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Konstantin shrugged. “I don’t know. Have fun? If that’s not enough, volunteer somewhere, or you can figure out how to get your accreditation so you can work here. You don’t need to work, if you don’t want to, though. We don’t need more money.”
So many women would have jumped at the chance to be spoiled and spend their days amusing themselves. Varushka looked crestfallen.
His protective instincts kicked in. “We can visit the university nearby next week and see which credits transfer over. Do you know what you’d like to teach?”
“Um. Grade school, but I haven’t finished my placements, so I don’t know.”
“There’s no rush.” He took a step closer. “We’ll figure it out. I want you to be happy and comfortable. You can work full-time or not at all.”
“You don’t need me here, do you?” she said accusatorily. “Marrying me is charity, not necessity.” Her thin shoulders drew up to her ears, as though she could hide from him that way. “I was hoping to at least be useful to you.”
Shit.
Hoping he wouldn’t frighten her, Konstantin put his hands on her shoulders and smoothed them downward with his palms. “Your life has been all about hard work until now. In America, you’re going to have to learn to relax and have a good time. Marrying you isn’t about charity, little bird. It’s about stealing a bit of Russia and keeping it as my own.” He winked at her and she smiled shyly, then averted her gaze.
“So you’ve stolen me? Are you going to lock me in your tower and throw away the key?”
Was she flirting? Thoughts of the girl in a sex dungeon intruded, and he guiltily pushed them away.
“If you’re going to be my wife, throwing away the key would make our relationship difficult. Don’t you think?” He let some innuendo slip into his words, to see how she would respond.
She bit her lip and looked at the floor, but nodded.
“For now, the room next to mine will be yours. We’re still strangers to each other, and I don’t want to rush you. I thought it might be more comfortable for you to have your own space for a while.”
Varushka walked into the room he’d prepared for her, and he immediately realized he’d made a huge error in judgment. He thought the white décor would make the room feel clean and fresh, but with the girl standing in it, it felt more like the set for an age-play movie. It wasn’t his thing.
“I left it plain, because I didn’t know what you liked. I can arrange for a decorator to come tomorrow night. I want you to make the space your own.”
She looked around the room, and smiled. “I like it like this. I don’t want to change anything.”
Oh god. If he ever got to the point where he could lay a hand on her, it could never, ever, be in this room. In this room, she was off-limits.
* * *
Varushka stalled at the front entrance of the mall, staring up at the four floors of shops and the skylight high overhead, then at the water feature near the doors. It had taken them twenty minutes just to get through the parking lot because she kept stopping to stare at things and greet people as they passed. She was so sweet it was hard not to grab her and kiss her.
After their long trip home the previous day, he’d assumed she’d be content to relax. Instead, she woke almost at first light, despite the time change, and had begged to see America. You couldn’t get more America than the mall, he’d decided.
Mortified but obedient, she’d allowed him to go through her suitcase. Most of the clothing she owned was either tattered, too big, or just plain ugly. It all looked like it belonged to a twelve-year-old girl whose parents didn’t like her much. Castoffs, homemade dresses from old-fashioned patterns that might have been good enough in the village, but here he could do better. She wouldn’t be milking any cows anytime soon.
“This is very kind of you,” she smiled up at him, and he noticed again how he towered over her.
This must be how Ambrose felt everywhere he went. Konstantin was tall enough, at six foot, but his height rarely made him feel like a giant.
“But I still don’t understand what’s wrong with the clothes I have. I made most of them myself, you know.”
How to be delicate about this? “In America, you should have American clothes. It’ll help you make friends,” he said, patting her shoulder. And it’ll help me not get arrested if I kiss you in public, he added silently.
It was a higher-end mall, but even so there were sections that catered to teenagers, and several times he had to steer her away from those. She seemed to be drawn to them, but the last thing Varushka needed was nostalgic Disney characters on her dresses, or knee-high socks with cartoons on them. They were fine and fun on women who looked their age, but on her they’d just look wrong. Or maybe too right.
The first store he led her to seemed bleak compared to the bright fabrics and pop music the juniors’ stores used to lure patrons. He knew what he liked on a woman, but that style would look ridiculous on little Varushka, even if the store carried her size. Besides, there was something that felt wrong about dressing her in the tight, revealing club clothes his women usually wore.
The haughty-looking store attendant approached them, smiling broadly at Konstantin and ignoring Varushka completely.
“Can I help you, sir? Are you looking for anything specific?”
He gestured grimly to Varushka. “Do you carry clothing that would fit her?”
