“The manor?”
“Yeah.”
“How narcissistic can this man be?” I asked, chuckling. “He calls his house a manor.”
“No, no,” Ruslan uttered. “He doesn’t. We do.”
“Oh,” I remarked.
“So,” he said, standing. “It’s cold in Manhattan currently. Even colder in Sir Konstantin’s place,” he revealed, picking up a large paper bag by the wall.
“What’s that? How did it get here?”
He chuckled. “I dropped it when I was still testing the waters.”
He brought the bag to the foot of the bed. “So, we have to find you something to wear from these. Those dresses and blouses won’t cut it.”
In the next few minutes, we went through different jackets, from wool to leather.
“But it’s okay, really,” I insisted, holding the navy corduroy jacket Ruslan said no to on account of being ‘too big.’
“Let’s check the others,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, sighing dramatically.
We checked another three out before he grudgingly conceded.
“Thank you,” I told him as he packed the clothes back into the bag.
“Nah, one of the guards was already dry cleaning Boss Killian’s clothes, I just made these the next set.”
“Not just for the jackets, Ruslan, for everything.”
“It’s nothing. You needed all the friendship you could get,” he joked before squinting his eyes. “Bent on not calling me Russie, aren’t you?”
“Oh, right,” I said, laughing. “I honestly didn’t think of it.”
“Ruslan isancient,” he uttered with mock disgust.
“Okay, Russie,” I told him, chuckling.
“Yeah. Better.”
I stood from the bed and took the jacket into the wardrobe, putting it on a hanger.
“New York will be better,” he assured as I walked back to the bed.
“I hope so,” I revealed.
“That makes two of us.”
“Not so reassuring,” I commented.
“It’s real life,” he answered, shrugging.
Of course, he’s right.
**********
