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Whatever the case, I’m powerless to change my circumstances. My hands are tied.
“Why the long face?” Tima asks when I walk into the kitchen. “Didn’t you enjoy the fancy party last night?”
I give him an honest smile. “Not exactly.”
He’s the only person in St. Petersburg around whom I can relax. For everyone else, I have to wear a mask. I don’t trust them with my feelings. Sadly, that includes Alex.
“Were the women bitches?” he asks, putting a bowl of oatmeal in front of me as I take a seat at the table.
“Only one woman in particular.”
Crossing his arms, he regards me with a sympathetic smile. “Let me guess. Dania Turgeneva.”
I give him a surprised look. “How did you know?”
“I’ve observed her when she’s come here with her father. She’s been giving Mr. Volkov strong signals.”
I pull the honey closer. “What kind of signals?”
“The signals a woman gives a man to let him know she’s available and willing.”
“Ah.” I consider that as I dribble honey over the porridge. “She told me that she and Alex were promised to each other, like in an arranged marriage.”
“Ha.” He snorts. “I’m sure she and her father would like that.”
I dip the spoon into the porridge, scooping up a helping of nuts and berries with the oatmeal. “Then it’s not true?”
“If it were, you wouldn’t be here.” He winks. “Don’t listen to anything Miss Turgeneva says. Jealousy makes you nasty. Isn’t that how the expression goes? Besides, Mr. Volkov has never called her kiska. He’s never used that term of endearment for anyone else.”
I looked up the word. It means kitten. At first, I thought it was derogatory, like reducing a person to a pet, but then I read that the term is used affectionately for someone you care about, especially by a man for his female partner.
“Thanks,” I say with a grateful smile, and I don’t only mean for the reassurance and the breakfast. Because of him, the kitchen has become my refuge in the house.
“Eat up,” he says with a mock-stern expression, just like my mom used to do when I was little.
I still can’t believe Alex is taking me to see her for Christmas. It feels unreal, and I’m worried that he’ll change his mind if something happens on the security front.
Tima goes back to preparing the lunch, letting me finish my breakfast in silence. When I’m done, I rinse my bowl and carry a mug of coffee to the library, where a fire is burning as usual. For a moment, I’m undecided about how to occupy myself. There aren’t any men with ailments knocking on the door this morning. I’ve almost caught up with all the seasons of Downton Abbey. My job always kept me busy. I relished the time I had off, using it to either see my mom and my friends or to recharge by vegetating on the couch. Since we’ve been here, I’ve been mostly vegetating, and it’s getting monotonous. The only positive about having so much free time is that my exercise regime is back on track, but right now, I don’t feel like working out or swimming.
I settle on the sofa with a book, but by the time I’ve finished my coffee, my mind is drifting again. I can’t stop thinking about what Dania said, that I’m hampering Alex’s efforts to find the man who’s trying to kill him. What if she’s right? What if he’s using most of his resources to protect me instead of tracking his enemy? Is he doing either of us a favor by keeping me here?
The answer is a tough one to face because I care. And because I care, the truth hurts.
I must’ve dozed off because I wake up on the sofa to find myself covered with a blanket. The book I’ve been reading has been placed on the side table. Someone considerately left a bookmark to keep my place.
Blinking, I sit up. I’m not wearing my watch, but I can guess the hour by the fact that the curtains are closed. It must be dark outside already. Lena always closes the curtains when the sun sets. I’ve slept from this morning straight through the afternoon. We came home late last night, and I didn’t sleep much when we went to bed. I tossed and turned, mulling over the scene with Dania in the bathroom and the way Alex had proven his possession of me in the back of the car.
I throw the blanket aside and stand. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I skipped lunch. I’m about to make my way to the door when it opens and Alex enters.
“You’re awake,” he says. “I was just coming to check on you.”
I look at him with surprise. What is he doing home so early? He’s still dressed for the office in navy blue suit pants and a white fitted shirt. He never arrives before dinner.
