Russian Lullaby (Russian Love Book 1)
While Gia finished her breakfast and then returned to put on her jeans and brush her teeth, Vitaly called Maksim. Just in case she happened to return and overhear him before the conversation ended, he spoke in Russian.
“Maksim, I need a favor.”
“I am always pleased to assist, my friend. What is it?”
“I need a priest.”
“Did you kill someone?”
“Not today. I’m getting married and the ceremony must be performed quickly. Tomorrow would be good.”
“Married?” The man at the other end of the line coughed on his swallow of morning coffee. “Livy, did you hear? Vitaly’s getting married!”
Vitaly heard the murmur of a woman’s voice, then Maksim spoke again. “Livy says it better not be that blonde gold digger she saw you with at the club last month, or she will put a hex on your children.”
Vitaly chuckled. Sweet Olivia was far too softhearted to curse any child. But the woman’s judgment was always perceptive and uncannily accurate. “No, that woman was a short fling. Olivia was correct, as usual; Riley was not for me.”
“So, who is this unknown woman who has so suddenly captured your heart?”
“The Culebras kidnapped the wrong woman.”
“Yes, yes, I know that. You offered to buy her from them for five thousand dollars.”
Vitaly was not surprised that Maksim knew the details of yesterday’s debacle. He had informants everywhere. “She’s innocent and I’m claiming her as mine.”
“That is most impetuous of you.”
Sometimes I can't seem to muster my thoughts into any organization whatsoever. Today's one of those days. So, I'll meander and you can follow as you wish.
Celebration of "a certain age." I'm a woman of a certain age and my children are grown. Unlike many mothers, I don't mourn my children reaching adulthood; I celebrate and appreciate the newfound freedom I have. To that end, I bought a new car. Since I no longer have to haul kids' stuff, their friends, or umpteen bags of groceries every week, I no longer need the reliable, practical wagon. From here on out, the most frequent back seat passenger will be my dog. So, the wagon's gone to serve a new family. I have a fun little car to drive now.
Critique conundrum. I was hired to read and critique a manuscript, a very long manuscript (over 200,000 words). The story contains multiple, intertwined plots and is, overall, well written. It draws me in and I forget I'm supposed to be keeping a sharp eye out for flaws. Excellent work on the author's part, not so much on mine.
A new state of busy-ness. I found myself in the enviable position--for the first time--of informing a potential client that I could not accept his project right now. My schedule's booked for the next several weeks. I've heard of freelancers who have a 6-month backlog of work scheduled--a feat I've not yet mastered. However, it's nice to have built the business to that point. Which leads me to ...
Slow progress on the WIP. Because of the heavy workload, I've put in much less time than expected on the latest manuscript. With progress having slowed down, my cockiness at thinking that book will be ready for release a month earlier than anticipated isn't justified. Don't fret: it will get done, just not by the end of this month.
No progress on the new horse. You may remember that I bought a new horse, Diva, in July. I brought her home on July 28 and quickly discovered I was overfaced. I hired a trainer, a young woman who came out to my farm to to work with her. Diva proved more of a challenge than that young woman could handle, too. So, I engaged the services of a trainer with decades of experience working with "problem" horses and moved Diva to a training barn. Of course, nothing goes as planned. The new trainer was supposed to have started working with Diva last weekend, but a serious illness suffered by her barn manager postponed that while she fills in for him.
More equine news. Last year I sold my younger son's pony whom he'd long since outgrown. She went to a good home to continue her ministry of teaching children to ride. Unfortunately, the little boy who rides her has lost interest: he wants to play with ATVs that have engines instead of hooves. So, it looks like Sage will be coming back to us. Anyone need a fabulous walk-trot pony that excels in dressage?
Revised schedule. If you didn't notice, this blog was posted a day earlier than usual. I decided too much was happening on Wednesdays and now intend on posting my usual blog on Tuesdays. Let's see how long I can manage that, shall we?
This week's writing prompt is "my secret snack."
Really, I can't think of any sort of snack that I keep secret. It's not like I hide in the bathroom to munch cookies (cue the Pepperidge Farm commercial for Milanos cookies) or stash chocolates in weird places where no one can find them.
I'll snatch--not sneak--olives or pickles, almonds or tortilla chips, yogurt or fruit from the kitchen when I've got the munchies. If someone baked brownies, I'll help myself to those. But I've always been open about my snacking, even if it's practically a light meal of wine and cheese. The closest I've come to a secret snack is an occasional mouthful of coconut flakes. I especially enjoy the sweetened ones. I seldom eat candy, except for chocolate.
As you can see, my tastes are eclectic. Put baklava in front of me and I show no shame in gobbling that down. That's about the only way to persuade me to eat anything with walnuts. Offer me some already cubed watermelon or cantaloupe and I'll cheerfully accept and munch away. I have noticed that I tend to favor salty or sweet snacks, not so much sour or bitter flavors. And I don't do spicy-hot, because I enjoy being able to taste my food. Heat is not a flavor.
Besides, if I did have a secret snack, do you think I'd reveal it to the world?