“Why?”
He shook his head as he continued to clean up, like my request was something of the childish sort.
“Arkady,” I said again, more stern as I stood from my seat.
“Yes?”
“Come to bed with me. You got your fun, now I wish to sleep accompanied. I am not a toy to use and forget.”
A slow grin crawled across his face as he looked back at me. “There it is. She is finally direct with what she wants.”
I frowned at him. “Is that all it took?”
“I wasn’t going to crawl into bed with a stranger who didn’t want me there.”
I glanced off to think about it for a moment, and I suppose it made sense to me. I just didn’t think it would be as simple as asking—or rather, demanding.
Chapter Ten
The Artisan
In all my years, I have never woken up next to a woman.
Surely, I had my experiences, but no one stayed the night, and I never overstayed my welcome.
Even as she lay next to me, it was jarring. Like waking up from a dream and forgetting where you were. That was the risk of a good night’s rest, in a proper bed that wasn’t your own. Perhaps I was just used to sleeping on anything besides a bed, that was my problem.
Petronille’s chest rose and fell as gently as a spring morning’s breeze. She was so quiet, not dissimilar to the flutter of an owl’s wing.
I brushed my fingers through her silken hair, unable to sleep in the early-morning light. Her perfume reminded me of clementines with a hint of vanilla, sweet and complex. She was pleasant like this, no biting or snapping like the haughty hound she was. Even in this calm state, I missed her quick wit. Someone like me had to be with someone who sharpened the mind, for I was a knife and she was a water stone. Opposite but useful together.
Even as I was sneaking out of my own marriage bed, a new ache was forming. One of those moments you stop and think:If I fumble all my cards, this can all go away.
“Damn it,” I hissed once my fingers scraped the bottom of the bucket. No more clay, just slick.
Longer rods of steel were needed to prop up the weight. I stood atop the ladder, the last few chunks of clay slapped over the face of my new statue. Luckily, I had a fresh shipment, otherwise it would be quite bare bones for a while. A clumsy first draft, a haphazard form of clay.
A bark echoed from the outside, then another. The sharp yips smacked against the bricks of the yard before they were resounding clearly from the large warehouse entrance.
“Mr. Kamenev!” the man shouted, banging a fist on the doors, making them vibrate.
“Coming!” I shouted, tossing the bucket to the floor before hopping off the ladder. The rampant dog wouldn’t let up, barking and snarling before I even reached the door. Simple-brained beast.
I unlatched the bolt and opened the steel shutters, which released a deep moan as they reluctantly opened, rolling along the tracks of the floor.
The landlord stood outside, a stout man holding his insurance on a chain leash.
“I told you I’d be late.” I glanced down at the beast, the Doberman staring whale-eyed, his hair standing straight on his hackles.
“I need it today, I’ve been lenient with you lately.” The gruff man shifted his weight. Something told me this had something to do with the nights he’d been spending down at the docks. He’d probably spent his last coin on whores or booze.
“I told you the money from my wife would be coming after due. You said it wouldn’t be an issue.” I tried to keep eye contact, but the dog was pulling anxiously on his collar, desperate to get into the studio. I held out my leg, blocking the creature.
“Clancy!” he shouted, yanking the animal by the neck.
“Must be the food I left out.”
“I told you not to leave food in the warehouse. It attracts the rats.”
