She beams. “You nice. Miss Dori say you kind.”
My heart squeezes a little. Ugh, this little girl is going to make me melt if she keeps this up. I already had been half-hoping we’d bond quickly, but from just these past few hours, I know we’re going to be inseparable soon enough.
“I’m really glad I came,” I tell her truthfully.
“Me too,” she says, scooting to the center of the bed and folding her legs underneath her. “Maybe we be friends.”
I laugh softly, the last of my travel-worn nerves finally starting to ease. “I’d like that.”
And I mean it. I really, really do.
Maybe living in a strange, foreign country won’t be as scary as I thought.
Yulia is still smiling at me like I hung the moon, and even though I know I’m supposed to be the adult in this situation, I’m suddenly grateful forher. For the way she’s making me feel not so alone.
Like I belong here.
Just like I’ve always longed for.
4
IVY
The house is silent when I slip out of bed later that night.
I tiptoe carefully down the hallway, barefoot and cautious, flinching slightly when the floorboards beneath the plush carpet shift ever so faintly under my weight.
My oversized sweatshirt, soft and worn and probably older than my last relationship, hangs loosely around me with the sleeves pulled over my hands as I wrap my arms tighter around myself. Not because I’m cold, but because I feel just a little too exposed in this massive, unfamiliar place.
I’d woken up maybe fifteen minutes ago with a scratchy, dry throat and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. I had stumbled to the bathroom and tried cupping water from the sink into my mouth like some feral and dehydrated raccoon, but it wasn’t enough. It tasted faintly like the marble basin and only left me more awake than before.
The obvious solution would’ve been to call someone.
There’s a list of extension numbers sitting right on the nightstand for moments like this. Sergei made it clear earlier that I wasn’t expected to lift a finger while staying here. Not for laundry, not for meals, not even to fetch myself a damn cup of tea.
Maybe it’s just how I was raised, or maybe it’s the very American “do-it-yourself-or-die-trying” mentality that’s been ingrained into me since birth, but the thought of picking up a phone to summon someone from their bed in the middle of the night to bring me a glass of water makes my skin crawl.
I’m not a toddler. I’m not dying. I can walk my own ass down to the kitchen to grab myself something to drink without forcing someone else to rise out of bed and do it for me.
Even if it’s probably the size of a school cafeteria and I have no idea where the hell it is. Hours later, Yulia’s rapid house tour is all blurred together in a jumble.
The hallway stretches out before me like a corridor in a museum with its long, dimly lit halls all lined with delicate framed art and antique furniture that gleam in the faint ambient light. Everything is pristine and there isn’t a thing out of place.
It’s beautiful, yes, but eerie at this hour.
My feet brush against the carpet with every step, silent and slow. I glance at every door I pass, half expecting one to creak open and reveal a watchful staff member chasing me back off to bed.
By the time I find the foyer, I’m ready to turn back and call it a night. Except an especially annoying twinge when I swallow has me fighting through the urge and trudging down another long hallway.
Why the hell is this place so massive?
Eventually, the hallway opens into a landing and a staircase. I grip the cool railing and take each step carefully, the banister smooth beneath my fingers. The deeper I descend into the mansion, the colder the air feels.
I turn left on instinct and round a corner, surprised when the hallway begins to widen slightly. After a few more steps, I spot the edge of a large archway and peer around the corner.
Bingo.
The kitchen is massive.Gorgeous. It looks exactly like one you'd see on the front of some glossy magazine, all marble countertops and matte black appliances. There’s a long central island with bar stools tucked under it and a tall industrial fridge humming softly along the back wall.
