3. Maggie

MAGGIE

T hree days.

That’s how long I’ve been sitting in this giant-ass house. Alone. Well, not entirely alone. The housekeeper and the other staff have been really, really nice. Elena in particular has been awesome. She speaks English, if a little haltingly, but she reminds me of like… an angry grandmother.

She’s definitely Russian. No doubts about that. I’ve been bullied into eating beet soup and wearing about a dozen thick layers of clothing, even though I’m definitely not that cold.

The soup was kind of good, though. I won’t deny that.

However, it’s been three days and I have no idea what my future husband, or fiancé, or whatever he is, even looks like.

The house is covered in pictures. But they’re mostly portraits of like… people who are definitely long dead. Today, I’ve decided to go around and look at all of them, and try to figure out who they are.

I’m in the second room of my journey, staring up at a particularly sour-faced woman, when Elena finds me.

“I brought you tea,” she says, her voice making it clear that she will not accept any other option except accepting the tea.

I take it from her with a smile and sip. I’m definitely a tea person, and this stuff is addicting. “It’s strong,” I murmur, breathing in the heavy, smoky scent of it.

“Yes. Russian tea must get us through the Russian winter, after all,” Elena says kindly.

I shiver.

“Who is that?” I ask, changing the subject as I sip my tea.

“I believe the current prince’s great-grandmother,” Elena replies, her brow wrinkled in concentration.

I pause. “Prince?”

She shrugs. “It is not the same as you might think. Orlov House, and the family of Orlov, are old. Very, very old. When Russia was not so much one place but many, they ruled over their small land here completely. Through many generations and revolutions, the title and the lands stuck, even if the meaning has changed.”

“So… is he a prince?”

“In the oldest sense of the word, yes. But do not forget… many Russians have held higher titles, and in the modern world, it does not matter so much.”

Huh.

“Anyway. He is a good boy, our Alexei. You’ll see,” she says, patting me lightly on the hand.

The way she’s talking him up, I’m pretty sure Alexei is not at all a good boy.

And, given the fact that he hasn’t come home to greet his future wife, I’d say it’s all but confirmed that he’s kind of a dick.

Still, Elena is really nice. She’s been nothing but kind to me since I arrived. She’s firm, but radiates a kind of genuine care that I think is really hard to find these days.

So instead of pointing out that the guy seems like a real asshole, I nod. “I’m excited to meet him,” I whisper.

If Elena can tell I’m lying, she doesn’t give any indication.

“Come,” she says, tugging on my elbow. “Let’s go see the rest of the Orlovs. Might as well get to know the whole family.”

Meekly, I follow her into the hall.

By the time Elena has introduced me to the portraits of every known Orlov since about the year 1300, I’m not only exhausted but have so many Russian names floating around my head, I’m beginning to feel dizzy.

“Thanks so much for the tour,” I finally manage to grit out, squinting at Elena.

She beams. “Of course. Anytime.”

“If it’s okay with you, I think I’m going to go back to my room and take a nap.”

“Anything, dochka,” she winks at me.

I turn in the hallway. “Oh. Um…” I hesitate. Orlov House is enormous, and we just went through the whole thing, so I have no idea where I am.

As usual, Elena seems to know exactly what I need. “Head back down this hall. Turn left, then the next right. You’ll go up some stairs and then your room is the first one on the right.”

I give her a little half-smile. “Thanks, Elena. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“You will, dochka. It will be a very special dinner,” she chuckles.

That sounds somewhat ominous. But, it could be just the usual Elena murmurings. She’s a little dramatic, which I’ve learned since arriving here.

I brush it off and head out along the long trek back to my room.

I’ll probably call my mom when I get there. We’ve talked every day since I got to Orlov House, and I’m beginning to think that things are actually going to be… okay.

As long as your asshole husband doesn’t show up to ruin it.

Hmm. Maybe I don’t want him to come from wherever he is. I don’t think we’ve gotten married yet, but I actually don’t know. Can you marry someone in Russia without them being present?

What if I never meet him?

What if my whole life is this house, and Elena, and…

I pause.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, I realize something very important.

I have no idea where I am.

Nor do I remember any of Elena’s instructions.

Shit.

I spin around. The hallways of the house are beautiful, just like everything here. It’s honestly something out of a movie; every detail is meticulously made, every single component of the walls are perfectly placed. Even the little bits of wood around the door frame look dressy, and if you get closer, you can see a tiny carved pattern of leaves, like someone etched vines into the wood.

It's all stunning.

“Get a grip, Mags,” I murmur. “She said left down this hall, right down the next? Or right down this hall?”

My words are small in the empty space.

Shit.

Aimlessly, I push a door open.

When it creaks, I peer inside.

Oh wow.

It’s another stunning room. This one, though, has a ton of furniture that’s covered up by draped cloth. It’s dusty; people haven’t been in here for a while. However, the room’s status is less important to me, because there’s another stunning feature.

The windows.

Entranced, I pad across the soft rugs, drawn to the windows.

When I get there, I press my fingertips lightly against them. They’re huge. Floor-to-ceiling, a massive panel of glass that had to have cost a ransom when they were installed back in the day.

Heck, they’d cost a lot today.

My breath fogs against the glass. You can see all of the grounds of the house from here. Everything is covered in a light dusting of snow, which is slowly drifting down from the grey sky, but the overall impression is…

“Stunning,” I breathe.

The view is so beautiful, I don’t notice when someone else enters the room.

A harsh voice rings out, and I jump, turning quickly.

“Who the fuck let you in here?” I hear.

Trembling, I turn.

My eyes widen.

Standing in the doorway of the room is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

And he’s staring at me with eyes that burn with pure, unfettered rage.