The woman looked at the man, then back at me. “I’m making bread, Mrs. Pavlov.”
I held back the groan at that wretched name. For just a second, I wanted to forget about Arko, and being called by his last name wasn’t the best way to do it.
But I knew how the staff was in families like ours. Ever loyal to the head, and Arko was the Pakhan.
I let the name thing slide.
“Perfect! I’ve never made bread before.” I rolled up my sleeves.
She looked shocked. “You…want to help? With the bread?”
“Is that okay?” I asked kindly. This was her kitchen, and I didn’t want to put her out.
A slow smile spread across her face. “Of course. I’m Marta. That’s Emil.” She nodded toward the vegetable-chopping man, who gave a small wave with his knife.
“Nice to meet you both,” I said, washing my hands in the sink. “Now teach me how to knead this dough, please.”
Marta’s laugh was warm and genuine as she beckoned me over.
“Here,” she said, pushing a lump of dough toward me. “You push down with the heels of your hands, then fold it over, turn it, and repeat.”
I copied her movements, finding a strange satisfaction in the smooth, springy texture.
“Not bad for a beginner,” she approved. “Though I’m guessing accounting doesn’t involve much baking.”
I looked up, surprised. “You know I’m an accountant?”
“Mr. Pavlov mentioned it,” she said nervously, throwing Emil a look.
“He mentioned it?” I asked, feeling suspicious. “When?”
“Oh…he…he gave us a brief on you.” Marta turned red.
“Of course he did.” I furrowed my brows. Why the hell did he give his staff a brief on me? I felt that slight tinge of irritation on the edges of my temper, but I held myself back.
It wasn’t his staff’s fault if he did, so I didn’t need to sour the mood.
“Do you have any idea what my husband’s got on his agenda today?” I decided to use this little chat to my advantage. Maybe I could find out something interesting. “Any meetings he’s got planned?”
Marta cleared her throat. “We don’t ask questions about Mr. Pavlov’s…business arrangements.”
“Right,” I nodded, disappointed. Clearly, I wasn’t going to get much out of his loyal staff. “So, what’s for lunch? Please tell me it’s something delicious. The food here has been amazing.”
The abrupt subject change seemed to relieve them both.
“Homemade pasta with a tomato sauce Emil’s been simmering since dawn,” Marta said proudly.
“That smells incredible,” I said to Emil, who blushed.
“It’s a family recipe,” he said.
“You must teach me sometime,” I said. “Though fair warning, I once burned rice.”
That got a laugh out of both of them, and the tension in the room eased considerably.
We chatted while we worked, and I learned that Marta had been working at the mansion for nearly a decade and that Emil had been there for about 3 years. They were careful not to reveal anything too personal about Arko, but I could tell they respected him deeply.
By the time the bread was shaped and set to rise, I felt almost…normal.
