Chapter 15 - Elisse
“No, not there.” The guard blinked at me, clearly unsure whether he was allowed to argue with me or not.
Although it seemed as if he knew better than to argue with the mistress of the house.
“The light hits from the west in the afternoon,” I continued, pointing toward the far wall.
“If you hang it there, the colors will die.”
He looked at Viktor, who turned to me, and then, without a word, he nodded to the guard.
“Move it.”
The painting, one of Fyodor’s minimalist, cold, painfully expensive pieces, was lifted carefully from its original position and carried across the living room while I stood at some distance with folded arms, silently assessing.
It looked better now. Much warmer than before because of the new placement.
It now looked like a painting displayed in a house rather than in a showroom.
Ilana would be proud of me if she saw me making all these changes. I turned towards the guards again.
“Now shift the sofa two feet forward,” I added. “And I want the rug centered properly. It’s very off. How has no one noticed this before?”
“It’s not off,” Mikhail muttered under his breath from near the hallway, staring at something on his tablet. I turned to look at him, pinning him with a look, and he immediately straightened.
“It is,” I said coolly. “By at least three inches, and someone as observant as you should have noticed it way earlier, but it seems to me you hardly notice much around here, do you, Mikhail?”
He crouched, measured with his eyes, and then frowned faintly.
“You are right, Mrs. Romanov,” he replied, “It is a little off.”
Viktor watched the entire scene like it was a negotiation he hadn’t prepared for, a small, amused smile playing on his face.
The two of them had been entertaining my little whims for over an hour now when I had walked inside the study and had asked them to fetch the guards because we had some changes to make around the house.
To my surprise, both of them were being extremely patient as well, because I knew I was being largely unreasonable.
“This is unnecessary,” he said finally.
“So is half the security detail you have installed all around here, but are we complaining about that?” I replied sweetly, even though it did feel like a lash out.
Neither of them deserved my lash out since they were simply following Fyodor’s orders, but I didn’t care. I needed an outlet for my anger.
To my surprise, my question was met with silence, but then Viktor almost smiled.
“You are well within reason, Mrs. Romanov,” he said.
“Of course I am.”
I stepped towards the large glass table and picked up the legal pad I had been writing on since morning.
The list was meticulous. I had asked for six large female mannequins, sketch pads, charcoal sticks, graphite pencils, both in soft and hard grades, oil paints, linseed oil, A needs stand table, fabric samples in jewel tones, rich shades of velvet, an entire collection of the finest silk in multiple shades, wool blends, thread, and dress forms. If I were going to be trapped here, I would not be sitting idle much longer.
I would not be a decorative hostage or pace like an animal until my brothers came to rescue me.
I would much rather build something and do something useful with my time.
Everyone had been asking me to stop doubting myself and finally begin designing my own collection, and I already had a lot of ideas. It was about time I got to it as well.
“Have this delivered by tomorrow,” I said, handing the list to Anya, who had appeared quietly near the kitchen entrance. Her eyes skimmed the list, widening slightly.
“All of this, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated only briefly before nodding.
“Of course. It will be done. I will send the servants to survey the markets right away.”
“And I want the spare bedroom cleared out,” I added. “Completely. I’ll use it as my studio.”
Viktor straightened.
“That room faces the secondary corridor.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s less secure.”
“Then secure it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment.
“You’re very comfortable issuing orders.”
“I grew up in a house where men shouted them constantly, and I learned to shout them right alongside them,” I replied. “None of this is new to me. I am a Chernykh after all.”
That shut him up, and everyone got back to work at once.
I gave orders and watched as the sofa was repositioned and the rug centered just the way I wanted it.
The painting was rehung, and I stepped back, tilting my head slightly.
The penthouse felt different already, as if it was a little less like it belonged to him and a little more like something that was shared between the two of us.
A joint territory. Or at least a place that was being contested for.
