[ANASTASIA]
Twelve hours – that’s how long it takes for us to fly to Kazan.
Ivan insisted on taking the private plane, and I didn’t mind. The sooner we finished the formalities, the better the chances were for Ivan Jr. to start schooling.
To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. I feel much more than that; I’m anxious and restless. I can’t even sit for longer than a few minutes, constantly getting up and changing seats. If Ivan has been bothered by my constant movement, he hasn’t said anything so far, for which, of course, I’m thankful.
I don’t need anyone to nag me at my age and circumstances—especially the man sitting right across from me, my precious husband, Ivan Volkov.
“Here, try this,” I hear Ivan say, and I open my eyes only briefly to see what he’s offering.
After seve
