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I spin around, arms held in some confused form of a fighting stance.
Yasha just arches a brow, his mouth pinched in an amused smile. “Hello to you, too.”
I lower my fists. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t think I was. I’ve been standing out here since you creeped out of your bedroom. You should be more observant.”
I don’t have a snarky comeback for that. He’s right—if I’m going to live in this house, I have to pay attention.
“What time is it?” I turn in a circle until I see an intricate gold clock resting on a narrow table. Delicate flowers are painted on the face. It looks like an old granny clock. Nothing Ivan Pushkin would buy.
But I’m more surprised by the time.
“It’s twelve noon?”
“It’s not twelve midnight,” Yasha chuckles. “I’d be getting my beauty sleep if it was. Not all of us can afford to snooze the day away.”
I can’t afford it, either. Not usually, anyway. I can’t remember the last time I took a nap in the middle of the day. Definitely not since I moved out of my stepfather’s house.
“Why were you waiting for me?” I ask. Yasha hesitates, and I’m pretty sure I know the answer already. “Or did Ivan ask you to guard my room? Because our deal requires me to cooperate. It’s not as if I’m going to make a run for it and let Francia fend for herself against trained assassins.”
Yasha holds up his hands in surrender. “First of all, that guy was pathetic. Second, relax. I’m here to give you a tour. The estate is large. Ivan doesn’t want you getting lost.”
In a normal house, that would be a joke. But in this mansion, it’s a distinct possibility. Maybe a tour wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
I agree, and Yasha leads the way, heading towards the stairs.
“Aside from Ivan’s office, which I hear you’ve already seen—” He glances back at me, and I’m sure my face is as red as a stop sign. “—this wing is just the two master suites and then some additional bedrooms. Maybe kids’ rooms someday.”
The idea of Ivan having kids—of some other woman carrying his children—is an insect buzzing around my head. Inconsequential, but annoying.
Whoever he chooses to have kids with, God help her. That’s all I have to say.
But I catch on another detail.
“Twomaster suites?”
“One.” He points to the door I just walked through. Then he rotates forty-five degrees and points to the door next to mine. “Two. This one is Ivan’s. The rooms are connected by an interior door. It’s more of a double master suite, I guess.”
I try to hide the panic clawing up my throat at the realization that Ivan is going to be sleeping one wall away. One door away.
A single twist of the handle and I could be in his room. I could find out what kind of pajamas he wears—if he wears any at all.
A bolt,I think.I’ll install a bolt.Or lock it with a wedged chair under the handle so he can’t infiltrate my room while I’m sleeping. Maybe I’ll call Jorden and ask her how to burn sage to keep demons at bay.
Yasha doesn’t notice my agitation as he continues downstairs.
Last night, the interior of the house was dark, lit only by selective lamps and candles. Today, sunlight streams through large windows. I notice a lot of details I missed.
“All rich people must use the same interior decorator,” I mumble.
Yasha chuckles. “Have you been in a lot of mansions?”
Just my stepfather’s, I want to say. But I chide myself quickly.Pay attention.Don’t let anything slip.
“I, uh…watch a lot of HGTV.”
“Yeah, well, Ivan is in the process of taking over the place from his parents. Redecorating hasn’t ranked high on the to-do list.”
