Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Let’s go in,” I say, hooking my arm through Artem’s. When we’re close to the door, I give Rodian a sweet smile. “Spending time with Andrei makes you just as grumpy as him, my love.”
“I made the ungrateful fucker toast, but he didn’t want it, saying he’ll wait for you to bring him breakfast,” Rodian complains.
“I’ll take over. Go get some work done,” I say, while popping two slices of bread into the toaster.
“He just said no to toast,” Rodian mutters, pointing at the very dark slices on the counter.
“That’s burned! How can you expect Andrei to eat that?” I walk closer and shake my head. “Did you even put butter on?”
“Of course. It soaked into the bread.”
I give my husband a patient look. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”
When the toast pops up, I wait for the slices to cool before I lather a thick layer of butter and strawberry jam onto them. Taking shredded cheese from the fridge, I sprinkle some over the toast.
“You spoil Andrei,” Rodian says, then he reaches around me and steals one of the slices.
Artem does the same, and as they chuckle, I place another two into the toaster while giving them playful glares.
EPILOGUE
Anastasia
Twenty-five years later…
As the actors take their final bows and the entire theater erupts with applause around us, I let out a happy sigh.
“Gosh, that was amazing,” Isobel, my youngest, says with a dreamy smile on her face. “I want to be an actress.”
God, here we go again.
At nineteen, she’s changed her mind more times than I can count. She can’t decide what she wants to do with her future. She’ll obsess about becoming an actress for three to six months until the next best thing catches her eye.
“Sure,” Andrea, our twenty-one-year-old who we named after Andrei, teases her sister. “You couldn’t even give a speech for your graduation. I’d like to see you get up on stage.”
“Shut up,” Isobel mumbles.
“Don’t start,” I say in my mom voice, and when I get up and walk toward the side corridor to say hi to Charlotte, who’s still working here, the girls quickly catch up with me.
Letting out another sigh, I say, “This is where your father and I met.”
Isobel chuckles. “We know, Mam. You’ve told us the story a kazillion times.”
Whenever I’ve come back here, I always remember the ridiculously handsome man walking into my workshop with a loose button.
In the twenty-five years we’ve been married, Rodian has never ceased to make me feel as special as he did that night.
“There’s Charlotte,” Andrea points out.
She inherited my love for sewing and is studying fashion. During our visits, she loves talking to Charlotte and picking her brain.
I wait for Andrea to hug my former boss before I step closer. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I was so happy when you said you’re coming for a visit. It’s been too long,” Charlotte replies while kissing me lightly on the cheek before hugging Isobel, whose eyes are firmly fixed on the lead actor.
“Don’t think about it,” Andrea mutters to her sister. “Pap will shit himself if you come home with an actor.”
“Language,” I chastise my daughter before we follow Charlotte down the hallway toward my old workshop.
“Lord, how I miss you,” she mutters, tired lines on her face. “What I’d give to find a seamstress with your talent. Move back to the UK and come work for me.”
I let out a chuckle. “Sorry, Charlotte. I’m quite happy at the theater where I’m currently working, and Russia is home.”
“I’ll just have to suffer with the incompetent people they saddle me with,” she complains.
Andrea clears her throat loudly. “Excuse me. What about me?”
“You’re busy studying,” Charlotte replies, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes. She looks at Andrea from over the rim of her glasses that are perched on her nose. “But once you’re done and you need a job, I’d be over the moon to have you.”
“Wouldn’t that be awesome, Mam? Me starting my career at the same place where you did?”
“I think I’d cry my eyes out.” It would be a wonderful place for Andrea to work. Glancing at Charlotte, I ask, “Will you still be here, though? When are you retiring?”
“I’m only seventy-two. I’ll retire when I’m dead.”
We chuckle, but as I walk into my workshop, I come to a sudden stop and gasp.
I’m so surprised to see Rodian and Ruslan, our oldest. They didn’t say anything about coming to the UK.
Then my eye catches on Rodian’s hand as he holds up a button. “I can see you’re busy.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Would you mind sewing it back on?”
Oh my God!
I’m transported back to a time when his temples weren’t gray and the lines on his face weren’t as deep.
“Not at all,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from the overwhelming emotions filling my heart.