Chapter 10

Kimberly

Y esterday has to be one of the most incredible and surreal days of my life. Not only did Yaroslav completely wipe my hospital debts, but he’s promised to pay for my grandmother to stay in the best respite care home in the city once she’s discharged, and to cover any loss of earnings over the next two weeks I’m here. Supposedly both of my workplaces were happy for me to take two ‘well-earned’ weeks off. I have no idea how he managed that, since both of my bosses are assholes who would normally fire me for even wanting more than a couple of days off on short notice.

All of that is incredible enough, but then if you add in the sex, it takes it to the next surreal level. I didn’t think sex could be that amazing. I lost count of the number of orgasms I had last night after the first time. Eventually, when we were both spent, we ventured downstairs for some food. Prepared for us by the in-house chef of course. It blows my mind that anyone actually lives like this, that I’m not somehow in some fantasy land.

We talked briefly over dinner, and I discovered a bit more about him. He was born in Russia, as I suspected, but has been here for the past seven years. He described himself as a businessman but was vague about what exactly he does, just stating he was the head of a family import and export business. I was surprised to hear he’s seventeen years older than me too. He looks good for a man in his late thirties.

After our food, by mutual silent agreement, we went to bed in our separate rooms. I don’t think either of us is ready for that kind of intimacy yet. Plus, I was worried Yaroslav would want to have sex again, the man has the stamina of a beast, and I was exhausted.

After waking late following the best night’s sleep I’ve had since… well since I can remember, I awoke stupidly late at half past ten to a knock on my door, it was the maid delivering breakfast. Flaky croissants and pastries, cereal, an array of fresh fruit, freshly squeezed orange juice, and hot freshly brewed coffee that was the best I’ve ever had. A girl could get used to this.

I take my time eating and luxuriate in a long bubble bath before finally perusing the wardrobe and the selection of clothing that supposedly someone went out to get for me yesterday after I agreed to stay.

Clearly, whoever was assigned the task has never heard of the term, less is more. They must have a serious shopping addiction, there’s more clothing in here than anyone could possibly need for just two weeks. There are items for any eventuality, daywear, eveningwear, workout clothing, smart clothing, swimwear, even freaking ballgowns. And don’t even get me started on the shoes, bags, and accessories! Miraculously, they’re all in my size too. I don’t even want to think about how this was pulled off in just one day.

Feeling overwhelmed, I pull out a pair of distressed jeans and an orange puff-sleeved top that suits my skin tone. I throw on a pair of white sneakers and a small amount of makeup from the impressive array provided. I’m amazed that someone has gone to the effort of finding several options of foundation and concealer that work for my skin tone, not an easy task. The outfit sounds simple enough, but I wince at the price tags and contemplate taking everything off and trying to find the clothes I came in. Everything is designer, and the entire outfit would cost me well over a month’s wage.

But, based on what little I know about Yaroslav, he won’t expect me to pay him back, and he might even be insulted if I refused to wear the clothing he went to the trouble of getting for me. Plus, I have no idea where my clothes are. So, admitting defeat, I pull off the tags and try not to look at the prices.

I have no idea what I should do now. I haven’t been told I can’t wander around freely, but I also don’t want to seem like I’m snooping. And the place is so big I’d probably get lost. So, I decide to stay put for a while. With nothing else to do in the room other than watch TV, I turn it on, half watching a show about interior design, something that would normally enrapture me, but I can’t seem to focus on. Thoughts of Gran and how she’s doing as well as my current situation distract me. I decide I will ask Yaroslav if I can borrow a phone to call the hospital and speak with her. I’d been so distracted yesterday that I’d left Gran’s phone that I’d been using at the hospital.

Around one o’clock, a maid knocks at my door. It’s a different one to the older woman who showed me the way to my room yesterday. She’s a dark-skinned Black woman, around my age and height her southern accent is as thick as molasses. She’s dressed the same as the other maids, in a simple shift dress and pinafore with her hair in a bun.

“Miss Walsh, Mr. Volkov has requested your presence downstairs for lunch,” she states formally, looking at her shoes.

