Leaning back in my chair, I squeezed the bridge of my nose, realizing the long headache I’d been battling was gone.How was that possible? It was funny enough to laugh out loud, especially when I recalled what I had blurted out on that stage to get people to take me seriously.
How many of them would actually believe I had somehow become secretly engaged to Lilia Petrov? Not too many. That was just another thing I had to rectify, and the fatigue that had been taking over from all the seemingly insurmountable odds against me faded away.
Taking care of this one particular problem wasn’t going to be a problem at all.
Chapter 7 - Lilia
Once I calmed down enough that I could stand up without my knees giving out, I wrapped a blanket around myself and started searching the room Gavril had put me in. It was important not to think about the man who put me here and what he might have in store for me, so I concentrated on what was right in front of me.
It was a luxurious room, decked out with a big bed with a velvet tufted headboard, rather like one I had been eyeing when Katie urged me to redecorate my space however I wanted. This was a deep teal, while I thought I might want a rose pink. I shook my head, dragging myself back to the present.
Despite the fine art in gilded frames on the wall, the modern glass desk, and plush velvet chairs arranged around a marble fireplace, this wasn’t a hotel I had checked into. I was forcibly brought here, and the last thing I should do was relax. Something worse than being sold to the highest bidder probably waited for me when Gavril returned.
My throat was tight when I tried to swallow my rising fear. After all, that big, imposing man, dressed like royalty, hadn’t rescued me. He bought me, and therefore, he had to believe he owned me.
No, I didn’t like that one bit, and it stiffened my resolve to get out. The door was locked from the outside, something I knew about from my own cousins keeping certain “guests” in line. Maybe they didn’t want to kill them, but they certainly weren’t free to go. There was also nothing I could use for a weapon. No sturdy, iron fireplace tools to bash with, and the toilet brush I found discreetly tucked away under the bathroom cabinetwouldn’t do much more than make him dissolve into laughter if I wielded it at him.
The windows were also locked, and I was in no mood to enjoy the view of the beautiful garden spread out below me. I was exhausted and worn down now that most of my self-directed rage had died out. Yes, I should have been more prepared for something like this, but there was nothing I could do about my shortcomings now.
I had to hang on, find a way to survive, and get word to my family that I was still alive and needed help.
Even though I was mentally and physically drained, falling asleep in my precarious position was impossible. I was pacing the length of the suite when the lock clicked. Freezing, I stood as tall as possible, only to be faced with a stern, older woman who was laden down with a tray of food.
My first instinct was to hurry to help her, but I stayed still while she set it on the small table between the two armchairs, nodded at me, and hurried out. Like Persephone, I figured I shouldn’t eat anything from my enemy, but also like the heroine of my favorite Greek myth, I was freaking hungry. Getting kidnapped apparently builds up an appetite.
Fine. A couple of bites. People like Gavril Bocharov didn’t use poison when they wanted someone dead. They liked to draw it out and hear the screams. Even that macabre thought didn’t spoil my appetite when I lifted the silver dome and the rich scent of lamb pelmeni wafted up to me. The sight of the Russian dumplings made my mouth water, and I sat down and dug in, forgetting my promise to only take a few bites.
Katie was an excellent cook and could make many Russian meals almost as well as my grandmother, but Aleks andAlina preferred hearty American fare, so it had been a while since I had a traditional dish.
Soon after I cleaned the plate, the door opened again, and Gavril stepped in, seeming to steal all the air in the room. I slammed the lid onto the tray, but not before he noticed I had eaten every last bite. His lips curled into a smirk, gone almost immediately as he looked me over.
I tried to keep a blush from rising. The bathroom was well stocked, but didn’t have a bathrobe, or I would have put it on. As it was, I stuffed the disgusting lingerie into the small trash bin and kept myself wrapped in the blanket while I paced.
A corner had fallen down, only revealing my shoulder, but I could still feel his eyes burning a trail across my skin. There was no way my eyes weren’t still puffy and my cheeks still red after my extreme panic attack, but I tipped up my chin and looked somewhere over his left shoulder, pretending I wasn’t on the verge of breaking down again.
He stayed in the doorway, still considering me, not taking a step further into the room. Could it be that he was scared of my waterworks? A sarcastic laugh burst from my throat.
“You don’t have to treat me like a skittish deer,” I said.
He continued to eye me, and the way he looked at me had me on edge, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It had to be shock, because how else could I consider this guy good-looking? He was my enemy, was probably right now determining how best to wring agonizing moans of pain out of me, but yes, I still found him extremely attractive.
Tall, dark, and handsome, with green eyes that caught my slightest movement. Older, distinguished, and still dressed impeccably. He was exactly what I pictured of every romantic lead in all my favorite books. The very definition of a silver fox.
Except, more like a wolf.
Why wouldn’t he say something to break this terrible tension? I was all out of nervous laughter, and my throat closed up, not letting me demand to know what he wanted from me. Probably because I didn’t want to know.
His silent perusal was interrupted by a buzz from his jacket pocket. He took out his phone, those piercing green eyes never leaving me, and answered the call. A hint of satisfaction flickered across his face as he ended the call without saying another word.
“Come downstairs,” he said, half turning to walk out the door.
Now that he wasn’t yelling angrily, his voice was rich and smooth. Commanding, yet calming. More like hypnotizing. I blinked and shook my head.
“I’m fine where I’m at,” I choked out.
With an eye roll, he moved swiftly toward me. “We’re going downstairs,” he repeated.
He’d carried me from the auction. He carried me into his house and upstairs. He made it very clear without telling me that he’d carry me back down to wherever we were going if I didn’t comply. The way it felt to be in his arms wasn’t exactly a bad memory, which was bad in itself.
