Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ava
M y bursting bladder wakes me. I glance at the clock and see it’s nine in the morning. I don’t remember the last time I slept so late.
I brush my teeth to the sound of my stomach growling. I’m starving. I remember Viktor coming to my bedroom earlier to tell me some of his men would guard the house in his absence. I go to the walk-in closet in search of something to wear. Upon opening it, I’m shocked by all the clothes, shoes, accessories, and purses. It’s my own private boutique, with everything neatly organized. I get sweats, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. I hate it. It’s like he is trying to buy me. Or worst, I’m his trophy he wants to dress. Every bone in me wants to refuse to wear anything he’s chosen for me. But I don’t want to give him a reason to argue. I can’t deal with it—or him. There’s still so much I don’t know about him.
From the top of the stairs, I smell bacon and coffee. My mouth waters. The smell leads me to the kitchen where Mary is cooking.
“Good morning, Ms. O’Brien.”
“Good morning, Mary. You can call me Ava.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t feel right. Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes. Are pancakes, eggs, and bacon alright?”
“It’s more than alright.” I smile. “Coffee?”
“How would you like it?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can make it myself.”
“It’s my job. You go to the dining room. I’ll bring it to you.”
“If it’s all the same, I’d rather eat here.” I sit on a stool at the breakfast table. There’s no way I’m eating in that huge formal dining room.
“You shouldn’t be eating in the kitchen.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” I smile.
“Just this once. Mr. Manarch won’t be happy if he found out you’re in here.”
“He’ll survive.” I wink.
She hands me a cup of coffee. “Sugar? Cream?”
“Black is fine. How long have you worked for Viktor?”
“Almost six years.”
“Who else lives in the house?” I take a sip.
“Mr. Manarch and me.”
“Does he bring women here?” I’m suddenly curious and want to know everything I can about him.
“It’s not my place to say.” She flips a pancake.
“Too many?” There’s a long pause.
“You’re the second.” She finally says. I want to ask who the first was, but I doubt she’ll tell me.
“How is Viktor as a boss?”
“He’s a fair man.” It’s all she says. She sets a plate in front of me. “I’ll be upstairs making the beds. I’ll come back to clean the kitchen.”
“You don’t need to make my bed. I can do that.”
“It’s my job. Enjoy your breakfast.” She smiles.
And that is exactly what I do. It’s delicious, and five minutes later, my plate is clean. I take my plate and mug to the sink. It feels wrong not to wash them. Just because he has someone clean up after him doesn’t mean I want the same thing. It isn’t me. I wash and set the dishes aside since I don’t know where they go. I can probably open the cupboards to figure it out, but that feels wrong, like I would be snooping. This isn’t my home. I make my way back upstairs to get my cell because I want to check on Dad. Inside my bedroom, Mary is already at work.
“Did you need something, Ms. O’Brien?” She looks alarmed.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.”
“You're welcome. I should ask, is there anything you won’t eat?”
“I eat everything.” I laugh, knowing it to be true. When you’re as poor as me, you learn to eat whatever you can afford. “I’ll let you get back to work. I just came to get my cell.” I point at the dresser. She goes back to work as I walk over to the dresser. I have a text from Viktor.
Viktor: Good morning. I won’t be home until late. Call if you need anything.
Home late . I want to scream that this is not my home, but there’s no point in arguing. Viktor is set in his ways, that much I know. Although I want to, I can’t call Dad since he should be at work. What am I supposed to do now?
I decide to grab my AirPods and explore the house I’ll be living for the next year. With music blasting, I roam the halls. There isn’t much on the second floor: two other bedrooms, a locked door—maybe to Viktor’s bedroom—and a small workout room. Downstairs there are three bedrooms, a sitting room, a formal living room, the dining room and an office which immediately I knew it was his by the scent. The place is huge. I notice French doors at the back of the first floor that I assume lead to the backyard. I go to open them, but someone stops me.
“Good morning, ma’am. May I help you?”
“Good morning. Just want to go outside.”
“I apologize. We have strict orders for you to remain indoors until Mr. Manarch returns.”
“You can’t be serious?” I ask, with my hand on my hip.
“I’m afraid I am.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He gives me an apologetic look.
What the fuck? Does he think I’m going to leave again? He must realize I won’t make that mistake again. Besides, there’s no point since there’s nowhere for me to hide. I won’t stand for this. I need to give him a piece of my mind. This is not part of the arrangement. I’m supposed to be his fiancée, not his prisoner. I take a deep breath, pull out my cell, and dial.