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I shiver again, more dramatically. “We’d both turn to ice cubes and float away out there.”
He curls his arms around himself and shivers, too.
“Exactly like that,” I tell him with a bright smile. “You’ve got it. So we can’t go out there, right? Not unless you want to turn to ice cubes.”
“No,” he says, still smiling. “Too cold.”
“So you’ll stay in here where it’s warm?”
He looks out the window again, disappointment creasing his brow, and nods. “I’ll stay here.”
“Great. And remember, I left dinner for you in the kitchen. You can warm that up if you get hungry. Okay?”
Ilya nods, though I don’t think he’s really listening to me. He’s still staring out at the ocean. But at least he’s calm now.
“I’ll talk to you later, Ilya. Okay?”
He nods again, and I slip through the double doors and down the stairs.
The house remains dark, and my mind remains upstairs with Ilya. We’ve come so far in such a short time. The language we’ve created between us, a mélange of words and touch, seems to really help him. Kirill has to be able to see that. No matter what he says, he knows I’m helping him. He’ll let me go back and work with Ilya once he calms down, I’m sure of it.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see the man leaning against the wall next to the servant’s hallway until I’m only a few feet away.
When I do, I freeze in my tracks.
“Sorry,” the man says. He’s young, probably a few years younger than me. The patchy beginnings of a dark beard stubble his jawline. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just needed to get away from the madness in there.”
“The party, you mean?”
“Is that your idea of a party? Three generations sharing a meal delivered by waitresses buttoned up to the neck?” He eyes my outfit like he wants to strip it off with his teeth. “No offense, or whatever.”
“Of course not,” I mumble. “In my idea of a party, I’m not usually serving food.”
“What would you be doing at your idea of a party?” He turns, leaning one shoulder against the wall. I can tell by the way he crosses his arms that he thinks he is much cooler than he actually is. At least cooler thanIthink he is, anyway.
“I’m too busy working this one to talk about it,” I tell him. “I have to get back.”
I take another step towards the door, but the man shifts into the door frame. He’s lanky and wiry, his shoulders taking up barely half of the doorway, but I’m not going to shove past him. That would be almost as aggressive as he’s being.
“I’m Sasha.” He presents his name like a gift. “Who’re you?”
I give him as nice of a smile as I’m able. “If you actually cared about my name, I’d tell you. But you’re at this party with your family and you’re bored. I’m not here to be a distraction; I’m here to do my job.”
His eyes narrow, sharpening the edges of his smile. “Your job is to serve the guests at this party, correct?”
“My job is to serve food. Not… whatever you’re thinking.”
His eyes rake over me again, even more blatantly this time. I can hear the party chatter coming through the walls, but people have never felt so far away.
“You’re feisty. I like it.”
“Hate to disappoint, but my name is Rayne. The opposite of fire,” I snap. “But I need you to get out of my way and—”
“Rayne?You’rethe little maid everyone in there is whispering about?”
I lose some steam and take a half-step back. “Everyone is whispering about me?”
He fills the door more fully, looking down his long nose at me. Sasha looked like a teenager when I walked up. But suddenly, it’s hard to miss how much taller than me he is.
