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“I’m Merrybell,” she says, walking over to shake my hand. “I’m Pyotr’s personal assistant. I do hope that boy mentioned I’d be stopping by.”
I almost laugh. It feels weird hearing someone refer to Pyotr as a boy. “He might have said something about shopping.”
“I can take you to a few places,” Merrybell says kindly. “Pyotr is a preferred shopper at a number of establishments, so I’m sure we can get you a whole new wardrobe. He’s already given me his credit card, so we’ll have free reign to have a little fun.”
Merrybell’s chipper personality admittedly catches me off guard. I’m not used to people being kind. Mother was cruel, Pyotr is cold and distant, and my sisters are so afraid of my mother I’d never trust them enough to get close. Merrybell is a breath of fresh air.
“I’d love to go shopping,” I admit. “It certainly beats sitting around here all day.”
“Between you and me,” she says, leaning in, “I don’t think it’s right.”
I arch a brow. Does she know about the arranged marriage? How much information is she privy to, exactly? “What do you mean?”
“Leaving you here all alone,” she clarifies. “Pyotr has a good heart, but his skull is as thick as a rock. He shouldn’t leave you here all by yourself, especially when you’re so new to the country. He should be taking you to see all the sights!”
“I’m sure he has better things to do. He’s a busy man, after all.”
“Too busy for his new wife?” She scoffs. “I think not. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to give him a proper talking to about all this.”
For the first time since arriving in New York, I find myself genuinely smiling. I like Merrybell. She’s got spunk. If she’s able to give Pyotr even half the headache I can, then she’s alright in my book.
She offers me the crook of her elbow. “Let’s paint the town red, shall we?”
I find myself drawn to her warmth. I loop my arm through hers with a light giggle. “Yes, let’s.”
Chapter 9
Alina
Merrybell has exquisite taste.
Channel. Prada. Gucci… At this rate, she’s going to shop me right off my feet. That would be most unfortunate considering I’m going to need them to run away.
While Merrybell helps me pick out clothes and accessories, I’ve been carefully eyeing the exits to each store. Ben, the guard I mistook for a doorman the day before, accompanies us wherever we go. He seems friendly enough, perfectly polite. Just like Merrybell, he’s very easy to get along with. But at the end of the day, I can’t let myself forget where his loyalties lie. Ben and Merrybell both work for Pyotr, which means fully trusting them is out of the question.
Pyotr’s money is stuffed into my back pocket. All I need to do now is find an opening, head to the nearest Greyhound station, and buy myself a ticket out of here. Five thousand dollars should last me a while, as long as I’m careful about being frugal.
“What do you think about this one?” Merrybell asks me, carrying over a lovely red dress. The fabric is light and flowing—perfect for the summertime heat.
“It’s really lovely, but I’m not sure if it’s quite my color.”
“Hm, that’s fair. Pyotr doesn’t like red, anyway.”
“I’m not dressing for him.”
Merrybell laughs. “Of course not, how silly of me.”
My ears perk up anyway, the question on the tip of my tongue. “Does he even have a favorite color?”
She regards me with a curious glint in her eye. “You don’t know?”
I shrug, thinking nothing of it at first. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who likes anything, to be honest. I feel like you know him better than I do.”
“I’m sure you know your husband better than you let on.”
My smile falters.Oh, right.Merrybell doesn’t know. I can’t tell her about the shotgun wedding, or how he flew me to a new country under the cover of night.
You’re not to mention the Bratva. Not the Antonovs, not the Salkovs, not any other family. My position in the company means I cannot be openly associated.
