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That was actually….caring. In a weird Ulianov way.
I flop back onto the bed with a groan. So much for avoiding Anton today.
My stomach roils again and I swallow back bile. What is wrong with me? I never get sick. And I refuse to believe it’s because I’ve let that damned man unsettle me so much…
The memory of Anton’s lips on my throat flashes into my mind and my heart pounds.
No. I won’t think about that. About him. About how my skin tingled for hours after. How much I wanted him to do it again.
I bury my face in the pillow, willing the thoughts away. It’s clear that the man is dangerous. In more ways than one. That’s exactly why I can’t afford to let my guard down around him. But for now, as much as I hate to admit he may have been right. It’s probably a good idea to get some sleep.
***
The sunlight streams through the windows when I wake, and I feel surprisingly better. The nausea is gone, replaced by a gnawing hunger. Checking the bedside table, I find a plate of sandwiches waiting for me. I wonder how they got there. The thought of Anton coming into my room while I was sleeping leaves me unsettled. Nevertheless, I wolf them down, feeling strength return to my limbs.
Right, time to face the day.
After a quick shower, I find Nikolai in the library, sorting through a puzzle. He looks up at me with a grin, dumping the pieces onto the table. “Want to help?”
Relief floods me at the sight of him. At least here is something uncomplicated. Someone who doesn’t make my heart race or my instincts scream danger.
I smile, pulling up a chair. “I’d love to.”
We work in silence for a while, sorting pieces by color and pattern. It’s soothing, methodical work. My mind settles and calms once more.
After some time, I clear my throat, choosing my words carefully. “Nikolai, can I ask you a question…a personal one?”
His brow furrows as he considers. “I’m not supposed to talk about us,” he whispers.
Smart boy. I wonder again at how different he seems from other children his age.
“But it’s me you’re talking to, remember? The best nanny in the world. Besides, haven’t we gotten to know each other really well already? I know you like puzzles, and your favorite ice cream is chocolate. And that the scar on your knee is from falling out of a tree.” I smile in encouragement. My curiosity has finally consumed me.
He mulls this over for a minute. “I guess you’re right.” He shoots a look at the door. “What do you want to know?” he asks.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Not long,” he says. “Since before Christmas, I think.”
“Yeah?” I say. That would make it about five months. “I love Christmas, don’t you?” He smiles and nods. “Where were you before?”
“I don’t remember. We moved around lots, but Papa says we’re going to stay here a while.”
“Have you been moving for long?”
He shrugs. “I think so. I was little when we left home.”
Home?
So there was a time when there was some sort of stability in his life.
“Do you know where home was?”
He shakes his head, then glances up at me. “Do you?”
I hold his gaze. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
We return to the puzzle, but my mind races. There are pieces of a different sort missing here.
