Chapter 11 - Lilia
It was disappointing to lose a chance to get out of this marble-clad prison, and I was faced with being left alone in the mansion. Not that I was truly alone. There was the cook, of course, though she didn’t say much to me. The whole place was crawling with guards, though they stayed out of sight.
No one escorted me back to my bedroom and locked me in, and I was free to wander toward the library.
Outside its doors, no one tackled me, so I went inside and trailed happily among the stacks.
Aleks kept a nice reading room, with two walls of shelves that were fully packed, but this could have rivaled any city library with the sheer amount of books, and it was way more beautiful and elegant.
I already had plenty to keep me busy upstairs, but I loved the room's aura, with its leather furniture and a rolling ladder that led to the uppermost shelves.
Two big crystal chandeliers let off warm, unobtrusive lighting since heavy curtains blocked the high windows.
I pulled one aside to look out over the gardens in the back of the house.
Off to the side, there was the requisite swimming pool, every bit as extravagant as the ones my California cousins all had.
It almost seemed like a law. Not enough palm trees, and they might get fined.
I had just settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the completely unnecessary fireplace when a woman I never seen before came in, clearing her throat.
“There you are,” she said, introducing herself as Tansy Wentworth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bocharov.”
She was as British as someone out of one of the staid old English TV shows I sometimes watched.
Her tweed skirt and vest, also totally unnecessary in the mild Los Angeles winter weather, were the color of oatmeal, and her sturdy shoes were only a couple of shades darker; her entire outfit nearly matching her skin.
I couldn’t have guessed her age if my life depended on it, and she was stunningly beautiful.
“I’m Gavril’s assistant,” she said, then rolled her eyes. “Well, one of them.”
For some reason, I got a stab that felt way too much like jealousy. Assistant, my butt. And more than one of them? Why would he feel the need to flaunt his harem under my nose? It hit me even harder than the obnoxious jealousy that I was now part of the harem.
“Your wardrobe is ready if you’ll follow me,” she said, not in a question form. She walked out of the library, expecting me to follow her.
When I didn’t, she stood in the library doorway and stared at me until I finally stood up. It only took me about five minutes to realize there was no way this woman was anything to Gavril except truly an assistant. She was all business and actually quite kind under her brisk demeanor.
In my room, two rolling racks of clothing waited.
I thought the clothes that had arrived that morning, and which took up an entire drawer and half a rack in the closet, were already a lot.
I still cherished the hope that Gavril meant to make a deal with my cousin, and that I wouldn’t be here for long.
This was more than I had at Aleks’s house, with outfits for the summer, which was months away. Tansy pulled out a particularly stunning dress, simple but beautifully draped silk, with a tiny edging of beads along the neckline and around the hem.
Where the hell was I supposed to wear something like that?
“I hope these are to your liking,” she said, putting that dress back and pulling out a pair of designer jeans. “With the information Gavril gave me about your style, I tried to choose a wide variety of things.”
What the hell did Gavril know about my style?
As she kept holding things up to show me, I had to admit he must know something, because I liked almost everything.
No one would ever call me a bastion of style.
I worked at home and mostly wore sweats or comfortable yoga gear.
But I still liked nice clothes and would often treat myself to something that inevitably only got worn once when my sister strong-armed me into going to a fancy restaurant or a club.
The pretty things gave me a warm feeling.
Was the brute trying to please me with these extravagant gifts?
I stamped out the feeling like it was about to cause a forest fire.
No, what he was doing was trying to buy me.
Either my affection or my loyalty, or just plain trying to bribe me to move against my family.
That would never happen, proving he might be able to guess what clothes I liked, but he’d never understand me.
I whipped the soft sweater out of Tansy’s hands and tossed it over the top of the rack, then began wheeling it toward the door.
“You can tell your boss I can’t be bought,” I said, shoving it into the hallway and going back for the second one that she hadn’t even gotten to show off yet. I heaved it out the door after the first.
“Mrs. Bocharov,” she said, horrified when one of the luxurious gowns slid off the hanger and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. “Please be reasonable.”
I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “I won’t wear any of those; you might as well return them.”
“These clothes belong to you,” she said, trying to get one of the racks back in the room.
We engaged in a struggle that exhilarated me but was completely beneath her tweedy dignity. She finally gave up, smoothing her vest and leaving the racks in the hall.
“Well,” she said, patting her hair into place. “Would you like me to show you around the house and grounds?”
It was so clear she was done with me, but had to carry out Gavril’s instructions. I felt a little bit bad for her, trying to be kind and just doing her job, but I had to stand firm. And I had already seen plenty of the grounds on the harrowing trip out to the murder shed. I turned up my nose.
“That will be all, thank you,” I said coldly. She was an enemy, same as Gavril. Forgetting that was as dangerous as those warm feelings I couldn’t shake when I thought about him. “I’d like to be alone now.”
She nodded briskly and stalked down the hall, leaving the clothing racks. Fine, let them stay out there and get in everyone’s way. I grabbed up the book I started the night before and tried to get lost in the story.
But not even reading an old favorite could transport me out of my situation. It didn’t take ten minutes of trying before I regretted sending Tansy on her way like some imperious… mafia wife. Which was what I was, but I didn’t mean to stay one, so there was no way I should be acting that way.
She might have been a valuable source of information if I could have cracked her professional shell. She might have even turned to help me, if for nothing else but the hefty reward my family would give her. That shot was blown, and I could have kicked myself. So much for thinking three steps ahead.
Around lunch time, I wandered downstairs, where the cook had a meal waiting for me.
Normally, I ate a protein bar at my desk or stuffed in a sandwich if I could be bothered making my way out of my room and down to the kitchen.
