At the base of the staircase, a man in all black waits. Broad shoulders, a holstered gun at his side, face carved from stone.
“Good morning, Mrs. Marinova.” He tips his head to the left. “I will show you to the kitchen.”
Mrs. Marinova.
God.
I give a tight nod and follow him past a series of ornate doors until we reach a gleaming white kitchen that feels too alive for a man like Aleksei. Sunlight pours through oversized windows. The counters shine. Everything smells like comfort.
At the stove, a woman moves with purpose, her back to us, stirring something in a heavy-bottomed pot. Her gray hair istwisted into a bun, her floral apron snug across a no-nonsense frame. She radiates the kind of presence that says she’ll feed you with one hand and smack you with the other if you mouth off.
She turns, expression warm.
“Hello. I am Galya,” she says in a thick Russian accent. “Come sit, Mrs. Marinova. I am sure you are very hungry after wedding night.”
My ears grow hot instantly as I freeze halfway to the table. Whether she means the ceremony or what happened after, I don’t want to know.
Before I can die of mortification, Galya turns back to the stove, plating dish after dish across the counter. Eggs, pancakes, fruit, and something golden and fried that smells buttery and amazing.
She sets a plate down in front of me, followed by a mug of…green tea? How the hell did she know?
He must’ve told her, but how didheknow? I’ve never even drunk it in front of him.
“This is blini.” She points to the round, thin pancakes. “And this is draniki.” She gestures toward a circular-looking fried thing. “Is like potato pancake. You eat.”
“Thank you. It all looks delicious.” I’m not used to eating a big breakfast, but I can make an exception.
“I am glad.” She wipes her hands on the apron. “I am happy too because Mr. Aleksei needed woman’s touch in this house.”
My laugh almost slips free. I want to tell her this isn’t that kind of arrangement. That this marriage is just a contract, a solution to a problem. Temporary. Conditional. One breath away from collapse. For me, anyway.
But I don’t. Instead, I offer a polite nod, pick up my fork, and try not to think about how Galya’s words make something tighten in my chest.
Poe strolls in, meowing as he rubs his tail around my foot before heading for his bowls in the corner. He’s definitely made himself at home already. I’m not even sure he’d come with me if I left.
I’m still eating when two men walk in, all in black like every other one of the men around this damn place. They just stand there watching me. I have no idea if I’m supposed to address them, dismiss them, or ask if they’re waiting for a seat at the table. The silence stretches, growing louder by the second.
“Uh…” I glance toward Galya, who seems completely unfazed by the silent giants. “Would you guys like something to eat?” I tilt my head toward the counter.
Both shake their heads in unison.
“Net, spasebo,” one of them answers in a heavy Russian accent.
“Alright, then…” My voice trails off as I glance between them, then back to Galya, who ignores us, cleaning up some dishes instead.
Finally, the man on the right takes a step forward. “I am Viktor.” Then he motions toward the one beside him. “This is Leonid.”
I offer a slow, cautious grin. “Nice to meet you?”
“We are assigned to you,” Viktor says plainly. “Mr. Aleksei sent us.”
My stomach twists. “For what?”
“To follow you,” Leonid adds. “We are your bodyguards now.”
Oh, hell…
“You’re joking.”
