“No need, really. As I said, it’s still under construction.” I pull at the door handle, and Mikhail sneers as he watches me climb out of the car.
“No funny business, pretty little thing. My guards don’t play nice when people don’t obey me.”
I nod, then roll my eyes for dramatic effect. “You have some major trust issues, Mikhail. At what point do you accept that I came with you willingly?” I sass.
Mikhail looks taken aback for a moment, possibly even embarrassed to be called out by a girl.
He nods to his guards. “You two, stalk the perimeter. You follow me. Shoot anything that doesn’t agree with you.”
He follows me up to the front door, and I punch in my code to unlock it. “This door is made from wood that I had imported from Africa. Zebrawood.”
The door clicks and opens when I push against it. Mikhail shoves me out of the way to walk in first, his gun raised.
I huff loudly, pretending to be offended as I follow behind him. “You aren’t a man of high taste, then?” I ask, sounding overly posh.
“I like luxury, Katerina. But I also like to be alive. The first time I tried to take you it didn’t go so well. I want things to go smoothly this time,” he muses, his eyes darting everywhere.
The first time? Is he the one who was behind the kidnapping that Yulian saved me from?
“Why did you try to take me that first time?” I ask casually, tilting my head to the side in curiosity.
“I wanted you. I take what I want,” he shrugs. “It didn’t work, so I tried to negotiate a marriage deal with your brother. That didn’t work either. So here we are,” he gestured around the mansion. “So, this is your place. You got a designer doing it all for you?” he asks, changing the subject as though we were talking about the weather, not him taking me against my will. My heart thunders again, but I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay in control.
“No, mostly I’m designing it myself, and then I have a brilliant carpenter who is hand-carving special items for me. This is the foyer. The right wing of the house is almost finished. Just a few touches here and there. I want a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf over here,” I gesture towards the wall in front of us. “Do you read, Mikhail?” I ask.
“Perhaps,” he huffs, bitterly.
His eyes roam over the living room, and I gently take his arm. “Come and look at the fireplace. I’ve just had this mantel put in. It’s completely hand-carved. You’ll love the detail.Everything in this place is made with explicit attention to detail. I refuse to accept anything but perfection. I’m sure you’ll agree.”
He nods, letting me guide him into the living room, stopping to admire the carvings around the fireplace.
“Perfection is a non-negotiable,” he mutters, running his fingers over the beautiful work that Yulian has created. I hate the fact that he’s touching things. I hate the fact that he’s in our home. But I’m doing everything I can to stall him and drag this out to give Yulian time to figure out where I am. I don’t know what else to do.
My hope is that Ali found my phone pretty quickly after I was taken and saw the message I was typing. If she did, she would have phoned Yulian right away.
“Where are your things?” Mikhail snaps.
“Upstairs, come, I’ll give you a tour on the way,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me, which I know he was going to do anyway.
As we walk through the house, I stall at every chance I can get. Stopping to talk about one of the artistic pieces Yulian has made, talking about them in the same way he talked about them to me—with passion, enthusiasm, and knowledge. At least he told me enough about everything that I can sound like I know what I’m talking about now.
My heart won’t stop racing, though.
I’m starting to feel lightheaded as we get closer to the end of the tour. There isn’t much more I can do in the way of stalling, so I’m going to have to move on to phase two of my plan. An outright escape attempt.
Mikhail follows me into the bedroom, and I tug my closet open, pulling out an overnight bag and starting to unpack someof the evening dresses. I place them on the bed, chatting the entire time, making Mikhail think I’m at ease even though I’m so scared I want to puke.
“Oh, my perfume,” I blurt out, my eyes wide. “I’ll grab it quickly, then I think I’ve got everything I need.”
Mikhail folds his arms across his broad chest and glares at me. “Can we hurry this up? I’m losing patience.”
“If you’re already losing patience, how in the world are you going to handle having me as your wife? A lady needs time to get ready for things, you know,” I say in a sing-song voice as I walk towards the bathroom. To my relief, Mikhail doesn’t follow me. He hovers near the overnight bag.
As soon as I’m in the bathroom, I slam the door and lock it.
In a matter of seconds, his heavy fists are pounding at the door. Then his boot as he and the guard with him start trying to kick it down.
I don’t have time.
