Possessed hearts - стр. 12

– Was that irony, or does she really think her party is a fun place to be? – I asked Misha quietly and winked at her.

Misha smiled silently and elbowed me in the side.

We went into the second great hall, called the "little drawing room" in the Morgan castle, and, as Mariszka had told us, we found Fredrik, our father, and the Morgan elders there. They were discussing something, reclining in large blue-covered armchairs. But as I remembered from the last time I'd been here, the chairs were different. Black. Impressive. Gloomy. Like the castle itself. But I immediately realised what had caused these new blue chairs – Mariszka's excellent taste. Excellent, but boring. Markus's parents had finally moved on, ceding the throne to Mariszka, and dared to infringe on the sacred – Mr. Morgan's favourite armchairs.

The first person I glanced at after looking at the chairs was Fredrik. I smiled: he was still as cold and calm as I'd always known him to be. I guess Misha and her temperament only makes him happy, because he loves solving problems so much. When did we have an affair… Was it really twelve years ago? But I remember it as vividly as if we broke up only yesterday. When Fredrik was with me, he was eager to decide everything for both of us. But I'm not Misha. I was attracted to him, but it wasn't a love that would make me a blind slave. No, I'm not saying my little sister is his slave. It's just that she's so in love with him that sometimes she lets him take over and surrender to his decisions. Like their move to Stockholm, for example. Misha confessed to me that this city frightens her a little with the number of people (though should she be frightened of them?) and that she would prefer to live in Oxford, which she loves so much despite the fact that it was there that she had her first bad experience with mortals. But Fredrik "affectionately" insisted on moving to Stockholm. The first week after their move, Misha did not speak to her husband, but then she forgot her offence. She knows how to forgive.

I don't. My heart remembers all the offences and all the insults that were committed and said to me. Sometimes I think I am heartless. But, alas, I do have a heart. But how I wish I could get rid of it, to be free from its shackles! Well, now, once again my train of thought brings me back to this…

And I rushed to my father to embrace him. He's always happy to see me. No matter what I've done. I needed to distract my mind, which had betrayed me, at the same time as my heart.

– I've been waiting for you to talk to your mother and sisters and hug your father," my father said jokingly, squeezing me in his cosy parental embrace.

– It's just that I met them first. You didn't come out to meet me, did you? Misha even ran," I said jokingly, and, pulling away from my father, turned to the Morgans. – Mr. and Mrs. Morgan! How are you? And how do you like Russia?

– 'Hello, Maria, it's good to see you,' Mrs. Morgan said to me amiably. She rose from her chair and extended her hand to me. I shook it with a smile. – We do like living in Russia, but sometimes we long to go home to Prague.

Well, you can't blame Mrs. Morgan for that: she's Czech, and the Czech Republic will always be her home. Fortunately, I am a cosmopolitan, and Poland, where I was born and spent my early years, did not evoke warm emotions in me, nor was it associated with my "home nest".