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Proserpina

We settled down and I felt the tension knotting my stomach.

“Coffee?” I asked pleasantly, my eyes on Katrina who looked as though she would burst into tears. The shrewish aunt had been grumbling and making some rather sharp remarks in her language all the way to the living room. She was now looking around, her envy written large on her sallow face.

Gosev’s fiancée looked anxious.

Our living room, the one we used to entertain important guests, was large and furnished with trinkets and pieces of art that I had collected painstakingly, lovingly, over the years.

I sighed and clenched my fists as I wondered what sort of situation was being discussed in the study where my husband was holding a meeting. A short while later, we heard the loud rumble of engines, powerful ones as vehicles drove out from the underground basement.

The rat-faced woman turned to me, her face ashen.

“What is happening?” she shrieked in heavily accented English, jumping up to her feet.

“I insist on being t