Verdict:Unimpressed.
“Vy na ney zhenilis’?” she asks him in Russian, casually busying herself with pouring two cups of coffee.
I suppose I should keep it to myself that I understand the language just fine.
To Anya’s question (“You marriedher?”), Petyr answers with a quietly scathing look and a calm, “Da. Est’ problemy?”
Yes. Got a problem with that?
I keep my smile locked tight.
Anya doesn’t reply. Smart. Petyr doesn’t strike me as the type to accept constructive criticism from the hired help.
“Hi,” I say politely, pretending not to have understood a word. “I’m Sammi.”
She hands me my coffee with a grunt and disappears into the kitchen.
Well, fuck you, too, lady.
Petyr pulls out a chair for me. A surprisingly classy gesture, considering he just finished telling me I shouldn’t expect anything from him but sperm and a paycheck. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
“So, Anya.” We trade looks over our mugs. “Am I correct in guessing I’m not her favorite person on the planet?”
“Don’t take it personally.” Petyr shrugs and serves himself a slice of plain toast. “No one’s her favorite person on the planet.”
“She must be a spectacular cook.”
“She is,” he confirms. “And she was my father’s housekeeper.”
A legacy housekeeper.Certainly explains the job security despite the prickly attitude. “Let me guess: She doesn’t think he would approve?”
“No.”
Petyr doesn’t add anything else to that. He doesn’t garnish it with a joke, or a half-smirk, or anything to let me understand he disagrees with her assessment.
Which can only mean one thing.
He doesn’t.
We eat mostly in silence. The scrape of cutlery fills in the gaps. I’m painfully aware of every movement, every dirty glance Anya throws my way, every time Petyr refills my mug without asking.
It would almost be nice—weirdly domestic, even—if not for that one word.No.
I shake myself.Get a grip.You’re his fake wife. What do you even care if his dead dad would have approved or not?
After our silent meal, Petyr drives me back to the city. Not with the limo, this time, but a midnight black Lamborghini that’s hardly any less conspicuous. The whole ride is quiet, filled with low hums of the engine and the occasional honk from New York morning traffic.
Last night, I would have killed for an opportunity to escape like this. Today, I’m a new woman. I made a deal. Didn’t quite sign on the dotted line yet, but when the time comes, I can’t think of one single reason not to.
Except that it could get you killed.
So could a koi pond,I tell myself as I watch my apartment building appear outside the tinted window.
We roll to a stop. Petyr walks out of the car first. He gives our surroundings a quick once-over, then opens my car door.
Again, oddly gentlemanly.
