Joy
I wake up the following morning, rushing to the window. I tear open the drapes. And gasp.
The body is gone. And a gardener is walking over right where the man was laid, trimming the hedges.
I zero in on the blade. It looks very long. And sharp. You could slice off someone’s head with that thing.
Maybe that’s the kind of thing I need to get out of here.
Valerian has doubled down on the guards. That means leaving will be even more of a challenge.
Honestly, it’s probably best to abandon the mission for now. Men are out there trying to kill Valerian. And these men are working for Igor, apparently.
Igor knows about me. And he’s pissed. He saw my face when we walked in on me and Valerian. He knows how attracted I am to his father.
I’m sure his men won’t hesitate to stab me, either.
I basically stabbed Igor in the back by opening my legs for his father.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair, groaning. The hedge trimmer starts up, the shrilling sound killing the silence. I watch the blade attack the hedges, leaves flying everywhere.
I’m sure it would have the same effect on human skin.
I have to pinch myself. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Valerian has planted seeds in my head.
I’ve never really thought about the logistics of murder before.
God, if Mom knew what was really going on here…
I swallow the thought and head to the bathroom, getting ready for another day in paradise.
In a way, it’s exactly that.
I walk downstairs, in no major rush. By now, I’d be two flat whites into my morning, making a third on my break.
I give myself a ten-minute break every two hours. Discipline is everything when you’re writing for one of the biggest fashion magazines in Los Angeles…
My head feels at peace this morning. I take my time making a coffee, smelling the different beans, seeing which one takes my fancy. Valerian has a big selection.
“How about some eggs, Miss. Joy?” suggests Galina, walking into the kitchen. She ties an apron around her plump midriff. “I make it good. How do you say over here? Sunny side up?”
“How about I make the breakfast this morning?” I unhook a pan from the shelf above the stove. There are a dozen different ones to choose from. “Sit back and relax. I’ll make you a coffee.”
“No, Miss Joy.”
I make a start, squiggling oil into the pan. “Please. I insist.”
“Mr. Valerian pays me to look after you.”
“I can do that perfectly fine myself.”
“Mr. Valerian does not like it when I go against the rules.”
I glance over my shoulder, watching Galina carefully.
Her eyes are wide and staring. She looks scared. Almost as if she’s trying to warn me about something.
After the horrors of last night, it’s safe to say everything is out in the open.
“Mr. Valerian won’t like if you also go against rules.”
“Well,” I sneer, getting back to the eggs, “he hasn’t killed me yet.”
Galina’s laugh is full of apprehension.
“Does Valerian always bring victims back to his house and kill them?”
Galina goes mute.
I peer over my shoulder again. “Galina?”
“I really must cook your breakfast, Miss Joy.” She shuffles forward and tries taking the spatula from my hand.
“Ah! Not so fast, missy.” I use the spatula, pointing to the island. “I don’t care what Valerian says. You work hard, and you’re always taking care of me. Let me return the favor.”
“Okay. But quickly, Miss Joy.”
Galina sits on the edge of her seat until I’m done cooking.
I sit across from her, and we eat in silence. Only then does the tension disappear from her shoulders.
She really is frightened of Valerian.
I should be too.
But I’m blinded most of the time by how attractive he is.
Galina takes my empty plate, sorting the dishes before I have a chance to do them myself.
I change into my bikini, heading outside to enjoy another day of relaxation. I have lots of pages left to read in my book. And sunrays to soak up.
This makes a change to writing every day.
Before I came here, I was always writing. And always inside. Igor used to tell me to go outside. No way. My laptop was old, prone to heating. Looking back, he could have bought me a new one with all that money. He had a preppy apartment. Nice clothes. What was a new laptop for the woman he loved?
Yeah, he never loved me.
But I can’t be too mad. I don’t think I ever loved him, either.
I wet my finger, turning over the next page in my book. I’m reading something about Vogue. An autobiography. I don’t know exactly. But it’s nice being the reader for a change, instead of the highly-caffeinated writer trying to drag herself from one deadline to the next.
I spend another few hours soaking up the sun.
In the afternoon, I take a shower at my own leisure, treating my skin to very expensive skincare. One particular product catches my eye. The smallest one. I wrote a column on this once. Four hundred bucks. That’s what it retails at.
Bonkers. I unscrew the lid, squeezing the dropper.
I smooth the serum over my face. It’s definitely worth the money. It smells amazing. Makes the skin feel restored.
I screw the cap back on, narrowing my eyes.
Why the fuck does Valerian have this stuff in his house? Is it from Igor’s mother?
