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I open the front doors, not waiting for anyone else to do so for me. Which again, has me confused. I shake my head as I make our way to the north wing of the estate. I felt the room nearest mine would be fit for her, in case she required anything of course.
Opening the door and stepping in, I set her bag to the side. “I hope the room is to your usual standard.”
I watch every move her body makes as she takes in the space. Gold accents adorn the room with ivory linens. Her lips tilt up in a smirk I know all too well, and her posture has me relaxing knowing she feels comfortable.
“I guess it will do,” she walks across to the expansive bathroom with a balcony attached, the sunset glistening in the distance off of the water and the city in plain view. From there, I can see the tower from which I work. The tower I used to call my home until only recently.
I had a bath drawn for her upon her arrival. The water is filled with rose oil and lavender. I wasn’t sure the scents she would approve of but, being the constant observer I am, I was able to see her bath salts behind her one night as we talked and remembered the scent.
“There’s a warm bath waiting for you. Wash up and relax. Dinner will be served at eight, and I will come to get you at five till.”
She tosses her bag on the bed and looks at me over her shoulder. “Bossy much, Grandpa.”
I am so torn over her comment. On the one hand, I am glad to see her usual self standing there, not a hint of self-preservation or shyness on her person. Then, on the other hand, my palm burns to bend her over the bed and smack her ass until she ceases referring to me as old.
I grit my teeth. Instead of answering, I turn on my heels and excuse myself. This woman has no idea who she’s messing with.
???
Hours later, I return to her room and knock on her door. She walks out in a lilac-colored dress, her hair braided down her back in an intricate fashion. Her face is all natural except for a light brush of mascara. Her freckles are on full display across her nose and cheeks. Her scent is thoroughly intoxicating. I can smell the rose oil and a hint of something sweet. She’s a beautiful decoration and dessert all in one.
I, on the other hand, am in my gym clothes, shorts and a tank top that are tinged with sweat. I had no choice but to go work out the frustration gnawing at me since the moment I left her. I had only just realized the time when I was on my fourth round of cardio. My muscles were pumped, on full display, and she was staring.
“I see that dinner is not a formal event here. I’ll go and change real quick.” She picks up the hem of her dress and starts to turn.
“Don’t.” My tone is a demand, not a request. Gods, I don’t even recognize my own voice.
She turns on me so fast that there’s no way I could have seen it coming, even with my training.
“If you don’t want me to change, old man, then you have to. I look ridiculous. Anyone would assume I’m a whore who came here to try and seduce you. I don’t give a flying fuck that your staff is sworn to silence about my visit and who I really am, that makes this look worse. So you change, or I will.”
She punctuates her last sentence with a finger jabbed in my chest, and I feel the threads of my control fraying. I take a deep breath.
“I will go and change then.” My response takes her by surprise. Five minutes later, I approach her outside her door in a suit.
“Better?” I ask, fully serious.
“Much, thank you.” I hold out my arm for her to take since we are now being formal. She takes it with the grace of a queen, and my skin holds that familiar burning wherever she touches.
Dinner is peaceful as we settle into casual conversation.
“If you’re not too tired when we wrap up here, I’ll take you to the airport. Since we only have five days before everyone arrives, I thought it would be good for you to see it at night since that is when the job will be taking place.”
“Sounds good to me, padre. Am I allowed to change for this venture?” she questions with an eyebrow raised. I love how she already knows to ask permission.
“You are,” I nod. “Let me walk you back to your room.”
Once we’ve changed and have gotten into my personal car headed to the airport, I start pointing out landmarks. She takes everything in with awe, and again, my confusion about her life deepens.
“Isn’t Ireland supposed to be like a fairyland? What is it about Moscow that has you so enthralled?”
“Ireland is beautiful, but my home doesn’t hold many fond memories for me anymore. The beauty has been tainted with unachievable expectations that have hung over me since the moment I could walk.”
She breathes out a sigh, and I let the silence linger. I never quite gained respect for the Irish mafia, but now that I’m seeing how they treat their women firsthand, my dislike for them only grows.
“When I was ten, my father was training me to shoot on the property. We have rolling hills in our backyard, everything you picture when you think of Ireland.”
She looks out the window and blows out a long breath, keeping her focus trained out in the distance.
