Chapter 8

Mishka

Ihurried up the stairs from the servant's level. I was still running late, even after eating a quick and solitary breakfast of a hard boiled egg with half a grapefruit. That was all that was left by the time I got there. Thankfully, the coffee was still hot and delicious. I nearly burned my tongue chugging it down. I'd overslept, and nearly missed the morning meal. I was grateful that the cook had saved a little bit of food for the new girl.

Anton's dining room was more impressive in the daylight. Enormous double doors opened up to a terrace, where a smaller table was already set. It was an unseasonably warm day outside, I realized. Of course, Anton would want to take advantage of it.

I hesitated, unsure what to do. Did I serve him in here? Or outside?

Footmen started streaming in, putting trays of food along the enormous serving table. I chose to stand against the wall, trying to ignore the rumbling of my stomach with the delicious smells of eggs and sausage wafting throughout the room. I actually heard my stomach rumble, vowing to be early for lunch and eat my fill.

It was in that oh-so-perfect moment that my employer, or master, arrived. Anton looked unfairly well-rested, relaxed, and handsome in his wool slacks and dress shirt. He had skipped the jacket and tie on this mild, sunny morning. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing tanned skin and a little bit of warm brown hair peeking out from the crisp white cotton.

Oh, great, his majesty has arrived.

I was pretty sure I looked like a hag in contrast. Crying half the night had probably only made me look even more provincial. Not that anyone cared about my appearance. I was grateful to be here, because my father was getting the help he needed. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.

It didn't matter that my ‘master' was cold and cruel. He had offered my father a solution. I only had to suffer for a few years to pay off his debt.

Actually, I wasn't sure how long I was expected to remain here, or what the consequences would be if I left. I suddenly doubted that I would be allowed to leave, regardless of my father's debt. Perhaps even having knowledge of the estate was dangerous to them. These men were dangerous criminals, not just absurdly handsome and wealthy gods.

Keep your eyes down, and be polite, I reminded myself. Say nothing.

I knew that was not in my nature to be meek, but I had to keep my father and myself alive. This was not an annoying boss, nor an unfair teacher in school. This man owned me, for the foreseeable future. And apparently, did not want anyone else to serve him.

"Coffee, black," he said as he passed me on the way to the terrace.

"Yes, sir," I said softly as I poured him a cup and brought it to the round, outdoor table, already set with crisp linens, white plates, and shiny silverware. I wondered if setting and clearing the table would become part of my duties eventually, or if I was literally just meant to be his handmaiden.

I set the cup down and skittered back to the dining room. Literally all I did was fetch and carry. Plus answering his harshly worded questions and waiting to see if he needed more vodka. Would he drink at breakfast, too? I wondered.

"Wait out here, Mishka" he said mildly, stopping me in my tracks. "Over by that column, please."

I hesitated. The column was in front of him but slightly off to the side. I had assumed I was meant to be inconspicuous. But I certainly could not disobey a direct order. I walked forward, feeling wooden and unnatural as I took position at the column, I faced sideways, so I looked at the garden, or the ground, instead of at him.

He said nothing, just sipped his coffee. A moment later he lifted his phone and took a picture of me. Or did he? Perhaps he was taking a picture of the view. The gardens were spectacular. I flinched but said nothing. I was confused, to say the least.

"I think eggs and some sausage."

I gave him a tiny curtsy and ran to fetch his food for him. I did my best to place the food nearly on the plate. I set it down and backed away, not sure if I was supposed to do anything else for him.

I waited while he ate, trying to keep him slightly in my periphery.

"More coffee, please, Mishka."

I nodded and took his cup, pouring a fresh one before resuming my spot. I stood straight, not allowing myself to lean back against the column, as much as I wanted to. I was still exhausted from the night before, and the strangeness of this new situation.

He leaned back, indicating that he was done and contemplated me. I realized abruptly that I was meant to take his plate. I did so, carrying it into the dining room, and taking a breath before stepping back outside. I longed for the meal to be over so I could move on to my next set of duties.

Not that I had any idea what those duties might be.

"You play very well," he said, taking a sip of his coffee and watching me, the paper forgotten in his lap.

"I – what?" I stammered nervously, then clamped my mouth shut.

"Your playing. I heard you last night."

I turned beet red, mortified. I had played too loud and it was far too late. I was a servant here, not a guest. I wanted to melt into the floor, suddenly terrified that I had endangered my father and the arrangement they had made.

"Our bedchambers are not very far apart."

"I am sorry. It won't happen again," that odd bit of information barely registering in my state of abject mortification.

"I hope it will. I enjoyed it thoroughly."

I swallowed, not sure what to say. It was not an order. My music was very personal to me. Despite my wish to become a professional, I was not sure I ever wanted to play for him.

In fact, I was almost certain that I did not.

Not because I feared him, even though I did. Simply because I wanted one thing for myself. He already owned most of me. I did not want to give him this one thing.

I did not want to give him my soul.

"My music is sacred to me. I am not sure I would feel comfortable," I said, marveling at my bravery. I lifted my chin and held his stare.

He was smiling faintly, as if impressed by my refusal. His eyes shone with approval. I felt warm suddenly.

"Very well. There is a music room you can use. No one will hear you there, unless they loiter in the hallways, of course," he added, steepling his fingers together.

Was he making a joke? I couldn't be sure. But he was also being very kind. His generosity in offering me a private place to practice was astonishing. I couldn't ignore it.

"Thank you, sir," I said, bobbing a small curtsey. I wasn't sure I would ever not despise the motion, but it was already becoming second nature. All in less than forty-eight hours.

"You are very welcome, little Mishka," he said, then went back to sipping his coffee and reading his paper. I almost sighed in relief when he turned that laser focus away from me. I was starting to relish the moments when he ignored me.

I refilled his coffee once more before I was dismissed. I went to the basement with the tray, and was admonished for carrying it down there. Transporting was not part of my duties, only serving was. I was told that I had time to myself until it was time for his next meal. I ran to my room to find a tray of food waiting for me. It was still hot.

On the tray was a little note.

"Make sure you don't skip breakfast again, little Mishka."

I stared at the note in my hand.

How had he known I was close to fainting with hunger? And why did he look at me as if he despised me, and yet show me such kindness?

I sat at the small table near the windows and ate.