Mikhail approached cautiously after I was almost satisfied with everything and could not think of anything else I wanted to change.
“Anything else, Mrs. Romanov?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I want access to the terrace garden downstairs.”
“That area is monitored.”
“I assumed.”
“It’s not designed for leisure.”
“Then redesign it.”
He glanced at Viktor again, who only sighed faintly in a ‘just do whatever she wants’ kind of way. The two of them had spent years with Fyodor, who issued them orders, and I had tired them of them in just a few hours. I quite enjoyed being such a big problem.
“I’ll review it and make sure it is done,” he said.
“Good,” I replied, walking towards the hallway.
“And rotate the guards near the east wing, please,” I added casually, making both of them freeze just as they were turning around.
“What?” Viktor asked.
“The tall one with the scar on his chin stares too long. It makes me rather uncomfortable to have him just standing there for hours on end.”
Viktor’s expression sharpened instantly.
“He won’t again. I will make sure of it.”
“I know you will.”
I didn’t look back, but I heard the quiet order given in Russian behind me.
The good thing about Viktor’s men was that they were rather efficient.
I liked that about them. Just as I was beginning to settle in, I suddenly heard boot steps going down the hallway, and a quick shift happened all around the penthouse. Viktor was efficient indeed.
I didn’t smile even though it felt like a little win, but I simply noted it.
I noticed everything after all. That was the thing about captivity.
You either let it swallow you, or you map it and bend it according to your will.
I had already been mapping it, but now it was time to bend it.
I walked towards the spare bedroom, and the door opened with a soft click.
It had neutral walls and was filled with empty spaces.
I could see a window overlooking the water, which made me realize it was perfect.
“I want this cleared today so when my things arrive tomorrow, they can simply be kept here,” I told Anya.
“Of course, Elisse. It will be done.”
“And bring me the swatches from the linen inventory. I’m replacing the cushions in the living room.”
“The beige ones in the hall?”
“All of them.”
She nodded, disappearing quickly, and I moved to the window, pressing my fingertips against the glass.
The city stretched below us, bright and alive, and somewhere out there, my brothers were still searching for me.
I was certain they would be planning and preparing.
I could almost feel Iosif’s anger vibrating through the skyline.
They would come. They always did. Fyodor must have hidden me really well for them to be taking so long to get to me.
But until they came, I would not sit here waiting like a relic in a tower.
If I were in this cage, I would carve it into something of my own.
By late afternoon, the penthouse no longer felt sterile.
Anya had sent the servants at once, and everything I wanted had already been bought and delivered.
Fabric samples were spread across the dining table.
Swatches of emerald, sapphire, and deep burgundy dominated the minimalist space, filling it with blooming color.
Quick charcoal sketches littered the coffee table, dominated by sharp lines of imagined silhouettes.
I worked quickly and furiously, designs pouring out of me like something long restrained. I had drawn a dress with an asymmetrical neckline and another with a coat structure and more severe lines. I was no longer thinking about perfection but simply moving and creating and doing what felt right.
The rage I felt turned into texture, and the confusion I had been surrounded with for days now turned into lines on paper.
The ache I felt became color, and I barely noticed when the front door opened and closed in the chaos of it all.
It wasn’t until the air shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, that I felt it. Eyes. His eyes. On me.
I didn’t look up immediately and kept sketching, deliberately, making sure that he continued to watch me as much as I wanted.
I was letting him see that I was not pacing, or crying, or shrinking, but instead I was taking up space.
I was turning his penthouse into mine. Only when the room grew quiet did I glance toward the entryway and notice that he still stood there, suit jacket still on, while his expression remained unreadable.
Viktor and Mikhail lingered right behind him, clearly in the middle of a briefing. He raised a hand slightly, and they stopped speaking at once. Then he said one word and dismissed them just as easily as if nothing was more important in the moment than I was.
“Later.”
The men nodded and withdrew without argument, closing the door behind them.
