21. Emily
21
EMILY
“That’s it, dear. Lift up your arms.”
I do as I’m told, but I’m moving on autopilot.
The woman, whom Konstantin referred to as Ivica, tosses my wet shirt into a basket.
“My goodness, you are soaked,” she says. “Surprised there aren’t fish in your ears.”
She’s been saying one folksy phrase after another ever since walking me back into the castle. I’m obeying because … well. I’m just too damn tired to fight anyone at this point.
Physically and mentally.
“Pants next.” She speaks like someone used to getting her way. Without lifting my eyes from my wrinkled toes, I peel my pants down my legs. She tosses those aside and passes me a fluffy brown towel. “Dry yourself before you catch a cold.”
“That’s a myth,” I mumble.
She blinks. “What’s that, dear?”
“You don’t catch a cold because you’re cold.” Hugging the towel tighter, I sit on the end of the queen-sized bed. Directly in front of me is the big window with its lovely view of the lake.
I turn to the left to stare at the wall instead.
Ivica sighs under her breath. “Well, my mother told me that a bad chill can make you weak to sickness, and she was never wrong about anything. Here, let me get you some dry clothes.”
She swings her wide hips on her way to the wardrobe. The way she opens the drawers, gathering things, it’s obvious she knows where everything is. She could retrieve them even if she was blind.
I push my damp hair from my face. “What are you, his maid?”
“Not since I was fourteen. I’m Konstantin Yurevich’s head housekeeper, and I’ve earned that title through years of good service. Put this on, dear.” She tosses me a pair of fleece pants and a loose, long-sleeved top. It would normally be too warm for the room’s temp, but I’m shivering.
My failed escape has left me chilled to the bone.
I nearly died.
If Konstantin hadn’t saved me, I’d be with my sister right now.
Clutching the shirt, I shove it over my head, and use it to rub away my tears. I’m not sad. I’m angry. It’s too soon for me to die. I still have to find out who murdered Olivia and why.
When this is all over, you can have whatever you want. All you have to do is ask.
If I can’t have my sister back … then maybe I can use Konstantin to help avenge her death.
There’s just one slight problem. A single word that sent me swimming across that lake in the first place.
Babies.
“Are you alright, dear?” Ivica asks.
“It’s just lake water from my hair getting in my face.” Wiping my cheeks, I slide on the pants, enjoying how soft they feel.
“It feels good to be dry, doesn’t it?” she chuckles. “I’ve been in this castle for years, and I’ve never seen someone swim across that whole lake except for Konstantin Yurevich and Gerasim Petrovich. Those two love to race each other.”
That gets my attention. “Do you know what the word Kostya means?”
“It’s the diminutive for Konstantin,” Ivica explains. When she sees the blank expression on my face, she adds, “An affectionate name, if you will.”
“But why do you call him Konstantin Yurevich? I thought his last name was Siderov.”
“Oh.” Ivica musters a small laugh. “That’s his patronymic.”
“Patro-what?”
“You’re not very familiar with Russian names, are you, dear?”
“I’m afraid not. Care to give me a crash course?”
“Gladly.” Ivica smiles. “Every Russian person’s name comes in three parts: the first name, the patronymic that tells us who their father is, and the family name. It is considered a show of deference and respect to call someone by their name and their patronymic.”
“So,” I start. “His full name is Konstantin Yurevich Siderov?”
“Precisely.”
“But you wouldn’t call him Kostya?”
“Never. Most of us here won’t dare address him that way. It’s too personal for someone in his position.”
“Too personal even for his future wife?” I ask sourly.
“Well.” Her cheeks redden before she turns away to pick up the basket of wet clothes. “That depends. My mother always told me that you can tell how close a husband is to his wife, by the name she calls him.”
That driver … Gerasim. He called Konstantin by his diminutive. They must be really close.
I jump up to block her from leaving. “Can you tell me what Gerasim’s relationship is to Konstantin?”
Ivica’s thin, almost invisibly blonde brows, furrow tight. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
I was starting to feel warm again, but all the ice returns to my blood at once. “Because he’s a mob boss?”
At those words, the smile on Ivica’s face falls.
“He is not a mob boss ,” she corrects me sharply. “He is a pakhan. For him, everyone in this castle is a member of his personal household, and we owe our lives and livelihood to him.” Her expression softens again. “I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t be cross with you. You are new here. But soon, you will learn. And please don’t be angry with him. He’s a good man who has his reasons for doing the things he does.”
Like kidnapping random women and using them to secure an inheritance?
But I don’t say that to Ivica. Instead, I just smile and thank her.
Satisfied, Ivica hunches her shoulder to make herself smaller, bows, and shuffles out of the room. I don’t try and stop her from leaving this time. The door lock doesn’t click into place, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m not going anywhere.
Someone knocks lightly on my door. Before I can respond, the door is pushed open.
I’m preparing myself for Ivica or Konstantin, but it’s neither.
A young woman, holding a plate loaded up with artistically peeled fruit, crusty sugar-laden bread rolls, and delicately sliced roast beef, leans into my room.
“Hello,” she says, voice thick with what I can only assume is a Croatian accent. “Konstantin Yurevich wants you to eat.”
“Does he?” I muse. I want to act uninterested, but the sight and smell of the food has my mouth watering.
She sets the plate on the table near the window, then bows at her waist. “I’m also to tell you that your engagement photo shoot will be tomorrow.”
My appetite dissolves into rank mud. He’s really in a hurry. I shouldn’t be surprised. “Sounds like Kostya sure is impatient.”
Like hell I’m going to show him the “deference” he demands from the staff.
All the color drains from the woman’s face. Covering her mouth, she gawks at me like I just slathered myself in pudding. She whispers to herself in another language.
“What?” I ask, blinking. “Can’t I call my husband by his diminutive?”
“Apologies, miss.” Her head moves from side to side slowly. “I’ve seldom heard him be addressed that way by anyone else!”
Well, tough luck, sister. Because if that’s the easiest way for me to get under his skin, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
The woman hurries from my room without looking back. I don’t spend any extra time thinking about her though, because the food deserves my full attention.
Staring down at the food, I remember his comment about me not being picky. Konstantin has a sharp memory. Besides his power and influence here in his castle, he’s using every advantage available to make me do what he wants.
It’s time for me to do the same.
With both hands, I shove fistfuls of fruit into my mouth. It’s not about hunger. It’s not even about how delicious the meal is. I barely taste anything with how fast I’m swallowing.
I need my strength if I’m going to make Konstantin regret picking me to be his wife.