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Not that it matters. Soon she won’t be my problem.
“If your definition of spoiled means that I spent my time in the kitchens and the gardens being raised by the very people you’ve just buried, then yes, I am spoiled,” she hisses. Her arm sweeps out, motioning to the graves around us. “These were the people who raised me when my family was too busy partying to care that they left their four-year-old daughter home by herself. These were the people who hugged me. The people who held me when I cried. They were my family more than the dead bodies in that mausoleum ever were. If that makes me spoiled, so be it.”
My little mouse has a backbone after all. She storms over the first grave. Anton and I follow.
Vanya hands the first photo to Anton.
“Lonnie Anderson, fifty-four,” she tells him. “Head gardener. He used to let me help him plant the flowers. Taught me everything I know about gardening. Used to let me pick the flowers from a special area when I was sad.”
Another photo.
“Celia Santorini,” she continues. “She was a baker in the kitchen. Taught me how to make bread and used to sneak me cupcakes when my mother wouldn’t allow me to eat.” Another photo. “Cal Dunn. Head butler. Used to play board games with me and tucked me into bed when my parents were out at the club or too drunk to take care of me. His wife, Mel, used to help me bathe and dress when I was younger because my parents never cared to help me learn.”
On and on she goes. All sixty of them. She knows every single name and occupation, adding in something special they used to do for her.Khristos.Vanya Castellanos is nothing like the spoiled princess I believed her to be. That I had been led to believe.
Another lie to add to the ever-growing list.
“I’ll be sure to get their files and mark their graves accordingly,” Anton assures her gently. Vanya nods, the tears spilling down her cheeks. Something pulls at my chest, but I ignore it.
“Come,” I order her, my voice gruff. “I need you to show me to your father’s office and then you can grab some of your things from your room.”
Vanya shakes her head.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” she whispers, voice broken, body shivering. Too bad for her, I don’t care.
“We’re going,” I growl. “You can either follow directions like a good girl or I can take you over my knee right here and you will still be going inside. Just with a raw ass.” Her lips part into a beautifulO, eyes wide. Such innocence. Her throat bobs and I can see the gears turning in that gorgeous head of hers. Vanya isn’t stupid. Mouthy and reckless, yes. But not stupid.
After a moment, the shock fades into frustration. Her tiny hands fist at her side and she nearly stomps her foot before muttering a small, “Fine,” and marching toward the back entrance of the house.
Smart girl.
I will need to adjust that attitude though.
A little voice niggles at the back of my mind.Who are you kidding? You love that fire and defiance.
It isn’t wrong. Her fiery eyes and pushback get me harder than granite. I’ve spent a few nights in the shower with my hand wrapped around my cock thinking of all the times she attempted to fight back at me.
There weren’t many, but fuck, her defiance was almost better than her naïve submission.
Almost
Anton and I follow leisurely behind her as she storms across the long yard.
“Something isn’t right,” Anton whispers low enough so that she can’t overhear. I know what he means. Vanya is nothing like I imagined. There had only been a handful of times when the two of us had been in a room together for more than a few moments. The rehearsal dinner and wedding and a few dinners here and there that were for Ada’s birthdays.
That was it.
I never paid much attention to her. She was always rather quiet when I was in the room, the complete opposite of my late wife who enjoyed being the center of attention. At the time, I’d never thought much of it, but now, the more I think back on my time married to her, the more I begin to realize she was nothing like she had portrayed prior to our marriage.
Ada was nothing like the girl I thought she was.
Nothing like the girl I’d spent so much time thinking of when I was growing up. I am beginning to wonder if they were ever the same person or if it had been a con all along.
“I know,” I tell him. “I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”
Anton gives me a knowing look. “You know what it is, you just don’t want to accept it.”
He is right of course. He always is.
