“What may I get Your Imperial Highness this morning?” Ludmila asked. “I liked it better when you called me Frenchie.” “I will do no such thing, Your French Highness.” She winked. Pasha laughed. “You may have anything you see.” Ludmila spread her arms wide, showcasing not only the Russian staples—honey poppy-seed rolls, Tula gingerbread, walnut-shaped oreshki cookies filled with caramel—but also a special glass case behind her. “You’ve outdone yourself, Madame Fanina.” She curtsied, although it appeared more like an amiable bear bobbing than a proper curtsy. “I admit I had some help from
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