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I released a two-part special on Sunday, free to everyone. If you haven’t read it, you can find it below:
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Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60 | 61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68 | 69 | 70 | 71 | 72 | 73 | 74 | 75 | 76 | 77 | 78 | 79 | 80 | 81 | 82 | 83 | 84 | 85 | 86 | 87 | 88 | 89 | 90 | 91 | 92 | 93 | 94 | 95 | 96 | 97 | 98 | 99 | 100 | 101 | 102 | 103 | 104 | 105 | 106 | 107 | 108 | 109 | 110 | 111 | 112 | 113 | 114 | 115
Katerina’s Point Of View
I was dressed casually and sitting in Diana’s kitchen cafe while Peter paced around the room, arguing with a Maserati dealer who wanted to discuss options and prices before we saw the car. I had no clue what we were buying as long as it was some shade of blue, so I stayed out of the quarrel.
Diana smiled warmly, regarding me as a friend. She slid a creamy double espresso in front of me while whizzing around the kitchen, removing trays of delicious, aromatic Michelin star standard hotel baked goods from ovens and packing them in wicker baskets lined with cotton tea towels.
She grinned apologetically with no time to chat and pointed to the baskets.
“Please help yourself, Katerina. Take anything you want.”
“I ate in bed already, thank you. Are these for Amy’s foundation offices?”
“Yes. By next week, I’ll have lunches being reheated onsite there too.”
“It’s a lot of work, Diana.”
“My father always said that food was the least important thing on everyone’s mind until they felt hungry.”
“How is he?”
“Who? My daddy?”
“Yes.”
“He died a few years ago. I miss him terribly.”
It wasn’t the right time to investigate why Diana lied to me. Whatever was going on between her and her father was none of my business, so I left well alone, determined to find her missing parent discretely and sensitively.