I’ve not long eaten so I don’t feel overly hungry, but I’m bored and in need of a distraction, so I agree, even though I feel strangely nervous to see Yaroslav again in the light of day after last night.

“Sure,” I reply. The maid nods and begins to lead the way, I feel uncomfortable being waited on hand and foot, being treated like royalty. “You know, you don’t need to treat me like that… be so polite and stand on ceremony, I mean,” I tell her.

She glances at me curiously from the side, not meeting my gaze. “It’s my job,” she states plainly.

“I know, but you don’t need to. Not with me,” I say with a smile.

“I don’t know if Mr. Volkov would like that,” she says nervously.

“Well, I don’t give a damn what he likes,” I reply trying to make her smile.

She looks shocked at the suggestion, and I realize that to her I must seem like some rich asshole who doesn’t understand what life is like for the lower classes who have to be respectful, and do as they’re told or risk being fired, who are treated as second-class and ignored. I feel pissed off that Yaroslav treats his maids and has them act like this. I mustn’t forget who he is. Or my place. To him, I’m just the same, a paid employee. Just in a very different capacity.

“Sorry, I just… well I just feel uncomfortable being waited on. I’m not used to all this,” I say, gesturing around me. “What’s your name?” I ask.

She contemplates for a moment before answering, “Alheri.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alheri. I’m Kimmy,” I say with a grin.

“Nice to meet you too,” she replies with a small, polite smile that doesn’t show her teeth.

I search for something else to chat with her about, suddenly feeling it’s important for her to know that I’m like her, that I’m not an elitist, without her thinking I’m a prostitute either. But I can’t find the words. And then we’re outside the kitchen.

“He’s in there,” Alheri says with a nod to the door.

“Thank you, Alheri,” I reply.

She nods and scuttles off. I enter the huge state-of-the-art kitchen. I’m not surprised to find that it’s just as impressive as the rest of the house. In the kitchen area, there’s every appliance known to man, four ovens, two fridge freezers, and a massive island in the center. Off to the right of this, there’s a beautiful kitchen table with eight chairs around it. To my surprise, Yaroslav has chosen to sit on a stool at the island. As usual, he’s impeccably dressed and looks as drop-dead gorgeous as ever. On the island, there’s an array of cold meats, cheeses, breads, salads, veggies, and more. It’s far more than two people need.

“Good afternoon. I thought you might prefer to sit here rather than at the table,” he states.

“Yes, thank you,” I reply gratefully, before taking a seat next to him.

I am surprised and pleased that he even considered my preferences. It’s hard to get a read on him. One minute I think he’s a rich entitled person and then he surprises me with small gestures like these that show he understands my discomfort.

“I’m sorry I have been unavailable all morning. I had business to attend to,” he explains smoothly.

“That’s okay,” I reply, clasping my hands in my lap, uncertain of what to do now.

“Please dig in,” he says, gesturing to the food.

I do as instructed, adding, “This is a lot of food, as was my breakfast, are you trying to fatten me up?” I joke.

“Not at all, I just didn’t know what you like, so I thought it was best to provide options,” he states, piling his own plate up.

“Oh. Thanks,” I say, feeling shy.

We start to eat in silence, neither of us seeming certain of what to say. I pick up a chicken drumstick, ready to devour it when I notice how prim and properly Yaroslav is eating.

I put it down again, picking up my knife and fork and trying to eat as gracefully as I can. Either Yaroslav noticed my concern, or I was overthinking things, but a moment later, he grabs another drumstick and bites into it. Grateful, I do the same.

After we finish eating, a team of people appears, rapidly cleaning away the dishes. Once we are alone again, Yaroslav fixes me with that intense gaze of his.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “So, I imagine that you probably felt a bit at a loss of what to do this morning. I wanted to lay down some ground rules. You’re welcome in here any time, you can help yourself to anything you like, or you can ask the chef to prepare something for you. There is an indoor and outdoor swimming pool, tennis court, basketball court, movie theater, pool table, games room, and a library, you can use these at your leisure, the staff can show you where they are. Outside these places, and your room, of course, I’d prefer you didn’t go.”

