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My comment has caught him off guard as his mouth opens and closes. I leave him to gape like a fish and lean across the counter to retrieve the food. Tearing open the Tupperware container, I stuff my cheeks full of lettuce.
Still chewing, I rip open the meat packet, uncaring what it is, and cram it into my already full mouth. My gaze remains fixed on Oscar the entire time. I don’t fail to notice the lack of silverware, but I don’t blame him. Give me a knife or I’d even settle for a spoon, and I would ensure I drove it as deep into Oscar’s eyeballs as I could.
“If you weren’t so stubborn, this could all be over with. You know what I want.”
“Well, I want to paint this room with your entrails, but we can’t always get what we want,” I say around a mouthful of food.
Oscar launches across the counter, ready to drag me over it. But I stand unmoved, chewing happily. I am slowly becoming desensitized to this world of violence.
“What sort of cheese is this?” I ask calmly, unwrapping it and bringing it to my nose. “I hate blue cheese.”
Oscar soon composes himself and takes a step back from the counter, inhaling slowly. He runs a hand down his white shirt, appearing to need a moment to compose himself.
The sight pleases me beyond words, and after ensuring the cheese is free of mold, I break off a chunk with my fingers. Popping it into my mouth, I groan in delight, ruining Oscar’s newfound Zen.
“You’re only making this harder on yourself. Astra—”
But I’m done talking. “That’s some good cheese,” I interrupt, chewing loudly and relishing in the sight of Oscar’s reddening cheeks. If he and Astra believed I would roll over at the first sign of hardship, then they’re in for a surprise.
As I’m tearing into a leafy piece of lettuce, soft voices disturb my eating. I pause my chewing because whoever it is, has Oscar’s attention. They’re speaking Russian, but when I hear the unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice, Oscar’s eyes widen before he reaches over the counter and grips my bicep.
“You’re going back to your room.”
He tries to drag me away, but I plant my feet firmly. Thanks to the counter between us, he doesn’t have a strong hold on me, so I rip out from his hold. “Firstly, it’s not and will never be my room. And secondly, don’t tell me what to do.”
He rounds the counter, hands clawed, but soon stops dead in his tracks when the voices grow closer, and finally, they’re in the kitchen with us. I turn over my shoulder to see who it is.
One of them is Oscar’s men, guiding the couple into the house. But from the flaring of Oscar’s nostrils, I dare say they’ve turned up unannounced. He clears his throat, but his demeanor soon simmers, and he smiles.
He speaks to them in Russian, shaking the tall man’s hand. At a guess, I’d say he was in his early thirties. He reeks of authority, and I instantly dislike him. The petite, older woman at his side, however, something about her seems so familiar.
I’ve never seen her before, of that I’m sure, but I can’t deny feeling like we’ve met. Oscar notices me examining her closely and is clearly worried. He’s about to shoo them out of the kitchen, but the woman steps away from the man and extends her hand.
She says hello in Russian, and just as Oscar opens his mouth, no doubt about to tell her I don’t speak their language, I reply in Russian. Oscar’s opened mouth is now hinged wide.
We shake hands, then she says something else. My Russian is limited, so I stop her from continuing. “Sorry, I only know the basics. Hello. Goodbye. Help me,” I add while Oscar snarls.
She smiles, and again, I can’t shake this familiarity I feel around her.
Her steel blue eyes are hardened but not in a cruel way. More so like she’s experienced a lot during her lifetime. The designer bag she holds reveals she’s now well looked after. But I guess that’s because of the man whose arm she holds.
Oscar is getting edgier by the second, which means she could ruin this for him. I need to know why that is. Just as she’s about to say something, Oscar cuts her off in Russian, speaking rather quickly. The man nods while the woman looks disappointed she can’t stay and chat.
Oscar’s goon leaves the room, a hint they’re to follow, but I can’t let her go without uncovering just who she is. As she goes to turn, I lunge forward and gently stroke her bag. “I love this bag.”
“Me too,” she says slowly as her English is rather poor. But that’s okay because so is my Russian. However, who needs language when you’ve got Chanel. “I take everywhere with me.”
Oscar pushes me away, clearly not impressed with my appreciation of fashion. The man and woman leave the room, but not before she turns over her shoulder to take one last look at me. Once they’re gone and out of earshot, Oscar walks toward me, staring me down.
In return, I smile smartly.
It appears he wants to say so many things, but whoever these people are, are evidently more important than reprimanding me.
Another one of Oscar’s men appears and no points for guessing why. He’s to escort me to my room. So done with the sight of Oscar, I turn to leave but am stopped when his fingers grip my forearm. “You’ll learn that doing things my way will be a lot easier for you. And Saint.”
If he’s trying to scare me, he’s shit out of luck. “I never said I wanted easy,” I reply, yanking from his hold.
“Have it your way then,” Oscar says as I happily leave.
