Page 32 of The Agreement

Her voice was kind, but commanding at the same time. Much like a baba’s would be—no one knew how to be a better caretaker and disciplinarian than a Russian grandmother with a wooden rolling pin. Karine had never known her own grandmother, so Masha was the closest thing to it that she ever had. Even if the forty-year-old woman was a bit young to claim her as a grandchild.

Blindly, she reached out toward Masha’s voice, and found a cold glass of water pressed back into her palm. She molded her fingers around it, silently grateful for Masha’s attentiveness to Karine’s constant plight—especially in the mornings—even if she did hate the process of waking up.

Every single time.

Masha continued to hold the glass, guiding it to Karine’s lips, and helping her take the first sip. She smacked her lips lightly as she drank more water, desperate to rid the dryness that chapped her lips and made her tongue feel like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.

The water was heaven.

When was the last time she had something to drink?

Masha had to be right. She was too hungover to remember or move. However, she couldn’t recall a single memory of how she found herself in this condition either. Walking around with a glass of something in her hand—usually vodka, maybe a bit of wine—was commonplace for her. What began as a little something to make breakfast go down easier ended up with mornings where she found a nightstand full of empty glasses.

Only dribbles of liquor ever remained.

“Open your eyes now, dear.”

Masha’s voice came softer than ever, and a gentle hand pressed to Karine’s forehead. She recognized the touch well since nobody else was affectionate with her—not like this.

Not any other member of her family, only Masha.

And Masha was just a slave.

Hers, sure.

Or that’s what her father always said.

But a slave all the same.

Karine opened her eyes, then, testing the waters of her hangover once more. The pain wasn’t as bad—she didn’t think she was going to immediately puke all over the dark hardwood floors. Bleary-eyed, she quietly watched while Masha strode around the room, plumping pillows, dusting surfaces, and chatting about the roses that were in bloom in the garden.

White and red.

Pink was her favorite.

Yellow was hard to keep—sometimes. It depended on the rain, apparently. She listened on, not really replying to joining in on the conversation, but the older woman didn’t mind. Karine had never really thought about who Masha was outside of the confines of her own life. Certainly not beyond the walls of the place they called home.

A nanny—that was who she told herself Masha was to her. The reality wasn’t that straightforward. Masha certainly had all of a nanny or caretaker's responsibility, and she possessed these all through Karine’s life. Ever since she was a child and could remember, Masha was the one who tucked her in bed at night.

She was always there.

Kind.

Soft-handed.

Promising better things.

Karine was twenty now, and Masha still helped her bathe most days. Well, if one considered bringing her the things she needed and running the water so that Karine didn’t have to touch a thing was bathing her.

The difference between a nanny and Masha—was that she was not allowed to leave the Yazov mansion unless it was with Karine, or one of the bulls. Masha had no freedom and no other home. She would never be free of Karine, or the rest of the Yazov family. More importantly, she was not paid for her undying loyalty ... or her lifetime of services.

Masha earned her keep by serving Karine and anyone who called the Yazov mansion home with her every waking minute. She looked after Karine, ruling her life with a firm hand to get her through the day and yet, she had no power or control.

Even though Masha spoke to her as though Karine had no choice but to listen—all Karine needed to do was point at the door, and Masha would apologize and leave the room. Those were the rules that existed between them though they never actually acknowledged it.

The levels of power and expectations existed everywhere else in the Yazov household, except in Karine’s bedroom. She also made it a point to never make Masha feel less than, or reminded her of her true position within these walls—that of a slave.

She meant more to Karine.