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At least that’s not something I have to worry about any longer.
The frozen tundra crunching beneath my boots isn’t conducive to running. Neither is the heavy parka I’m wearing. But just being outside and moving simulate a similar experience. Feeding a freedom I didn’t realize how badly I was craving until now.
I glance at my silent companion.
I go nowhere alone now. It seems unnecessary when I’m still on Nick’s property, but I can’t communicate with anyone to ask them to stay behind.
I’ve never objected to the security that travels with us to and from Leo’s school. Those trips are spent holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong. I hate them, but can’t imagine sending Leo alone. And I smile the whole time, mostly in response to Leo’s eagerness.
He’s adapting to living here better than I am. Maybe because I’ve played this off as a fun and different experience, not a life-saving measure. It’s difficult to think Nick is exaggerating about the level of threat, considering how his home security is set up.
One last inhale of cold air, and I turn to head back toward the house. The man follows me silently. There’s not even a crunch of snow as he trails behind. It’s eerie.
About ten minutes later, we reach the whiskey-colored front door. The wind has picked up, blowing strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail across my face.
Walking inside the spacious hall feels like opening an oven door. There’s a whoosh of warm air that replaces the cold, the temperature exacerbated by the two extremes.
I shed the heavy coat I’m wearing quickly and step toward the coatrack. Before I can hang it up, a maid appears. I’m not sure how many people work here, but I have yet to see the same person twice.
“Thank you,” I say.
She nods and gives me a tentative smile before shuffling off with the coat.
That’s all I can get out of anyone. Polite nods and small shrugs. A week of it, and I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind.
Nick’s English is flawless. There’s not even a hint of an accent. I have a hard time believing none of his staff understands a word of it. Grigoriy and Viktor both spoke English as well, albeit with a thick accent that alluded to their native tongue. Grigoriy’s was harsher than Viktor’s. But I haven’t seen either of them in days, and none of the other stoic men who I’ve seen come or go have spoken a word to me. Including the one who just accompanied me outside, who’s disappeared as quickly as he appeared when I was pulling on my coat.
Everyone seems to pay attention to me to anticipate what I’ll do. Whether it’s walking outside or hanging up my coat.
It’s unsettling. I’m used to doing everything myself. To being alone, aside from Leo.
I head upstairs, trailing my palm along the wooden banister that runs the length of the stairs.
All the furnishings are elegant and extravagant. Lots of dark wood and oil paintings. Cream wallpaper. Runners cover most of the floors, woven in bold colors. Maroon and emerald and navy.
There aren’t any family photos or plants anywhere. It doesn’t feel like anyone lives here. More like I’m touring an old castle.
The rooms Leo and I are staying in feel more modern. Both have hardwood floors so dark, they look black, but the walls are off-white, adding some airiness to the space. They also both have attached bathrooms, which is a luxury in and of itself. Leo and I have always shared. Taking a shower without having Leo knock and say he has to pee is a novelty for me. There’s even a bathtub.
I haven’t taken a bath since I was a kid. Never had the time—or a clean tub. This one is scrubbed, so it practically sparkles, just like everything else in the house. Nothing is musty or dusty.
I shower in the spacious bathroom, then dress in jeans and a warm sweater. Slowly but surely, the wooden wardrobe has been stocked with more and more clothes.
It would be a relief, if not for the underlying message. If we were able to leave soon, more clothes wouldn’t be appearing daily to supplement what was brought from our apartment.
Another nameless man is waiting by the front door when I make my way downstairs. He gives me a respectful nod as a different maid from earlier brings my coat back to me. I thank them both and head into the cold.
There’s already a convoy of cars waiting. Three, just to escort us to and from the school. I have no idea how many men work for Nick, but based on how many unfamiliar faces I’ve seen, I’d say it’s upward of a hundred.
I climb into the middle car, and we set off, rolling down the long driveway and through the massive gates that have already been opened in anticipation of our departure.
Everything here seems to run on some seamless internal schedule. All of our meals are always ready at the same times in the dining room. The cars are always waiting to make the trip to and from Leo’s school, as if shuttling him has always been part of the routine. No one ever runs late or looks rattled. It’s such a stark contrast from how my life used to be—harried and scattered and always having a million things to do.
The quiet hum of the radio and the low chatter of the two men in the front seat, discussing something, are the soundtrack to the drive.
I stare out the window at barren, white-coated trees and industrial-looking buildings until we reach Leo’s school, which is located on the edge of the city. It has a sprawling campus with an intimidating brick facade.
A long line stretches the length of the school’s circular driveway. A line we bypass. There’s no hesitation and no honking before we pull up to the front like it’s a reserved spot.
