Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
SLOANE
I wake to his scent still clinging to the shirt. I don’t remember where I am at first, only registering the softness of the mattress beneath me and the weight of the heavy comforter over my legs, sunlight cutting a pale line across the far wall.
Then last night crashes back in.
Eli. The auction. The gun. Kirill’s hands on me, pulling me off that stage like I was never meant to belong to anyone but him.
Panic stirs in my chest as I wonder if Eli will reach out today, but I force it down and push myself upright, the shirt sliding off one bare shoulder as I head toward the bathroom.
A note waits on the chaise beside folded clothes and a pair of brand-new sneakers.
I lift the thick paper and read his handwritten words.
I picked these up early for you just so you have something for breakfast. Come down when you wake up.
I trace the letters with my fingertip like an idiot. He went out before I even woke up just to make sure I had something to wear.
My God…how am I supposed to not fall in love with him? How is this fair?
I take the towel and robe and head into the bathroom for a quick shower, using his shampoo and soap and hoping he won’t mind. The hot water feels good, and I close my eyes, letting it run over me like it might wash away the ugliness still sticking to my skin.
When I’m done, I dry my hair, dress in the leggings and tank top he left for me, and step back into the bedroom.
My stomach growls as I move into the hallway. At the landing overlooking the foyer, I spot the same guard from last time posted near the stairs. This time, I know where the kitchen is, so after greeting him, I head that way, catching Lev’s laughter drifting closer.
When I make it to the kitchen, I find Lev sitting at the table with a plate in front of him, the long table covered in more food than two people could ever finish.
Kirill stands near the stove, coffee mug in his grip, broad shoulders relaxed in a way that makes him feel lighter somehow.
He looks over the second he sees me, and the smile that spreads across his face is immediate.
“Dobroye utro,” he says, voice low and gruff. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Shyness creeps over me, my face warming as I move closer.
Lev’s eyes round, and the moment he sees me, he rushes off the chair. He barrels into me, arms wrapping around my waist, his cheek pressing into my stomach hard enough to knock the air right out of me.
“Hey, buddy.” I bend to hug him properly. “I missed you too.”
When he finally pulls back, he flashes me one of those rare, full smiles that make even the worst day better. I now realize he only gives them to certain people, and maybe I’m one of the lucky ones.
He takes my hand and pulls me over, then shoves the chair beside his out. “Sit.”
I bite back a laugh at his cute authoritarian, sweet command. Like father, like son.
Kirill chuckles as he moves back to the table. “Yes, please sit and eat. My cook made more than enough.”
“Yeah…” I glance around the table again. “I can definitely see that.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.” I nod. “Milk and sugar, please.”
He picks up the carafe and an empty mug, pours me a cup, then sets it in front of me before grabbing a plate from the center of the table and loading it with food, most of it unfamiliar.
“If you’re going to be staying with us…” His eyes flick up to mine. “You might as well get used to eating a lot.”
“I think I’ll manage.” My lips pinch into a grin. “What’s that?” I point to the round, thick, pancake-looking things he adds to my plate.
“Those are syrniki.” He keeps working as he talks. “Cottage cheese pancakes. And these…” He picks up another one, larger and thinner. “It’s a crepe, but we call it blini. You can eat it with anything, but we like it with caviar.” He glances at me. “Have you ever had it?”
He adds a small spoonful of black caviar to the corner of my plate.
“Uh…definitely not.”
“Well, now you can.” He wraps the blini for me and slides the plate closer. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”
I swear, this feels like a vacation I’ve never been on. As I pick up the crepe, Kirill watches me intently like he cares what I think, and I don’t want to disappoint him.
When the first bite hits, I groan. My God, it’s so good. Mild and rich, the caviar cutting through the warmth of the blini in a way that makes my mouth water for another bite.
“This is so amazing,” I practically moan.
A grin spreads across his face, and the tension in him eases like he’s been holding it until this exact moment. Then he finally takes his own crepe.
“I’m glad you like it. There’s a lot more. Have as much as you want.”
We keep eating in a comfortable kind of silence, and I’m relaxing more with every minute that passes. Then Kirill sets his mug down and looks at his son.
“Lev, do you remember when we talked about needing a new nanny while Papa is working?”
Lev nods while lining up his strawberries on top of his pancakes.
Kirill tips his chin toward me. “Sloane will be your nanny. Do you like that idea?”
