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So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that, the moment my toes touch the hardwood floor of the entryway, my name is called from the dining room.
“Cordelia,” Alexander says like he has been expecting me. “We’re in here.”
I don’t know who “we” is, but I don’t want to be included in the group. It is firmly Me versus Them.
Caffeine-less and stomach growling, I stand tall and walk into the dining room.
Then my past wallops me over the head with a chair.
“Mom…”
My mom is here. She’ll save me.
Except my mom is wearing a string of pearls around her throat that might as well be a dog collar. She looks at me with a pleasant smile on her face. No concern. No fear. She just smiles at me blankly, like some kind of robot hand-programmed by a psychopath.
After the hellish twenty-four hours I’ve had, there isn’t a mother in the world that would do anything but run to their kid and hold them in their arms.
But my mother doesn’t move.
She isn’t going to help me do a goddamn thing.
I clear my throat and try to take in the rest of the room through the sheen of tears. “Good morning.”
Alexander smiles and gestures for me to take the seat next to him. The seat between him and Mikhail.
“It’s a full house today,” I mumble.
Mikhail stands up and pulls out my chair. “We’ve been waiting for you to start breakfast.”
“No one told me. I slept in. Yesterday was… hectic. I needed the extra rest this morning.”
He shoves my chair up to the table a little too hard. My ribs pinch against the edge and I have to slide away to catch my breath.
Without warning, Alexander claps his hands.
I jolt in surprise, but no one notices because the door to the kitchen opens and three maids hurry out carrying trays of fruit and pastries. Another has pitchers of milk and orange juice in her hands.
“Wow.”
Alexander’s smile slips. “What is so surprising? Was Ivan not feeding you breakfast?”
My mom is staring down at her lap and I get the sense I’ve done something wrong. But I’m not sure what.
“No, we had breakfast. I just don’t remember there ever being a full kitchen staff here first thing in the morning. We always ate—”
“That’s what happens when you don’t keep in touch,” he snaps. “Things change.”
Yeah, and apparently, the main thing that must have changed is the number of zeroes in Alexander’s bank account. When I last lived here, he would hire temporary staff to impress dinner guests. After that night, I’d never see them again. Now, there are three—no,fourwomen dishing out sliced fruit and pouring glasses of milk.
Mikhail is looking from me to Alexander with a slightly puzzled furrow between his brows. Is this little show forhisbenefit?
Maybe my two co-abductors aren’t as honest and open with each other as I thought.
I file the information away for later and grab a croissant from the center of the table. These people may be monsters, but nothing can get between me and a flaky pastry.
We eat in silence. Alexander waves his hand and requests a coffee refill. My mom picks at the three strawberries on her plate for fifteen minutes before she dares to grab a spoonful of blueberries for seconds.
The only time Mikhail says anything is to make a comment under his breath as I reach for my third croissant.
