complete with his private school uniforms on. Then, there were the paintings of him as a teen. In each one, he looked uncomfortably withdrawn and thoroughly annoyed that he was modeling for the painting at all.