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Even in daylight, this place still gives me the chills. Actually, scratch that. It doesn’t onlygiveme the chills, they keep mounting with every minute I spend within these walls.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs, wondering where to go from here.
“Mrs. Volkov?”
At first, I don’t recognize the name, but then I turn around, realizing it’s Lia’s and, therefore, mine.
A middle-aged woman, who appears to be in her late fifties, stares at me with a blank expression. She’s tall, way taller than me. Her blonde hair with white streaks is gathered into a tight bun and she has a square face that, coupled with her rigid expression, makes her look like that high school teacher we all had, whose class no one dared to breathe in.
She gives me a once-over as if I’m not respecting the school’s dress code.
“Yes?” I don’t sound convincing, but I’m also not sure how to act. If I ask her where the dining room is, won’t that immediately cast me as an imposter?
“What are you doing here?” Her accent is Russian, though subtle.
“I’m searching for Adrian.” At least that sounded a bit plausible.
“Follow me.” She turns and strides to the left, not waiting for me to follow.
I have no choice but to do so, so I go after her down a long hall. She opens a set of double doors and motions at me to go inside.
I do, conscious of every footstep I take.
A breath leaves me when I find Adrian sitting with the little boy from yesterday—Jeremy.
I’m pretty sure my relief has to do with the child, not the father. Despite my reaction at seeing Jeremy for the first time, it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with myself and the past that’s still wrapped around my throat like a noose.
Adrian is dressed in black pants and a dark blue shirt. Grim, non-flashy, and so much him. He lifts his head as soon as I come in, but I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting to be trapped in those ashen grays first thing in the morning.
The rigid teacher walks to an empty seat on his left and points at it. “Your breakfast is ready, Mrs. Volkov.”
I hate that name, the fact that I’m an extension of Adrian. That his last name is mine.
But at the mention of the word ‘breakfast,’ I don’t have time to ponder it. When was the last time I had dinner, then breakfast like a normal person?
Probably a week ago when Larry brought us sandwiches. And they didn’t smell as divine as the bacon and eggs on the table. I miss Larry and wish I could take him some of what’s here.
As soon as I sit down, I’m aware of three pairs of eyes watching me like I’m an alien. What? I didn’t even start eating yet, and I was planning to do it slowly, not like the pig I was last night.
I slowly raise my head to find Adrian’s darkening eyes holding me hostage.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“What are you wearing?”
I stare down at myself and realize what they’re all looking at. “Clothes.”
“I know they’re clothes.” He lowers his voice, and I assume it’s because he doesn’t want Jeremy to hear how much of a dick his father is. “But those are not your clothes.”
“Yes, they are. I found them in the closet.” Opting to change the subject, I take a piece of bread and smile at Jeremy, who’s dragging his spoon through the jelly on his plate. “Do you want a sandwich instead?”
I didn’t know what I expected as a response, but a scowl certainly wasn’t it. He glares up at me, hand tightening around his spoon. Aren’t I supposed to be his mother? Maybe I’m his stepmother?
“I’m not talking to you.” He pouts.
“Jeremy,” Adrian scolds.
“She left, Papa! She’ll do it again.” He dangles his little feet down before he hops off his chair. “I’m full.”
