“You’re happy today? Good, happy bakers make the best food,” Olga said approvingly.
“How can you tell?”
Olga tutted. “Silly girl. You’re always smiling.”
I stared at her. “I am?”
“You don’t know? Yes, you’re always smiling like a fool. Since the first time I came.” She looked at me distrustfully, like I might be insane and about to bop her over the head with her rolling pin and rifle through her shopping.
“I had no idea. I wonder what it means,” I muttered more to myself than her.
Olga snorted like I was too stupid to live and she’d be asking for overtime for putting up with me. “It means you’re happy, crazy girl.”
Surprise landed on me, followed by a heavy dose of shame and guilt. How could I be happy in my elective captivity with a man who’d shot a cop and beaten my father to a pulp? I was clearly crazy.
“Like you said, I guess only an idiot would be happy in my situation,” I muttered, following her directions around the kitchen.
She eyed me sideways and sighed.“This is a mood for girl talk. You don’t have a friend to talk to?”
“I have you,” I stated flatly.
“I mean girls your age. Ones you can be silly with.”
“Right, I get it. Enough insults for one day. I can only take so much.”
Olga chuckled like a sadist. “Enough? We just started baking. The insults haven’t started yet.”
* * *
That afternoon,I settled in the small library nook in the sitting room and opened the notebook. Olga had forgotten about making me write down the recipe, so the beautiful notebook was blank, brimming with possibility and potential. I enjoyed holding it for a second. It was too pretty to write in, but I had nothing else, and this was my thing. I could write whatever I wanted, journaling or something else. I could write a story.
I chewed the end of the pen I’d found in the kitchen and considered what story I’d write.My mind wandered as I stared at the blank page, doodling. After a moment, I realized I had written something.
You don’t have a friend you can talk to?
I blinked at the words. I did have friends I could talk to, and Kirill had never explicitly forbidden me. I wasn’t sure what to say, but hearing Theo or Fede’s voice might give me the strength to feel grounded in reality again.
I headed for the kitchen. Against all odds, there was a shiny black landline phone in Kirill’s kitchen. I knew it worked because Olga called her friends on it. I stared at it and picked it up gingerly. I put it to my ear, staring at the camera in the corner and knowing Kirill could be watching me at this very moment.
“Who do you wish to call?” a voice demanded in my ear. Yikes, I’d forgotten that all calls from here went through the front desk.
“The Blue Rabbit, on Mulberry Street.” I held my breath as I waited to be told I wasn’t allowed.
“One minute,” the voice said.
To my surprise, the line started to ring. My heart raced at the thought of speaking to someone. Human contact with someone who wasn’t on Kirill’s payroll was exciting. I stared at the camera, willing him to cut me off. Then again, knowing how prepared Kirill was, I had no doubt this phone was here on purpose. He was allowing me to make this call so he could listen and see where my head was at. He was always ahead, and I was finally getting used to the idea.
“You’ve reached the Blue Rabbit. This is Federica.”
I clutched the receiver hard.“Fede.”
“Lori? Holy shit! Are you okay?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat at her familiar voice and her concern. “I’m okay. I wanted to check on Officer Tucker.”
“He’s okay. He’s recovering in the hospital. The bullet didn’t hit anything vital. Where are you?”
I took a deep breath. I could tell her I was at The Tower. It was an easy building to find, considering how famously expensive and exclusive it was. But what then? If she came here, she’d get hurt, and I couldn’t let that happen.