Take out the Petrovs, destroy Luigi and his crew, and rule without any more headaches.
But then, what about Lilia? My beautiful little fly in the ointment.
There were still things I needed to do, nothing so annoying as the meeting with Luigi’s lackey, but I was still frustrated as hell by the time I returned home around dinner time. I had left a note for the cook to make sure Lilia joined me, so I was all the more pissed off when she wasn’t at the table when I sat down.
“Where is Mrs. Bocharov?” I asked the cook.
Varvara had been working for me for years, traveling across the world to keep my stomach full with some of the most delicious food I had ever tasted. She wasn’t scared of me in the slightest, and despite her advanced age, I had seen her twist a disrespectful guard’s arm behind his back and send him to his knees. She wasn’t above adding poison to the meals she served as long as it didn’t mess with the taste. She was happy to kill you but not to have someone say the food wasn’t good.
Which was why I didn’t go in on her when she informed me that my bride had refused to join me for dinner.
“And she said she won’t be down for breakfast tomorrow, either,” she added, a little too gleeful to be part of this new domestic drama.
“Oh, she did, did she?” Of all the impertinent, out of character, irritating…
I didn’t wait for an answer, but stormed upstairs to get Lilia and reissue the invitation. And if she refused this time? I’d carry her down over my shoulder if necessary so that she’d understand who she belonged to.
Chapter 11 - Lilia
It was disappointing to lose a chance to get out of this marble-clad prison, and I was faced with being left alone in the mansion. Not that I was truly alone. There was the cook, of course, though she didn’t say much to me. The whole place was crawling with guards, though they stayed out of sight.
No one escorted me back to my bedroom and locked me in, and I was free to wander toward the library. Outside its doors, no one tackled me, so I went inside and trailed happily among the stacks. Aleks kept a nice reading room, with two walls of shelves that were fully packed, but this could have rivaled any city library with the sheer amount of books, and it was way more beautiful and elegant.
I already had plenty to keep me busy upstairs, but I loved the room's aura, with its leather furniture and a rolling ladder that led to the uppermost shelves. Two big crystal chandeliers let off warm, unobtrusive lighting since heavy curtains blocked the high windows. I pulled one aside to look out over the gardens in the back of the house. Off to the side, there was the requisite swimming pool, every bit as extravagant as the ones my California cousins all had. It almost seemed like a law. Not enough palm trees, and they might get fined.
I had just settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the completely unnecessary fireplace when a woman I never seen before came in, clearing her throat.
“There you are,” she said, introducing herself as Tansy Wentworth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bocharov.”
She was as British as someone out of one of the staid old English TV shows I sometimes watched. Her tweed skirt and vest, also totally unnecessary in the mild Los Angeles winterweather, were the color of oatmeal, and her sturdy shoes were only a couple of shades darker; her entire outfit nearly matching her skin. I couldn’t have guessed her age if my life depended on it, and she was stunningly beautiful.
“I’m Gavril’s assistant,” she said, then rolled her eyes. “Well, one of them.”
For some reason, I got a stab that felt way too much like jealousy. Assistant, my butt. And more than one of them? Why would he feel the need to flaunt his harem under my nose? It hit me even harder than the obnoxious jealousy that I was now part of the harem.
“Your wardrobe is ready if you’ll follow me,” she said, not in a question form. She walked out of the library, expecting me to follow her.
When I didn’t, she stood in the library doorway and stared at me until I finally stood up. It only took me about five minutes to realize there was no way this woman was anything to Gavril except truly an assistant. She was all business and actually quite kind under her brisk demeanor.
In my room, two rolling racks of clothing waited. I thought the clothes that had arrived that morning, and which took up an entire drawer and half a rack in the closet, were already a lot. I still cherished the hope that Gavril meant to make a deal with my cousin, and that I wouldn’t be here for long.
This was more than I had at Aleks’s house, with outfits for the summer, which was months away. Tansy pulled out a particularly stunning dress, simple but beautifully draped silk, with a tiny edging of beads along the neckline and around the hem.
Where the hell was I supposed to wear something like that?
“I hope these are to your liking,” she said, putting that dress back and pulling out a pair of designer jeans. “With the information Gavril gave me about your style, I tried to choose a wide variety of things.”
What the hell did Gavril know about my style? As she kept holding things up to show me, I had to admit he must know something, because I liked almost everything. No one would ever call me a bastion of style. I worked at home and mostly wore sweats or comfortable yoga gear. But I still liked nice clothes and would often treat myself to something that inevitably only got worn once when my sister strong-armed me into going to a fancy restaurant or a club.
The pretty things gave me a warm feeling. Was the brute trying to please me with these extravagant gifts? I stamped out the feeling like it was about to cause a forest fire. No, what he was doing was trying to buy me. Either my affection or my loyalty, or just plain trying to bribe me to move against my family.
That would never happen, proving he might be able to guess what clothes I liked, but he’d never understand me.
I whipped the soft sweater out of Tansy’s hands and tossed it over the top of the rack, then began wheeling it toward the door.
“You can tell your boss I can’t be bought,” I said, shoving it into the hallway and going back for the second one that she hadn’t even gotten to show off yet. I heaved it out the door after the first.
“Mrs. Bocharov,” she said, horrified when one of the luxurious gowns slid off the hanger and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. “Please be reasonable.”