She died, right? Why is he still holding onto all of this stuff years later?
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, watching the disappointment come into fruition on my face. There’s one very simple answer to that question—he’s still holding onto her.
I wonder how she died. Valerian never told me at the dinner table. He must not like to talk about her. Igor was the same.
Maybe it was a real tragedy for both of them. Maybe that’s why they drifted.
Mothers tend to be the glue keeping the family together.
I slot the skincare products into their designated containers where I found them, and head downstairs in my bath robe.
I enter the drawing room. I need a new book to read. And Valerian has quite a selection. I slot the Vogue autobiography back into the shelf. Maybe Igor’s mother bought that.
Come to think of it, I don’t even know if her and Valerian were married.
I glide my finger over book spines, figuring out what to read next. Lots of archived Vogue magazines have been shoved to the side. Huh. Looks like Igor’s mother was into fashion. I bet we would have gotten along.
I hear measured footsteps clacking down the polished hallway. This will be Valerian. I can tell from the way he walks.
“Afternoon, Joy.” His face lightens up a touch when he sees me. “I was starting to think you’d escaped.”
I crop my eyebrow up at him. “You know I’d never do that.”
“No. You wouldn’t. And you’d be a fool to try and leave after everything I told you last night.” He steps more into the room. “I’m having a party tonight.”
I look Valerian up and down. That’s not very like him. He doesn't seem like the type to let loose. Ever.
I frown. “A party? Really?”
“That’s right. My Bratva and I like to get together. Have some drinks. I shouldn't have to explain what a party is to you, right, Joy?”
“Right.”
The last party I went to was years back. It was during junior year. I was seventeen. I did one shot of vodka and almost collapsed.
I never really built up my tolerance.
I narrow my eyes at Valerian. “I thought you were in the middle of a crisis.”
“I have inconveniences. Not crises.” Valerian comes closer to me. “Igor and his friends seem to have forgotten how much power I hold.”
I’m not so sure about that. Valerian loves to let everyone know via punishment. And murder.
He continues. “There will be some press there to photograph the event. I’ll make sure we’re on the front cover of a few magazines tomorrow.”
“We?”
“Well, not you, sweetheart.” Valerian tips his head at me. “I’m talking about my Bratva.” He brushes my chin. “You’re my precious little secret.”
Cameras? Being on the front cover of the tabloids?
Sounds like the photographers could be my ticket out of this place.
“Blue?” I take the dress of the rail.
“Yes, Miss Joy. Like your eyes,” says Galina.
“I told Valerian I’d feel more comfortable wearing black.”
“Mr. Valerian make all decisions in his home, Miss Joy.”
“Yes,” I say, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “You can say that again.”
“We’ll do makeup first.” Galina claps with excitement. She’s smiling. This is the first time I’ve seen her do that. “Oh, Miss Joy! You are going to look fabulous.”
I swizzle around in the vanity mirror, facing her. “Do you do this a lot?”
“Oh,” says Galina, rifling through drawers, all giddy. “Never. Miss Joy.”
“But what about Igor’s mother? Didn’t she used to live here?”
Galina looks up. All of the excitement drains from her face. She falls into a trance. It’s like she’s looking through me.
My spine tingles. I feel like there’s somebody behind me, the way she’s looking at me.
There is, technically—my reflection.
“Galina?”
The maid shakes out of her trance. She finishes up in the drawers, makeup in hand, and approaches me.
“Did you ever meet Igor’s mother?” I continue. She knows the answers to my questions. I know she does. “Was Valerian married to her?”
“We don’t speak about past, Miss Joy. Gets us in trouble.”
Right. Of course. I forget Valerian pays her to keep silent.
I lift my chin as she does my makeup. But there’s a weird feeling in my gut.
And it doesn’t go away when I enter the lobby—the room where the party’s being hosted.
I hold onto the banister, taking my time with each step. The marble walls amplify the sounds of the party. The clinking glasses. The laughter. Valerian even hired a string quartet. Legato melodies ring through the high ceilings.
There’s so much empty space in Valerian’s estate. Now I know why—he likes to hold extravagant parties. And those require a lot of space.
Tonight, all of that space is filled with people I’ve never seen in my life.
My skin flushes. I can feel a pair of eyes scolding me. Looking up, I see him. His eyes cut across the room to me.
“You are a vision, printsessa,” he says when I finish walking down the stairs.
“I wanted to wear black.”
“You work in fashion. You of all people should know it’s a boring color.”
Technically, black isn’t a color. But whatever.