I notice two unfamiliar men standing outside the parlor beside them. I’ve never seen them before, but they stand on either side of the door, like security. I eye them curiously as they seem to do the same to me, their eyes tracking my every step, but they don’t move, and I pass between them, trying to pretend their presence doesn’t make my skin prickle with unease.
Was it normal not to feel at home in your own house? I wasn’t sure if it was the constant presence of guards, the expensive furnishings, the sheer size of our twenty-five-thousand-square-foot mansion, or the fact that I was never allowed to leave, but this place felt much more like a prison than a home. I could never tell Robert that, though. He’s taken care of me like his own child, and if he says I’m not safe in the outside world, then I believe him.
Stepping into the parlor, I see Robert talking to a man with his back to me. From behind, I can see he’s wearing a tailored suit. He has brown hair that's quickly turning gray, styled perfectly away from his face. Robert notices me, and the man turns around, his eyes going wide when he sees me.
The man looks much older than Robert’s forty-two years, with weathered skin and wrinkles surrounding his eyes and covering his forehead. He has a thick beard, peppered with white streaks, and his blue eyes are assessing as they trail over me, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Bozhe moy,” he whispers so quietly I’m not sure he even meant to say it out loud. But I still catch the Russian words,my goodness.
“Wren, come over here, there’s someone I’d like you tomeet.” Robert beckons me forward, and I stop several feet away from them both.
“Ivan, I’d like you to meet my sister, Wren.”
I offer him a curtsy out of respect, as I’ve been taught, as I wait for him to respond.
“My dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offers his hand for me to shake. Yep, his accent is definitely Russian. I wonder what sort of business Robert does with him.
I reach out, planning to offer a quick shake in greeting, but he clasps his other hand over mine, sandwiching it between both as he takes a small step closer.
Don’t cringe, don’t back away, just stay calm.
My hackles rise, feeling nervous and unsure about what he’s doing. My eyes bounce to Robert in worry, but he just smiles, giving me a small nod, telling me that Ivan is safe.
“The pleasure is all mine.” I offer the formal greeting that’s been ingrained in me from a young age.
“Wren,” Robert says, stepping closer as Ivan finally releases my hands. I move them behind my back, my fingers twisting together to stop me from wiping them or fidgeting with my dress, a nervous habit of mine that Robert hates. “This is Ivan Sokolov, he’s a close friend of mine, from Russia.”
Close friend?Why had I never heard of him before?
“And now, a friend of yours,” he adds before taking a sip of his whiskey. I realize Ivan doesn’t have a drink yet and gasp with worry at not doing my duty.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Sokolov, I should have offered you a drink straight away. Can I get you something? Whiskey? Wine? Water?”
He chuckles, sounding delighted. “Call me Ivan, please. And a whiskey would be fine.Neat, three fingers.”
“I’ll get that right away.” I rush over to the sidebar where we keep the alcohol and glasses and prepare his drink.
“She’s delightful,” Ivan whispers to my brother.
“I told you,” Robert replies, sounding pleased. I try not to preen, but knowing I’m making my brother happy by putting on a good impression for his friend makes me feel like I’m not a failure, like I actually have worth to him.
I pass Ivan his whiskey, and he takes a small sip before asking, “No drink for yourself, Wren?”
“No, I don’t drink alcohol, that’s only for men.” That was a rule I’d love to break one day. I was curious about a lot of things, but my need to follow the rules Robert has laid out for me is more important than my curiosity. A shiver rolls down my spine when my mind flashes to the last time I purposely broke one of his rules. It was about ten years ago now, but the memory still lingers sometimes.
“Hmm.” Ivan looks amused as his eyes bounce to Robert.
“Why don’t you tell him a bit about yourself?” Robert suggests.
I try not to show my surprise.He wants me to talk about myself?Usually, he doesn’t want me speaking to his business associates at all. When I finally respond, I try to force myself to sound polished, even though my nerves want to make me trip over every word. “What would you like to know, Ivan?”
My fingers twist painfully together behind my back as I resist the urge to flee. Something about this man screams danger.
“You’re twenty-six, yes?”
“Almost. My birthday is in a few days.”
He nods, as if my age meets his approval. “And what do you like to do?” I resist the urge to glance at Robert, knowingmy eyes should remain on the man talking to me, instead of seeking my brother’s approval of the subject matter.
