“I’ll take full responsibility,” I promise. “Just this once. You’ve been on your feet cooking for everyone. You just came back from leave, let me help. We can do it together. Please?”
She hesitates, clearly torn between her fear of Maxim and my pleading. After a long moment, she sighs.
“Alright… but only because you look like you need this. And you must tell the boss it was your idea.”
“Deal.”
We start prepping together. The kitchen fills with the comforting rhythm of chopping onions, mixing ground meat with spices, rolling out the dough.
For the first time in days, my hands are busy and my mind feels quieter.
Olga––she has told me to call her by her first name––is warm and chatty, telling me little stories about the garden and how her husband fusses over the roses. And I end up convincing her to sit down and keep me company instead of hovering.
She protests at first, but eventually settles onto a stool at the kitchen island with a cup of tea, watching me work with a mild horror.
As I knead the dough for the pelmeni, we talk. She tells me she and her husband have worked for Maxim for over a decade. How he’s a good boss, strict, but fair.
How he gave them time off when her husband was ill last month, sending them to one of his private cabins upstate for two weeks so they could rest. He paid for everything and told them not to worry about work.
The way she speaks about him is warm, almost motherly. Like she’s talking about a son she’s proud of. It catches me off guard.
This woman doesn’t have to say anything good about her boss, yet here she is, speaking fondly of how kind he’s been to them.
It makes me see Maxim in a different light. One I’m not sure I want to acknowledge.
Just then, voices echo from the hallway. Dmitri and Viktor walk into the kitchen.
Dmitri’s face lights up with a charming smile the moment he sees me at the stove. “Well, hello. This is a surprise.”
Viktor, on the other hand, looks as broody and suspicious as ever, frowning like I’ve committed a crime by being in the kitchen.
Dmitri leans against the counter, watching me with open interest. “What are you making? It smells incredible.”
“Pelmeni,” I reply, trying to stay civil. “The real kind.”
Dmitri inhales deeply. “God, I haven’t had good homemade pelmeni in years.”
“You never told me you wanted them,” Olga remarks.
Dmitri flashes her a charming smile. “Oh come on Olga, you know I don’t like to burden you.”
Olga rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath about Dmitri being too charming for his own good.
Dmitri returns his attention to me. “It’s a surprise to see you cooking though.”
Olga sighs. “I already told her she’s not supposed to be cooking. I’m sure Mr. Orlov will have my head for this.”
I wave her off for the umpteenth time. “Maxim isn’t going to do anything. I asked to cook. It’s therapeutic for me.”
Viktor makes a snide sound. “Can you cook, or are you just playing house?”
I shoot him a sharp look. The tension between us is mutual. I don’t like him, and he clearly doesn’t like me. “I’ve been cooking for my family since I was a teenager. I think I can handle it.”
“Leave her alone, Viktor. I’m sure the food is going to taste as good as it smells. Can I have a taste?”
Dmitri tastes a small piece I offer him and groans in appreciation. “This is excellent. I’m definitely sticking around for dinner.”
Viktor rolls his eyes. “You like food too much.”
