The name hits me like a sucker punch, knocking all the air out of me. “Anya…you’re…” The rest of the words stick in my throat as if my vocal cords have gone on strike.
My heart skips a beat. Aleks. She’s on his side. Anya, the aloof maid, is also Aleks’s spy.
“Quiet!” Anya hisses, making me snap my mouth shut faster than a mousetrap. That chilling smile she wore moments ago vanishes as if it was never there, replaced by the usual wallflower act I’d expected from her.
I watch, flabbergasted, as she recedes back into the crowd, a chameleon in human clothing. It’s like witnessing a two-faced monster shed its skin, transforming back into a harmless bunny.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
∞∞∞
“Sophia!” Yulia cups her hands, small and warm, gently turning my face toward her. I can see the concern in her wide, innocent eyes.
“Sorry, Yulia,” I mumble, my mind spiraling elsewhere. It’s like I’m trapped in a storm of unanswerable questions, each one more menacing than the last.
What the hell does Aleks want me ready for?
Are there others lurking in the shadows of the Ivankov household, spies just like me?
Like Anya? Who the hell is she, anyway?
And where is Luka in all of this? Part of me is screaming to spill every nagging worry – every dark thought bubbling in my gut – to him. But can I really add to his already sky-high pile of shit to deal with?
Don’t be nuts, Sophia!
That would be like committing suicide. Yet I’m itching for a chat with Luka just to spill all the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head. It feels like I’m navigating a minefield alone, without a clue or a strategy.
Ugh! I must be crazy. Luka would kill me on the spot.
“Sophia,” Yulia tugs at my sleeve, pulling me back to reality again, “look at this.” She thrusts a crumpled piece of paper into my hands.
As my eyes adjust to the flurry of colors on the page, I can’t help but force out a smile.
“Aw, now this is a masterpiece!” I exclaim, my eyes tracing over the carefully scribbled drawing clutched in Yulia’s small hands.
A bright grin splits her face. “You think so?”
“Definitely!” I affirm, pointing at the tall, imposing figure in the center of the page. “This is Luka, right?”
Yulia giggles, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yeah, that’s him. But I made him smile. He should do that more.”
I join in her laughter, charmed by her depiction. “Couldn’t agree more, Yulia.”
“And that,” Yulia’s tiny finger guides mine to the figure beside Luka, “is Dima. I drew a chef’s hat on him because he’s always so serious.”
Her innocent humor has me laughing again. “I bet Dima would whip up some very serious pancakes.”
We share a giggle before my attention shifts to the third man in the picture. “This must be Erik?”
“Uh-huh!” Yulia nods, an enthusiastic bob of curls. “His tattoos were hard to draw.”
“You’ve done an amazing job,” I assure her, utterly charmed. “And…is this me?”
Her smile broadens, nearly lighting up the room. “Yep! And I put a heart around us because you’re my best friend.”
A warmth fills my chest, spreading outwards like the rays of the sun. “And you’re my best friend too, Yulia.”
My eyes drop to the small, fluffy blob near the depicted Luka’s feet. “And this cutie here must be Max?”
