Chapter 16

Mishka

Iwould have killed for a pair of sunglasses. Not because I hadn't slept. I had, actually. After crying myself to the point of utter exhaustion, I had slept extremely well, all things considered.

It had occurred to me in the morning that I hadn't even locked my door. Not because I wanted Anton to come in. But because I knew he wouldn't try.

He had looked devastated when I walked away. Not dangerous, even though I knew he was. Not just because of his history of violence and power.

He was dangerous because of the way his touch had made me feel. He was dangerous because I had started looking forward to serving him. Because I fantasied about playing chess against him at night, reviewing our games and even reading some strategy books on my phone late at night, and between my duties and time in the music room.

I was starting to like it here, just a little. Yes, I still chaffed at being told what to do and when. My life had order and purpose. And he was here.

Anton was becoming my entire world. Other than a few friends from school, music teachers, and my father, I had very little contact with anyone else.

And I didn't really want to, either.

His brothers came to meals now and then. But Anton never ate with them in their wings of the estate. He never went out. He never went anywhere. And neither did I.

How long could this continue? I was reaching a breaking point with my fear and anxiety about my future. His touch, and his kiss, had only confused me further.

At some point, something was going to happen. It was beginning to feel inevitable. I both feared and cared for him. He clearly felt something for me, though I could see he was trying to resist it. Or perhaps he tried to seduce every woman he encountered. That must be it.

Why else would one of the richest men in Russian, and the world, be pursuing an inexperienced housemaid with a talent for the violin?

Boredom. It had to be.

I sighed and applied a thin coat of lip gloss, looking at my face critically. I had already put a smidge of blush on my cheeks, used a high-end moisturizer, and a thin coat of mascara. A gift bag with makeup, skin care, simple jewelry, and lingerie had mysteriously appeared in my room last week. I had ignored it at first. Eventually curiosity had gotten the better of me and I had explored the items. Eventually I had started wearing the simple gold earrings in various shapes, from small hoops, to little hearts and stars. There were matching necklaces and a bracelet, with a plain heart charm. It seemed strange to wear such a thing while working, but once I put it on, I found myself not wanting to take it off.

It was a good thing, too, as the clasp was surprisingly difficult to work in reverse. After a few days I had stopped trying.

I pushed my feet into one of the many pairs of black leather shoes that I had been given. Changing shoes several times a day had made a huge difference in my foot and back pain from standing through meal times, not to mention the blisters I had been developing.

I had started to hope for stockings or tights to appear. But after he had touched my bare skin, I was not so sure. His touch had stunned me at first, but I had craved it after a moment. I must be starved for affection, I decided. It had nothing to do with Anton himself. It had simply been too long since I had been given a hug from my papa or a friend.

I would ask for a day off to go see some of my former classmates, I decided. I would remind myself that I was a young woman with my whole life ahead of me. I would not be simply standing around serving a rich man his wine for the rest of my days.

Even Anton Aslanov could not expect me to work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

I hurried down the wide, sweeping staircase, then to the servant's stairs, which were much more utilitarian. I was late for breakfast, as usual. But they had started leaving more food for me, after Anton had commented that I was losing weight.

I ate my meal alone, savoring the incredible way the chef prepared eggs and toast. There was a little pot of honey for my tea, sweet fruit preserves for my toast, and a different assortment of breakfast meats that were always savory and delicious.

I was quite spoiled in the food department, and I had begun to really enjoy it. I had never thought much about food or cared about high end skin creams before. But the luxury of this way of living was pleasurable in a way I had never experienced.

I wanted to linger, mostly due to nerves at facing my captor after what had happened last night. But I was too afraid to be late. I set my dirty dishes on the counter near the team of dishwashers, who were already hard at work. One of them nodded and I smiled back. As usual with all the staff, he ignored me.

Everyone ignored me, other than a polite nod or hello. It was strange. I would have assumed that there would be some level of camaraderie among the servants, but there wasn't. At least not when I was around. I could have sworn I heard laughter or chatter from time to time, but when I walked into the room, it dried up immediately.

Strange, but I couldn't see any reason for it, so I held my chin up and nodded back, ignoring the aching loneliness inside me.

I reapplied my lip gloss in the ladies rest room for servants, then hastened up the stairs. I wasn't as eager to see Anton as usual. I was nervous and embarrassed. But I couldn't entirely squelch the little butterflies I got when I knew I was going to see his handsome face.

He was already waiting when I arrived. My eyes darted to the clock. I was not late, thankfully. I had several minutes to spare. But I reminded myself that in the future, it would be better to be early.

I curtsied awkwardly. I had gotten used to it. But after the night before, it felt strange.

"Coffee, sir?"

His lips quirked. He held up his cup. I curtsied again.

"You are going to wear yourself out doing that," he said mildly, picking up his newspaper. "I'll take eggs and sausage, please."

I curtsied again without thinking, ignoring the low laugh coming from the head of the table. I made him a plate and carried it over to him. He set his paper aside. I thought he was reaching for his fork, but instead he grabbed my wrist. I stood there, waiting.

"I apologize for last night, Mishka. For my guests and for myself."

I swallowed. I had not expected him to say anything like that. It made me feel like my heart was twisting in my chest, but not in a painful way. My heart felt turned upside down in what I could only describe as a bittersweet way. He was treating me like a human. Like a valued human, instead of a piece of chattel. After waiting on him hand and foot for so long, it felt strange.

His fingertip slid over my wrist, stroking me.

"Do you think you can ever forgive me?"

I looked at him, at last. He was giving me a sweet, endearing look. He resembled a little boy, even though he was not. I could not bear to be cruel to him. But I did see an opportunity to get some clarity on my situation.

"How long am I expected to serve you? For months? Years?"

He did not let go.

"I haven't decided that," he mused lazily. "Your father owes us quite a bit of money."

"I have an audition in the spring. I cannot miss it."

"I will make sure you are there with bells on, little Mishka."

I stared at him, my brow furrowed. He hadn't answered me. But at least I knew I could attend my audition.

"What if I am hired? By the Moscow symphony?"

He sat back, still holding my wrist, but not as tightly.

"We will have to renegotiate the terms of your service. I will not stop you from playing."

"You swear?"

"My word is my bond, Mishka. Do not ask me again."

I stared searchingly into his eyes. Then nodded.

"I forgive you. As to your guest, that was not your fault. You bear no responsibility."

"You are under my roof and my protection," he said mildly, still absentmindedly stroking my skin. "I do not like others touching what belongs to me."

"I do not belong to you," I said swiftly, lifting my chin and snatching my wrist away. I immediately regretted it, missing the warmth of his touch, damn him. He rubbed his thumb against his lips, as if he knew.

"Ah, are you certain about that, little one?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"I belong to no one but myself."

"I see. Thank you for forgiving me, Mishka."

"Of course, Mr. Aslanov. May I get you more coffee?"

He stared at me thoughtfully, then shook his head. I returned to my spot until the meal was over. For the first time since I had arrived, Anton did not take his lunch at home. I was free to do what I liked.

I wandered the garden for a bit, then headed up to the music room.

The songs I played all sounded mournful, but I could not have told you why.