Page 6 of Dark Soul

As cold as it was, her palms were sweating.

She ran through the schedule she’d planned for the day, thinking it would have been so much easier to send him an email or print him a note with the schedule. But Arseny Kvyat didn’t like to get anything in writing, from her or from anybody else. He preferred to hear things directly from the source.

And what Arseny Kvyat wanted, he got.

Her stomach grumbled as she eyed the large buffet that’d been set up on the sideboard. It was the kind of spread she’d read about, growing up, in novels depicting Victorian country estates. Not the kind of thing one imagined could exist in real life. Artfully arranged platters of lunch meats, cheeses, breads and pastries, as well as eggs cooked in several ways, and some dishes that she’d learned were Russian breakfast staples, including Russian pancakes and grenki, a kind of fried bread.

Drinks included all kinds of fresh juices and a big jug of Russian tea, a drink she knew took over three hours to make and was made fresh for Mr. Kvyat every morning.

In one corner sat a high-end coffee machine, ready to grind Black Ivory coffee grains—the rarest and most expensive coffee in the world, Mr. Kvyat had explained—on demand. Alexia hadn’t dared tell him it tasted just like regular coffee to her.

One minute.

She took one last look at the sideboard. There was enough food there for twenty people, but she knew it would just be the three of them eating. Or two and a quarter, since Nikolai never ate much in front of his father.

At precisely eight-thirty, Arseny Kvyat strode into the dining room. He walked with poise and confidence and dressed in the finest clothes, but nothing could hide the fact that he was a bear of a man. He was in his mid-fifties, with a broad, ruddy nose that spoke of his love of food and drink, and thick pouches under his eyes that spoke of a chronic lack of sleep. Not surprising, perhaps, for a man who started as a mechanic in an aluminum plant and eventually became one of the great Russian oligarchs.

Her first thought, as always when she set her eyes on her employer, was guilt. Because she wasn't who she'd claimed to be, and because she had reasons for wanting to be here that had nothing to do with teaching Nikolai.

Alexia swallowed hard, pushing the guilt back and focusing on her anger instead. It was still there, the kind of anger that hadn’t faded with time—the kind of anger that could never fade.

And, regardless of her motives for being here, she was doing the best she could for Nikolai—teaching him English and math, yes, but also hopefully teaching him about himself, and about everything he could become.

“Good morning, Miss Alexia,” the man said as he entered the dining room. He gave her a quick once-over, but Alexia was glad to note he paid a lot more attention to the sideboard than to her.

“Mr. Kvyat,” Alexia nodded.

The cook came inside and dropped a last platter of some colorful, exotic fruits, then departed back into the kitchen. Kvyat watched her leave with a satisfied expression.

“You know why I bring my cook with me wherever I go?” Kvyat asked.

Alexia could think of lots of answers to that question, but didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing any of them. Following her own maxim not to say anything if she couldn’t say anything nice, she shook her head politely and waited to be enlightened.

“Fewer chances of being poisoned that way. If I didn’t trust Mrs. Babanin as much as I do, I’d have to hire a personal food taster.” He laughed heartily, as if there was something funny in his words.

Alexia shivered, unsure what to say—glad for the distraction Nikolai provided as he walked inside the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Father,” Nikolai said quickly.

Late in the Kvyat household was relative.

The boy was dressed in navy blue, as usual, in the clothes Alexia had come to recognize as his uniform around his father, what he wore to be as inconspicuous as possible. It looked like a school uniform, even though the boy wasn’t in school at the moment. He’d been taken out of school when his father had decided to spend the winter in Gstaad—hence why Alexia had been hired.

Apparently, that was the kind of thing the uber-rich could do when they so wished.

The man’s thick lips pursed for a moment, and Alexia held her breath—before his mouth relaxed, lips spreading into a grin.

Arseny Kvyat is in a good mood today.

“Come, my boy. Let’s sit down and eat. One can’t learn with an empty belly.” He began loading up a plate full of food for himself. “Right, Miss Alexia?”

And with that, Alexia launched into her detailed explanation of the lesson plan she’d come up with for the day.

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