Buds of lilac that tasted of his kisses, and sunflowers and yellow roses and willows that dipped into water, but that wasn’t right...
Yes, she had stuff to sort out too. Demyan had been right because she painted holly and not with Christmas in mind. It meant—am I forgotten?
It was for her father, not that he’d ever see it, and the prickles cut deep as Alina shaded them in.
Then her heart returned to Demyan.
She painted and painted—Yellow Chartreuse liqueur that had rolled on his tongue, but in Alina’s style. She explored the flowers in the secret recipe that had graced his lips, the violets and saffron, the sharpness of citrus that had been the ingredients when there had been Nothing Left to Lose.
She had everything to lose now.
Alina cried as she painted their story, but they were healthy tears, good tears as he escaped through her fingers and, like the tiny life inside her, Alina grew.
So lost in her work was Alina she nearly didn’t hear her phone but whoever it was they were persistent.
‘Alina, it’s Elizabeth.’ Alina stared at the piece she was working on as Elizabeth spoke on. ‘I have a very exciting offer just in. Two months in Dubai and there’s a substantial bonus for you at the end.’ Alina swallowed as she considered it.
The money was amazing and her pregnancy wasn’t showing yet. She could return in eight weeks with security, except she had a stall booked to display her work. The easiest thing would be to say yes, yet she could almost see Demyan’s black smile as she took the easy option.
‘Alina?’
‘Elizabeth, it sounds amazing but I’m going to have to say no. I’ve got other work organised.’
She almost called Elizabeth back. Her work at the café might last a while longer, but single motherhood and waitressing at night wasn’t exactly a mix. She could get ahead now, Alina told herself, and concentrate on her artwork once the baby was here... She was so torn that she answered the phone without thinking, and then she heard a voice that had her heart racing all over again, propelling her to run, just as she should have the first night outside the restaurant.
‘Alina...’
She almost folded over at the sound of his voice.
‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you. I just wanted to see if you were okay.’
That was a lie. Not a complete one. He needed to know that she was okay, but more than that he needed to hear her voice, a voice that had always soothed him.
Just not today.
‘Why wouldn’t I be okay, Demyan?’ Alina’s voice was sharp, bitter but better that than broken. ‘Oh, that’s right, sorry, I forgot, I’m supposed to be pining.’
‘Alina,’ he said.
‘Curled up on the bed, or drowning my sorrows in wine. Sorry to disappoint you...’
‘You never once have.’
She closed her eyes at the slight huskiness she heard near the end, which told her that he was hurting too.
And to make herself strong Alina picked up the magazine she’d swiped from the doctor’s and stared at the images.