I handed him back the glass of water and pushed to my feet. If they wouldn’t let me see Theo, there was nothing left for me there. “Thank you. I shall manage.”

Yet I couldn’t, in the end. My eyes blurred, I lost my way on those narrow medieval streets, and instead of the train station, I ended up at the foot of the looming Dom Tower. A menacing dark angel indeed.

Tears raced down my face. How was I going to find my way through life when I couldn’t even find my way to my train?

I was a widow at twenty-eight, without funds. My little son had no father. What would become of us?

Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt. Standing hurt.

Every heartbeat was a punch of pain.

Chapter Twenty-One

Emsley

Sergei Prokhorov stopped by Thursday morning to look over the contents of the house. My age, reddish-blond hair, angular features. He took one look at me and asked, “Have you been crying?”

“Theo van Gogh died. And so soon after Vincent.”

“The Library of Alexandria burned. That’s what gets me going.”

He was so serious, somehow I ended up laughing.

He laughed with me. “Bram told me a lot of nice things about you.”

I refused any pleased flutters. Bram could be impressed with me all he wanted. I was not impressed with him.

Lai Fa was pecking at my heel, so I picked her up. “This is Lai Fa. Come in, please. Bram said you were cousins. You don’t look alike.”

“I was adopted from Russia. With love. Hello, Lai Fa. Aren’t you sweet?” Sergei petted her fuzzy head, then looked around with awe. “Violet Velar’s own diva den. I’ve been anticipating this since Bram told me he gave you my number. He said the goodies were downstairs?”

Lai Fa squirmed, and I let her go to hunt for stray ants, whose existence by the back door she’d only just discovered earlier.

“This way.” I directed Sergei to the basement door.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped in his tracks. “You weren’t kidding about the stuffed bear. You know, it has potential. There are a couple of interior designers I know who specialize in trust-fund-baby bachelor pads.”

I thought of the ultramodern penthouse condo Trey’s older brother had bought as an investment in San Diego the year before, the giant stuffed moose head over the modern marble fireplace “for contrast.” Sergei was right. I could see the bear in that glass-and-steel foyer.

“How are you going to take it upstairs?” I didn’t want him to think, even for a second, that I’d be doing that.

“I have a crew.” Sergei walked to the wardrobe and ran a finger over the wood. “The walnut inlay is exquisite. Charles the Tenth.”