The uniform pinches at my ribs when I breathe too deep, but I don’t dare tug at it. The head housekeeper has eyes everywhere, mirrors, cameras, reflections in polished silver. She notices everything. Especially weakness.
So I keep my head down and stay quiet. Invisible.
That’s what they want from maids like me in the Dubovich mansion. We appear, we clean, we disappear again. Rooms go from chaos to perfection while guests pretend we were never there at all.
It’s safer that way.
Usually, the Pakhan prefers to over-winter in his mountain lodge, but now he is married with a newborn, he decided to return to the main house year-round.
I push my trolley down the corridor, the wheels whispering over the carpet thick enough to drown a scream. My feet ache, I’ve been on shift since before dawn, but complaining is a luxury I can’t afford. Someone always has it worse. Someone is always waiting to take your place.
I knock, soft and practiced. “Housekeeping.”
Silence.
I use the master key, step inside, and let the heavy door seal shut behind me. The air smells like sandalwood soap, expensive cologne, and the kind of wealth that doesn’t need to brag.
But something feels… different.
I pop my earbuds in and press play on the language podcast. With an exam looming and my Russian not being as strong as it needs to be, I’m willing to take the risk of wearing them while I try to absorb some of the words that I’m struggling with. I’m allocated twenty minutes per room. That’s twenty uninterrupted minutes that I can learn while I’m working.
I begin cleaning, quickly and efficiently. Whoever is using this room is neat and tidy, and it makes my job a whole lot easier. I’ve never been in one of the upper-level family suites before, I want to prove I can handle it. That I can be trusted here.
Lesson Twenty: Common Phrases for Everyday Conversation.
I clear the bin in the living room, polish the desk and plump cushions on the chaise before making the bed.
The tasks are second nature now, allowing me the brain space I need to focus on the course. The audio in my ear chirps:
? ?? ???????.
I don’t understand.
Oh, the irony.
I repeat the phrases quietly, working hard to get the sounds right as I move into the bathroom. The door swings open and I’m hit with a blast of warm air.
Steam blurs the glass shower screen, but not enough. The man in the shower is huge. Huge in every conceivable way. Tall and broad and covered in sharp black ink and swirls of white frothy bubbles.
I gulp. I freeze. My eyes are locked on his body and my brain is short circuiting as the Russian words repeat in my ears.
? ?? ???????. ? ?? ???????. ? ?? ???????.
I don’t understand, I don’t understand. I don’t understand.
A hand lifts to slick dark hair back from his forehead. He tilts his face upward into the spray, eyes closed, body stretched out with every part of him on display. He turns slightly, and the blurred shape of him becomes clearer. Powerful. Male. Entirely naked.
My lungs lock. My throat goes dry.
Before I can retreat, his voice slides through the steam.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I yank the earbud out like it’s caught fire and close it in my palm, words tangling on my tongue.
“? ?? ???????,” I choke out, instantly hearing how stupid I sound. I turn and slam the bathroom door behind me, gathering up my cloths and sprays and launching them onto my trolley.
Just get out, get out, get out. I will myself to move fast, but it’s not fast enough. I’ve not quite reached the door to the suite when the bathroom door opens and his dark, sinful voice booms across the room.
