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The vibe in the mansion has certainly changed.
For the past three days, I’ve generally been left alone. Ulyana would bring me things, either guessing my needs or asking me directly, but the rest of the staff milling through Arsen’s home kept their distance. But between Masha waiting by my side this morning, and now the others hurrying to seek my approval at every turn, it’s clear that’s over with.
I’m breathing fast as I enter the kitchen. To my amazement and relief, there’s no one here. The massive stainless-steel fridge calls my name. My stomach cramps angrily, impatiently demanding food. Opening the fridge, I’m stunned by the amount of food inside. Everything is packed in perfect rows; whoever organized it must be a master at LEGOs.
Frowning thoughtfully, I search through the items. Nothing is premade. It’s all raw things that have to be cooked.
“Are Pop-Tarts not good enough for these people?” I mutter.
With a dour frown, I abandon the fridge to search the rest of the kitchen. I can’t tell which cupboard is the pantry, and every door I open keeps revealing more rows of crystal glasses or trays of silverware.
One drawer sticks a bit. Giving it a hard yank, I grunt, straining with my heels digging into the floor. The entire thing flies outward, spilling spoons and forks across the tiles. I cover my ears, cringing through the clattering noise.
“This is insane!” I groan. “I just want some breakfast.”
“Oh, miss! Let me?—”
“No!” I snap at the girl with a red braid who appears out of nowhere at the sound of my voice. She recoils, mouth agape, then flees around the corner. She almost slams into Ulyana, who shifts sideways more nimbly than I thought she could move.
Ulyana looks around the corner where the girl went. She turns slowly, eyeing the mess I made, then eyes me in distaste.
“You can’t act like this, Galina.”
Scooping the utensils into the drawer, I replace them in the drawer as fast as possible. They aren’t lining up nicely, but I keep going.
“Tell me what’s going on. Why is everyone being weird?”
“They’re not.” She wrinkles her nose at the sight of me cleaning. “You are.”
She claps her hands and two women burst into the room, snapping their heels together as they stand at attention. They have nearly identical black jaw-length hair with piercing blue eyes.
“Varya, clean up the mess there. Terra, I want both of you to go upstairs and freshen up the mistress’s room.”
“Yes, ma’am!” they crow simultaneously. Varya kneels down, ignoring how I wave my hands at her to show I don’t need help. With precision she soon has the silverware aligned, the drawer set back in place. Without a parting word, she bows, and vanishes off in the direction the other woman went.
I widen my eyes at Ulyana. “I get asking for help with the utensil spill, but why have the other one clean my room?”
“It’s a display,” she explains. “You need to learn to order the staff around as efficiently, as confidently, as myself or Arsen.”
“Why?”
“The wife of the pakhan is expected to have a certain air to her.”
I snort derisively. “You expect me to be a bossy narcissist like him? No thanks.”
“There are customs that you must adhere to.”
“Why does it matter? I’m not his wife, not really. It’s all fake, you know that!”
“It’s precisely because it is fake that you should act like everything is as real as possible.”
Mulling that over, I wonder if I’ve been looking at this too lackadaisically. The household is a mix of people in on the ruse, and others who aren’t. A pretend marriage is pointless if no one believes it.
Arsen wants it to look legit so he can complete whatever his plan with Yevgeniy is.
And I need that plan to work if I’m ever to have any hopes of getting out of here.
“I’ll try harder,” I swear. She responds with a pleased smile. Clearing my throat, I stand a bit taller. “Girls!” I yell, working to keep my voice clear and even. I’m not sure what to expect, but I’m surprised when two different women rush into the kitchen. I recognize Olesya, who beams at me. The other one has light brown hair that drifts in long waves around her round face.