The hall was drenched in silence while Fyodor continued to stare at me, but he didn’t approach immediately.
He simply watched. His gaze moved from the shifted furniture to the new fabrics displayed all over the place.
A half-clothed mannequin was also placed right beside the sofa.
“I gather that you redecorated,” he said finally.
“Well, I used the resources already available and improved the place.”
A faint flicker emerged in his eyes for the tiniest of seconds before he hid it behind a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did. I am sure you can see how much better the place looks now with all the changes I have made.”
He stepped further into the room, his shoes quiet against the marble.
“So I believe you must have issued orders to my men, guards, and servants.”
“Yes.”
“And did they comply as well as you wanted them to?”
“They did. I know how to make people listen.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
I set my pencil down carefully as he continued to look at me.
“I am surprised that you’re not asking to leave, which only means you must not be angry.” The bluntness of that made my spine stiffen.
“You’re not preventing me from doing anything, or restricting supplies, or hovering.”
“Why would I do any of that? This penthouse is yours. You can do whatever you wish.”
I stood slowly, wiping charcoal from my fingers with a cloth.
“That’s confusing,” I admitted, and he tilted his head slightly.
“Cruelty would make more sense to you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not cruel.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I married you.”
“That does not make it better.”
He didn’t argue, but his gaze drifted to the mannequin, which was now just beside him. The bodice was draped with a neckline made of red silk.
“This is new,” he observed. “It seems as if you are trying to make a revenge dress, especially with this choice of color.”
“You notice everything, don’t you?” I said quietly.
“I do.”
“I have noticed something too. You never enter our room without knocking if you know I am inside. You also keep rotating the guards, and I recently found out that you have brought in a new chef.”
“Anya isn’t exactly a cook. The new chef is good. Besides, I want you to keep eating and finish your food rather than leaving every meal midway.”
“You noticed that?” I asked, staring at him in disbelief.
“I notice everything, Elisse.”
“Is that why you adjusted the lighting in the hallway?” I continued slowly. “Because I kept squinting.”
“Yes.”
“You moved the security camera near the balcony slightly higher.”
“You kept glancing at it. I could see it bothered you to have it so close.”
I swallowed.
“So you’re constantly watching me.”
“Yes.” The honesty should have unsettled me, but instead, it did something else. Something far more complicated.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
He stepped closer to the table, picking up one of the fabric swatches between his fingers.
“Emerald,” he murmured. “I like this color.”
“I am changing the colors of the cushions as well. I believe emerald will suit the room better than beige.”
“It suits you better, too.” I rolled my eyes.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. It was simply a fact.” He placed the fabric back down.
“So you’ve decided to stay busy by finally designing your own collection, I believe. Is that why my men are running around buying fabrics in every color?”
“Yes, I have decided not to rot and simply work.” A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his mouth.
“That makes me happy,” he said.
“This doesn’t mean I’m staying.”
“We’ve had this conversation already.”
“And I’m simply reminding you so you don’t forget.”
He studied me for a long moment. “You don’t look like someone waiting to be rescued.”
“I am done waiting, but that doesn’t mean they’re not coming.” The truth of that hung between us.
To my surprise, Fyodor walked towards me, his steps sure on the floor between us.
A part of me wanted to step back, but I stayed rooted to my spot and watched him, my eyes rising to continue meeting his gaze.
He was even more handsome up close. The moment he was close enough, the faint scent of cinnamon in his perfume hit me, filling me with nostalgia.
It had been quite some time since I had felt him close to me.
“I know they are coming, Elisse. I don’t doubt that,” he said, his words uttered in a faint whisper, “but none of that will change the fact that you are my wife.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but his hands reached around my waist, and he held me, pulling me closer to him, and all coherent thoughts left me.
“Do you understand that?” he asked, his eyes gazing at me intently.
“I don’t,” I finally whispered, and pushed him away. It was certainly not good for me to be this close to Fyodor Romanov.