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“How did you end up working for Vas?”
He shrugged. “I was quiet, big. I got into a lot of fights. Older boys. Teachers. It seemed like the right work for me.”
“But how did you cross paths with him in the first place? Did he go to schools looking for boys to recruit?” I suddenly had visions of Vas having a band of little pickpockets, like Fagin from Oliver Twist.
“No, no. My mother was one of Vas’s cooks. She got me a job washing dishes, and it helped us get by. He noticed me—probably because I was so big. Everyone is afraid of Vas, but he was usually good to me.” His eyes strayed to Ilya, as though the statement made him feel guilty.
“You were probably what he wished his own sons were like,” Ilya grumbled.
“Why? The two of you are similar sizes.”
“Not when we met,” Bron said, looking amused. “He was long and lean, like a swimmer.”
“I meant his attitude—his expression, and the way he walked,” Ilya said.
“He intimidated you?”
“I—” His eyes darted to Bron, then back to me. “Yes. I wanted to be him, but maybe it wasn’t only that. He was the first man I’d spent much time with, and I found him fascinating.”
“You still find me fascinating,” Bron said smugly.
How could he think he was straight and then still flirt with Ilya the way he did? The man was either confused or a jerk. Maybe both.
“If that’s what you choose to believe.”
The plane banked, and I watched out the window as the sea gradually disappeared from view. I studied the landscape, feeling like I hadn’t had a long enough vacation from my life, even though it had been months since I’d been home.
Home. Such a strange word. For me, home was a room in my parents’ house that I used to share with one of my sisters. I thought longingly of what I was leaving, even though it would never look as pretty and well-kept as my parents’ house.
When we eventually arrived at Vas’s gate it was difficult not to look impressed. Our car was buzzed through by security, and our driver followed the long driveway that terminated in a circular garden around a white marble fountain. The pale blue building was large and ostentatious, with white columns and a carving in the peak of the roof. A second floor balcony extended across the entire front of the massive building. It looked like a museum, or maybe a palace.
I tried to picture myself going back to work at my parents’ store, stocking shelves, heading off shoplifters. That reality was so far removed from walking up the stairs of a mansion while wearing couture clothing. I was also on the arm of a hot guy while his secret lover trailed behind us. It felt like one or the other of my lives had to be a dream.
If I’d expected Ilya’s family to meet us at the door, I would have been disappointed. A servant greeted us, and more servants led us to a suite of rooms. It was a beautifully decorated suite that reminded me of our stay in Saint Petersburg, but nothing about it said Ilya.
“Where are all your things?” I ran my fingers over a marble bust of a man I didn’t recognize.
“My things?” he asked after he finished thanking the servants who’d brought our luggage in, then closed the door behind him.
“Your books or toys or whatever? Nothing in here reminds me of you.”
“These rooms were never his.” Bron dropped into an armchair. I still wasn’t used to his short hair and their cleanly shaven faces. I kept feeling as if I was traveling with strangers.
“I’ve never had a room here. When I visit, the housekeeper puts me in one of the guest rooms.”
“Oh.”
He cupped the side of my face and rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “Don’t look so sad. I liked my life running wild on the island. Here, my father expected perfect manners from us all the time. A dropped spoon was grounds to be banished to my room for the rest of the visit.”
I frowned, feeling sorry for the boy he’d been. “But children are clumsy by nature.”
“Your parents sound more patient than my father.”
“My parents weren’t around much. I raised their children for them.”
Bron’s brows rose. “Is that why you went to the Island so many times? Because you felt responsible for their education?”
“I knew my parents would never agree to pay for school. Sometimes, I think they only had us to help them run the store.” I opened my bag and hunted down my makeup. I’d need to touch it up before we met his family. “I didn’t want them to be trapped in that life, with no hope of ever making their own decisions.”
Ilya led me into the main bedroom which was large enough to be a classroom, and showed me the lavish washroom. The shower had multiple heads, and there was a generously proportioned tub.
I decided to take a quick shower and start getting ready from scratch. By the time I got out, dried my hair, and did my makeup, the two of them had unpacked our things.
“We’re dining with the family,” Ilya told me. “It’s formal. I got our clothes ready.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Although I hadn’t put on much makeup, it would have to do. He’d remembered what shoes went with the dress he’d selected, which made me smile. He always noticed minor details that made me feel important to him.
Bron had unpacked his things in the spare room, but he got ready with us. He even did up my gown and kissed my nape when he was done. When I’d tried on the dress at the boutique, it had made me feel like a Hollywood starlet from the 1920s. Ilya had loved it on me so much he’d insisted on buying it despite the staggering price tag.
The two of them looked strangely dangerous in their suits—as though they both had a side-hustle as either hitmen or movie mobsters, since their muscles were too defined to make them suit models.
We walked through the echoing hallways, our footsteps loud in the house’s silence. Ilya had a casual arm draped around my waist, but he stared straight ahead, apparently lost in thought. Bron was behind us, playing the part of bodyguard.
“You okay?” I whispered.
Ilya nodded but didn’t say anything. He was wearing his Bron mask, which was hot, but also disheartening. I already missed his more animated expressions, and the affectionate look he always had in his eyes, but it made sense that this was the Ilya who would meet with his family.
We entered a space that was too classy to be called a living room but brought the word salon to mind. Impeccably dressed, lovely people stood in small groups chatting and sipping at drinks. It looked like I imagined intermission would at an opera, with quiet, intelligent conversation and hushed voices. Most of them appeared to be in their mid-thirties to early forties, which made me feel like a baby.
“I thought this was just going to be dinner with your family.” I looked up at Ilya, and his gaze was sympathetic.
“This is only my father, my six brothers, and their wives. You know about Yana, and my other sister doesn’t spend much time with the family. She’s married to a friend of my father’s and he’s old and unwell.”
Hopefully, she’d married the man voluntarily. And six brothers? I’d thought I had a big family.
Everyone looked over as we entered, and I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin, knowing exactly how to play this game. The expressions turned our way weren’t friendly or pleasant. Most of the men regarded us gravely, the women coldly, except for one or two who had turned up their noses. The women were all chic and lovely.
“There you are.” The one who had spoken was a man who must have been in his sixties. He was leanly muscled, like a long-distance runner. If he’d bothered to color his white hair, he would have passed for much younger, other than his dark, soulless eyes.
