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Chapter Eleven
Westartedthetrip first thing in the morning by taking a boat to the mainland. From there we’d traveled in a small plane that rattled alarmingly. I’d assumed we’d be shopping where we landed, in what Ilya told me was Arkhangelsk, but almost as soon as we were on the ground, we boarded a larger flight to Saint Petersburg, which both Bron and Ilya simply referred to as Peter.
Traveling like a passenger rather than being treated like cargo made this a very different journey. I couldn’t say I missed being drugged and black-bagged the way I’d been when traveling with them the last time, but the heated looks Ilya sent my way made me wish we had more privacy.
In Saint Petersburg, the two of them dressed like they had money, in casual clothes tailored to fit perfectly, the way my own clothes never had. Paired with their expensive clothing, their beards made them look more like big city hipsters rather than men who spent most of their time farming. I’d done my best to put together some of the more timeless pieces of Yana’s clothing so I wouldn’t look so out of place, but there was only so much I could do.
I’d never had money to travel, so doing this was exciting for me, although not being able to read most of the signage was strange and unnerving. The buildings we passed on the way to the hotel were far grander than I would have expected. Most things I’d seen on television about Russia had suggested it was a drab place, but the architecture in Saint Petersburg was stunning, and I spent most of our ride from the airport to the hotel glued to the hired car’s window.
When we arrived at the hotel, it was difficult not to stand on the street and gape up at it. The place looked like a palace. It was pale yellow, with white columns and stone lions, and if Ilya hadn’t grabbed my hand and tugged me across the sidewalk, I might have stood outside staring at it all day.
The lobby was just as intimidating, and I had to stop myself from openly admiring every minor detail.
Ilya stood with me and manned our shared luggage as Bron checked us in.
Some of the judgmental looks I received from other women reminded me of high school, and I automatically drew myself up to my full height and acted like I owned the place, ignoring them. So what if Yana’s clothes were old and out of style, and didn’t fit me well?
“Your manner is a disguise you put on,” Ilya observed. “Like armor.”
He’d noticed, of course. The man noticed everything.
“Do women always dress so nicely here?” I asked quietly, wondering if it was safe for me to speak English. I’d heard other people speaking English, but they didn’t have to worry about the police finding out they were in the country illegally.
Almost every woman I’d seen had been wearing makeup and heels, and had dressed like she was on her way to a job interview or a first date. The town I was from was far more casual.
He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time in cities. Most of the women in my family dress well, though.”
Bron rejoined us, so I asked him.
“Yes, women always dress nicely here.”
I fell silent again, still worried about traveling around Russia with no ID. Bron had said they’d gotten some for me, but I assumed it must be fake, and therefore was living in fear of being discovered and thrown in jail.
The suite we were shown to was large, with high ceilings, and the furniture was tastefully ornate. There was even a dining area with a table for eight, and because it was a corner suite, there were windows on two sides of the building. Instead of having one bathroom, there were two, and the main one was almost entirely marble.
“There are two bedrooms,” Bron pointed out.
“Who gets their own room?” I asked, letting myself explore without masking my reactions now that we were alone. I didn’t care if these two laughed at me.
When Bron didn’t answer, I looked at him. His jaw was flexing.
“Should I take the spare room?”
“I’m too hungry to think this through right now. We need to eat, and we need to get you clothing. The plane leaves early tomorrow.”
“Why are we staying in such a beautiful hotel?”
They both looked baffled.
“Where else would we stay?”
“Somewhere more anonymous and less expensive? This place feels very exclusive.”
Bron shrugged. “If you’re not used to rich living, it’s good that we came here first. When we go to visit Ilya’s family, you can’t spend your time looking around in awe.”
“There’s no problem there, as long as I know to expect it ahead of time.”
“Good.”
We had lunch at a small café down the street, then took a car about ten minutes away to an upscale shopping area. It was beautiful and bustling, and I was enjoying sightseeing and people watching before we even shopped.
Buying a new piece of clothing had always been a big deal for me, considering we had very little in the way of spending money. My siblings and I wore hand-me-downs from our cousins, mostly, or shopped at thrift stores. Meanwhile, Ilya and Bron spent money like it was meaningless and shopped with all the patience in the world. Most of the stores they brought me into were the fancy kind that only offered a small number of pieces.
Rather than trying to rush me through the process, they browsed through the clothing with me and chose things for me at different shops, waiting patiently as I tried them on. We shopped for the guys, too, and I didn’t miss how the blushing saleswomen fluttered around them.
When we stopped for a break at a café with a wide window, Bron sent our packages back to the hotel.
The server who brought our tea practically simpered at the guys. I could tell Bron enjoyed all the fussing female attention, but he didn’t flirt back. Ilya seemed to chalk it up to the women being polite.
“That one would suck your dick if you smiled at her the right way,” Bron said to Ilya, sipping at his tea.
“Why would she do that?” Ilya’s brows rose in disbelief. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who was taking someone else’s order. She must have felt him looking, because she glanced up at him, met his gaze, then smiled flirtatiously. “She doesn’t know me.”
“Sometimes women only want sex,” Bron informed him. “You’re a good-looking boy, and she likes what she sees.”
“He’s almost thirty. He’s not a boy,” I pointed out.
Bron made a dismissive sound and took a bite of his pastry.
“It’s true. Maybe he was a boy when you met him, but he’s a man now.”
Ilya was watching us talk about him, eyes flicking between us as though we were discussing a subject he had no stake in.
“If he were a man, he would refuse to obey me.”