“Of course, I mean, that’s a lot of rooms, I can’t imagine why I’d want to go anywhere else,” I reply, still reeling from the extent of this place.

I shift in my seat, feeling a little awkward and uncomfortable with the situation and not knowing what to say or do.

Yaroslav holds out a hand to me, “Come here,” he commands.

I hesitate for a moment but then concede, I’m surprised when he lifts me up with ease, sitting me on the island countertop facing him. Still in his stool, he now sits between my thighs, given the height difference between us, I’m now more or less eye-to-eye with him, just a little higher. His hands linger on my waist for a fraction longer than needed and he trails one hand down my leg to rest just above the knee. My body immediately responds, and I shiver with excitement.

“Do you do this with all of your guests?” I ask breathlessly, trying to distract myself from the desire I feel for him.

He contemplates this seriously for a moment, trailing little circles on my thigh in a way that makes my body tingle and is incredibly distracting.

“I don’t often have guests. I tend to prefer privacy. But you’re more than just a guest,” he points out, his eyes looking at me in that hungry, animal way.

“I am?” I squeak.

“Yes, for the next two weeks you’re my…” he searches for the word and settles on, “Companion.”

Somehow companion feels a bit of an anticlimax. Not that I was expecting him to say I’m his girlfriend or anything like that, and it’s certainly better than whore or something similar, but after last night, I can’t be alone in feeling this connection between us. Albeit it’s mostly a raw sexual one right now, but still. Although I know nothing about him really. It could be that sex is always this great for him.

“Oh, I should mention,” he adds, “My brother lives here, he’s not overly… fond… of strangers, so it’s probably best if you avoid him.”

Something in his tone tells me there’s more to the story here, but I don’t push it. I’m sure if he wanted me to know more, or I needed to, he would have told me. I can understand sibling problems better than most.

“If he’s anything like my brother, that won’t be a big ask,” I reply lightly.

Yaroslav looks surprised and mildly irked, as though he feels he should have known that I had a brother but didn’t. “You didn’t mention a brother before, I understand why you didn’t ask the hospital to contact your grandmother after the crash and bombing incident, but I assumed since you mentioned no one else you had no other family.”

“It’s complicated,” I explain. “I’d rather not go into it too much, my brother hasn’t really been around much, not since Gran’s illness started getting bad. Besides, I may as well have no other family now. I want nothing more to do with him.”

Yaroslav doesn’t say anything, just patiently waits for me to continue. Like a suspect under interrogation, I feel the need to fill the silence and so, despite my initial reluctance to mention it, I open up.

“He’s the reason my grandmother needed the operation. It was an accident, but he… well, it all happened so fast. She got confused and thought he was her son, our dad. She grabbed onto him, he pushed her, and she fell and hit her head.”

Mortified, I feel myself getting emotional reliving the incident.

“A man should never lay his hands on a woman in anger, especially not his own family, the woman who raised him. There is nothing more precious than family. Someone who doesn’t respect that…” he trails off, seeming to stop himself from voicing his thought before adding, “I can see why you want nothing more to do with him,” his voice cold.

“That’s not even the worst part. After she was hurt, he ran and left us there, he wouldn’t even call an ambulance or stay to help. There was so much blood… I thought she was going to die,” I whisper.

Yaroslav’s jaw tenses and his eyes darken dangerously. He looks furious and he doesn’t even know my grandmother or brother. “ Podonok,” he hisses in Russian.

His empathy and concern make the emotions I’m reliving well up and a tear escapes. He notices it and softens, his body no longer coiled tightly. He stands up, reaching out to wipe the tear away. Without thinking, I lean my face into his palm, and he cups it gently. I’m aware of how close he’s standing to me, my legs practically wrapped around his waist.

Suddenly, I don’t want to talk anymore about Gran and Noah, I don’t even want to think about them. I want a distraction, and I have a smoking hot one right here. I don’t let myself dwell on what I’m about to do, I just move instinctively. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He stills for a moment, caught off guard, before responding and kissing me back.