“What about a feta omelette with mushrooms, spinach, and sun-dried tomatoes?” I ask, opting for a healthier choice as I rest a hand on my stomach. “Maybe some toast, too? And fruit?”
“Ahhh, marvelous choices,” Antov praises, already heading to the large, double door stainless-steel fridge. “I have some beautiful strawberries and melon that just arrived this morning. Sit, sit. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes.”
I look around the kitchen at the seating choices. There’s a large counter surrounding the cooking area lined with stools, and in the rounded, window-shrouded corner is a round table with booth-like seating. I opt for a stool at the counter.
I’m just about to ask if I can get myself something to drink when Yana sits down a china cup and saucer of a delicious smelling red tea.
“Black cherry tea,” Yana explains when I give her a questioning look. “Full of antioxidants and very delicious and much better for the baby than coffee.”
I’m perturbed by the lack of caffeine, but take a tentative sip from the warm brew anyway. Once the sweet, fruity taste hits my tongue, I drain the cup almost instantly.
“More, please?” I ask.
Yana gives me an approving nod, and brings over the full teapot, filling the tea cup once more before sitting the pot beside the saucer. A moment later Antov sits my full plate before me, and my mouth waters as I catch the aroma of the fresh food.
My stubbornness completely vanishes after I take the first bite, and I clean the plate with gusto. When I finish I praise Antov for his skills, which he readily accepts.
“It is a pleasure to cook for you,” he tells me. “Never be afraid to come into my kitchen.”
After breakfast, and a little less on edge, I follow Yana for the tour; happy that at least my morning sickness hasn’t reared its ugly head. She takes me through each of the rooms in the vast mansion, then to the back yard.
I even let myself get a little excited when I see the pool and jacuzzi. It’s designed to look like a tropical oasis with a realistic stone waterfall toward the deep end, and a privacy screen of bamboo around the jacuzzi. I decide this is where I’m going to spend my time while I wait for my father and sister to arrive with my things, and after asking Yana for a notepad and pen, I call Max.
“How does it feel to be a married woman?” Max asks in way of a greeting.
I roll my eyes as I settle into one of the white-cushioned poolside loungers.
“Restrictive,” I snipe back.
“Oh, come on,” my art dealer goads, “It can’t be all that bad.”
I looked around the beautiful scenery surrounding me.
“It could be worse,” I begrudgingly agree, “But I’m calling with some bad news. I’m going to have to cancel our meeting tomorrow.”
“Restructure,” Max corrects, his tone surprisingly calm. “It’s really no problem.”
My brows fly up. Normally he is a rather emphatic man with a flair for dramatics when his schedule is thrown out of balance.
“It’s not?” I ask.
“Your husband’s assistant called me earlier this morning and explained everything,” Max replies, “We don’t have to cancel our meeting. I’ll just come to you. I’m filling out the paperwork as we speak.”
“Paperwork?” I question. “What paperwork?”
“Oh, the usual when working with these rich types. Confidentiality agreements. NDAs and such.”
I groan and shake my head.
“Max, I’m so sorry,” I apologize. “I had no idea this was going to happen or I would have warned you.”
On the other end I hear Max chortle.
“Don’t be sorry. In fact I should be thanking you.”
My brows furrow in confusion.
“Whatever for?” I ask.
