Page 48 of Frozen Heart

The kid pulled out a phone. He kept his voice low, but I still heard him. “Crazy Russian dude’s giving people cash to buy books!”

Soon, I had a crowd around me and a steady stream of kids running over to Bronwyn’s store. I kept it going until I ran out of cash, then swept the broken glass off my seat and drove to a garage.

That night, I was working in my home office when Bronwyn came and leaned against the door frame. “I had a really good day in the store today.”

I glanced up, my face carefully neutral. “Good.”

“Reallygood.” She came closer and I tried not to watch the sway of her hips. “Suspiciouslygood. Kids kept coming in and buying books.”

“Children do love to read.”

“One bought a book on Keynesian economics.”

I looked down at my work. “Precocious child.”

She planted her hands on my desk and leaned forward. I caught her scent, that strawberries and violets smell, and had to look up. She was so close that a few strands of copper hair tickled my nose. Her breasts were swaying forward under her sweater and all I could think about was burying my face between them. But I forced my face to be impassive and just raised one eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she said gently.

There was no point denying it. With hindsight, maybe I should have stopped after twenty kids. But the idea of making her happy had been addictive. “You’re welcome.”

“You can’t do that again,” she told me.

I pouted and frowned. “Yes I can.” I could do it every day and it would barely put a dent in my finances.

She sighed. “I mean...I want to make the store work. But I’ve got to do it on my own.”

I scowled stubbornly. But I had to admire her strength. I hadn’t realized it before, but she reminded me of me, when I first came to America, building things up from nothing. “Very well,” I allowed.

She nodded gratefully and left me to my work. My eyes followed her as she went into the kitchen area, probably to make one of her enormous sandwiches. I suddenly didn’t want to be shut away in here, working. I wanted to be out there, with her…as a couple.

Ridiculous.I had no time for a relationship. I had a corporation to run, an Armenian gang to keep out of our territory and a police investigation to worry about. At any moment, they might find something that linked me to Borislav’s murder, and if that happened I wouldn’t even make it to jail because Spartak would wipe me and my whole family out in revenge.

And yet…I looked down at my paperwork, but I couldn’t concentrate. Even without seeing her, I knew exactly what she was doing, her little ritual burned into my mind. The way she peered into the refrigerator so seriously, figuring out exactly which toppings to use...the way she hummed to herself as she buttered the bread. It wasmilyy.Sweet.

My fingers stiffened on my pen.Since when did I find things sweet?

Something else was bothering me, too: what had happened with the two car thieves. A few months ago, I’d never have spared them.

It was just a moment of weakness.That had to be the reason, because there was only one other possibility: she was changing me.

That evening, we visited Baba at her new care facility. We’d been going every few days and every time, we could see a small but real improvement: she was able to take a few steps, now, with the help of a couple of walking sticks, and she was talking. Her color was better and there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was doing so much better that we borrowed a wheelchair and took her to a shopping mall so she could get an outfit for the wedding.

I waited patiently while Baba and Bronwyn debated between six different outfits that all looked identical to me. It should have been infuriating but it wasn’t. Every time I glanced at Bronwyn, I felt thisliftin my chest.

Then Baba sent Bronwyn off to look for a matching hat. As soon as Bronwyn was gone, Baba turned to me. “What’s the real story with you and her?” she demanded, her voice slurred but iron hard.

I tried to play dumb. She poked me in the chest with one of her walking sticks, pressing my white shirt so my tattoos showed through. “Don’t bullshit me,Mr. Aristov.I’m old but I still know who’s who in this town. I know what you are. I know there’s something going on.”

I looked her right in the eye. “And yet you haven’t tried to stop the wedding.”

“Because I see the way she looks at you,” said Baba.

Deep in my chest, childish, giddy hope flickered into life. I looked away and straightened my tie, trying to crush the feeling.

“Be careful, Mr. Aristov.” Baba poked me in the chest with her stick again and glared up at me: I knew now where Bronwyn got her fighting spirit. “If you break her heart, I’ll beat you to death with this thing.”

I looked her in the eye, saying nothing. Then I nodded solemnly.