Lev looks up at me, studying my face like he’s running some private checklist. Then he gives a firm little nod and goes right back to lining up his strawberries.
My heart flips.
“That,” Kirill says, sounding faintly amused, “was his way of saying he’s happy.” He adds eggs to his plate. “After breakfast, we’ll go shopping. We’ll take Lev with us.”
“Oh. Okay.” I hesitate. “But I just need the basics. Please don’t go crazy.”
He laughs. “I don’t even know what that means.”
As soon as we step into the large boutique, I already know everything here is going to be expensive. I probably couldn’t even afford a single sock, let alone two.
I also don’t miss the Closed for Private Event sign hanging on the door behind us.
A chandelier glitters overhead, the white marble floors shining so brightly they look untouched. A woman approaches in a striking red suit, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“Mr. Marinov. Welcome back.”
Of course he’s been here before.
He nods, one hand resting on Lev’s shoulder, the other settling at the small of my back as he guides me farther inside.
“This is Sloane. She’s my…” His gaze catches mine and my stomach flips. “She’s a good friend, and as I already told you, she’ll be needing a full wardrobe.” His hand presses a little firmer at my back. “And I mean everything.”
The manager claps her hands once. “Of course. We’re delighted to have you. There are pastries and coffee set up in the lounge, and we’ve already selected some pieces based on the sizes you sent ahead.”
She glances at me, taking in my leggings and tank top, and I suddenly want to hide from embarrassment. I probably look like I don’t even belong here—which, duh, I don’t.
Kirill squeezes my hip, and I swear he senses exactly where my mind just went.
“Come with me to the back.” She gestures toward a hallway. “The girls and I will help you try things on.”
Lev climbs onto a sofa nearby, already pulling on his headphones and opening a book about planets.
I hesitate, but Kirill leans closer, his lips near my ear. “You belong here, solnishko. Just like anyone else.”
I want to believe him, but I’ve never fit anywhere, and a place like this is a lifetime away from who I am.
“Go have fun. And I want to see everything you try on.”
“Everything?” I tease, getting brave.
The second the word leaves me, his gaze flicks to my lips and stays there just a little too long.
“Ty menya s uma svedesh,” he growls, biting my earlobe like he can’t help himself.
The reaction is immediate: my pulse stumbling, a throb pulsing between my thighs.
God, this is wrong…but I don’t want to pull away.
“I need you to go to the back now.” He steps away, a fist tightening at his side.
My face burns, suddenly aware of the way his attention clings to me even from a distance.
“And take your time,” he adds as he lowers himself into one of the velvet chairs.
His long legs stretch out as he unbuttons his cuffs and pushes his navy dress shirt up his veiny forearms, and I can’t stop picturing those arms pinning me to the mattress as he takes me roughly.
“Try everything,” he adds. “We’re not leaving until you have what you need.”
What I need is for my heart to stop racing every time he looks at me like that, but I don’t think they stock that here.
The next hour blurs. I’m ushered in and out of a dressing room easily three times the size of my old bedroom, slipping into soft blouses and perfectly cut jeans, cozy sweaters and dresses that fall just right.
They put me in things I never would have taken off a hanger, and every time I step out, Kirill’s gaze moves over me, quietly assessing.
“We’ll take that,” he says when I turn uncertainly in a pale blue floral dress.
“Are you sure?” I smooth the skirt over my thighs, feeling like I’m playing dress-up. “I don’t really have anywhere to wear something like this.”
“You will,” he says simply.
A pale green wrap dress earns the same verdict. So do the lounge sets, the coats, the denim that hugs all my curves.
When I protest—because the growing pile of “yes” pieces is getting ridiculous—he just looks at the saleswoman and says, “All of it.”
“All of it?”
Are you insane, sir?
He cuts me a look that says stop arguing and swivels back to the staff. “She will also need gowns. Formal. Different styles. Events, dinners, charity events. Nothing overly revealing.”
One of the women nods and leads me back into the dressing room.
A moment later, she returns with a rack of shimmering fabrics, rich colors, and delicate beading.
My stomach flips. The idea of standing beside him in places where people actually belong in clothes like this makes me feel painfully out of place.
After I show him a few, he selects five without hesitation.
Then the saleswoman brings out lingerie and nightgowns, and my eyes widen.
“Ugh. I don’t think I’ll be needing those.”