It was another Russian favorite of mine, borscht, something that made my sister gag, but I loved it.
Thinking about Masha made me yearn for her strength and confidence.
I’d been trying to channel her to stand up for myself, and rejecting all those clothes felt like a good start.
I couldn’t fight my way out of this with weapons or fists, but I could stay strong and wait for an opportunity to slip away.
“This is delicious,” I told the cook. I’d already burned one bridge with Tansy; maybe I could build one with this formidable old woman.
“Yes, of course,” she answered.
I kept talking and asking questions, and it was like trying to bring down a brick wall with a toothpick.
She refused to budge. I learned her name was Varvara, but not much else.
It was apparent she was utterly loyal to Gavril, impervious to compliments, and as sharp as the knives she wielded to make dinner as I ate the beet soup.
“Thank you,” I said, bringing my empty bowl to the sink.
She snatched it away, tutting as if I had done something gravely wrong. “You’re expected to join Mr. Bocharov for dinner. Eight o’clock sharp.”
There was no point in telling her that wasn’t about to happen.
I didn’t want to get stabbed. But I stomped all the way back to my room.
I didn’t like Gavril’s imperious demand for me to join him for breakfast, and I liked this one even less.
It set my nerves on edge, not knowing what he expected of me. Was I a prisoner or a bride?
I didn’t want to be either. For a split second, my dark mood was lightened to find the clothing racks were no longer outside my room.
As soon as I opened the door, the clouds rolled back in.
They were in the room again, and a disgruntled guard who couldn’t have been much older than me was moving each item to the closet as if the fine clothes were venomous snakes.
He gave me a sour look that I returned. He’d probably been ordered to put the expensive items away without wrinkling, tearing, or ruining anything, and as much as he hated the task, he took it to heart.
“Oh, just leave them,” I said, shooing him out the door. “You can report back that the job got done. I won’t tear anything up.”
He looked like he couldn’t decide, but I showed him I was sincere by carefully taking a dress off the rack and hanging it up in the closet. It was like pins pricking me to concede defeat, but I’d already struck out with Tansy and Varvara; I didn’t need some random guard to hate me, too.
Actually, I was so pissed off by the time the clothes were put away that I didn’t care who hated me, because I hated everything and everyone even more. I stacked up the multitudes of feather pillows on my bed and punched them repeatedly, wearing myself out and barely making a dent.
Staring in the full-length mirror in the corner, I scowled. Maybe I was wispy.
Tears began to well, but I clung to my irritation and anger.
Most of all, my resolve to stay strong. Crying didn’t help anything.
Stewing didn’t either, but that’s what I was doing when dinner time rolled around, and I was in my pajamas, my freshly shampooed hair slicked back in damp waves down my back.
I had a book on my lap, but couldn’t concentrate. Eight o’clock came and went, and nothing happened. Was I disappointed? Did I actually want a confrontation with Gavril? Or did I just want to see him again? I still couldn’t shake that first impression I had of him as my rescuer.
“But he’s not,” I hissed, slamming my book shut and deciding to just go to bed and hope to fall asleep.
As I roughly pulled the covers back, the door flew open.
Gavril stood there, almost with a red haze around him, practically snorting like a bull.
I blinked, and he was just as big and imposing, taking up the entire doorframe, but the haze was only my imagination.
Ever since Varvara told me he ‘expected’ me at dinner, I’d been working up to this moment.
Yes, I had been waiting to have it out with him. This was my moment, and I stiffened my spine and stared at him as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“I’d like you to join me for dinner,” he said. Not at the top of the rude and imperious scale, but still not an actual request. Just a slightly polite command.
“As you can see, I turn in early.” That wasn’t true at all.
I was a complete night owl, stalking the grounds of my cousin’s mansion well after midnight to burn off all the energy that built up from sitting at my computer all day. Sometimes Katie called me their resident ghost.
“Since you were informed at lunch time when dinner would be served,” he said, taking a step into the room. “You should have taken a nap.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” I said, resolve flying out the window with every step closer he came.
“You’re wide awake,” he told me. “You’ll be having dinner with me.”
“I had so much borscht for lunch,” I answered, planting my feet to keep from taking a step back.
He was in one of his immaculate suits, but his tie was loosened, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt open at the collar.
My eyes flew to his tanned throat, that hint of chest, then back up to his face, set in stony lines.
He was that much closer now, and the green stripes in his tie brought out the emerald hue of his eyes.
Very serious eyes. Pissed off, even. Well, so was I. I clenched my hands at my sides. He noticed and chuckled, taking the final steps to stand right in front of me, so close I had to look up to maintain eye contact.
“You don’t have to eat,” he said, completely reasonably, but somehow still making me shiver.
Before I could think of any new, ridiculous, and useless argument, his hands were on my backside. I squeaked, cut off when he hauled me over his shoulder. My arms went flying as my face bounced off his broad back.
“Varvara’s going to be pissed off if her meal has to sit in the oven much longer,” he said, beginning to stomp out of the room.
“I don’t care,” I grunted, unable to breathe with his rock-hard shoulder digging into my stomach.
“You should,” he said. “Dinner at eight means dinner at eight.”
His arm, which was wrapped around the backs of my thighs, loosened, and he slid me down his big body.
I blinked at how close his face was to mine on the way down, but my feet never touched the floor.
Instead, he only shifted me to a more comfortable and only slightly less embarrassing position, cradled in his arms like a baby.
“Don’t want any of my guys checking out your ass,” he said, one of his hands giving that body part a suggestive squeeze.
I popped him in the shoulder with my wispy fist. His laughter rumbled from his chest as he held me tighter.
The fact that I didn’t hate it only put me in a worse mood.