Rough Exile

I wandered around the rambling old house, finding several other barren rooms, then a large living room with newer furniture and, shockingly, a flat screen TV.

Eventually, I ended up in the cavernous kitchen, which had a rough hewn table and six chairs. After searching the cupboards and fridge, I realized there wasn’t much snack food on hand. There was plenty of fresh food, as though someone had stocked the house before we arrived, but not so much as a potato chip. Then again, from the looks of Bron and Ilya, they didn’t indulge in junk food.

“I will cook.” Ilya stood behind me, watching me warily. Was he worried I’d try to kiss him again?

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“We all need to eat.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

He moved around the kitchen, as though he was comfortable in it.

“Why does a man with so much money do his own cooking?” I asked. “I thought most rich people had cooks and servants.”

“Better to do it myself.” He spoke to me without looking directly at me, as if one of us was in danger of having hysterics.

After days of sensory deprivation, I was starving for interaction, even if the guy was grumpy and stand-offish. At least he wasn’t as bad as Bron.

“Have you lived here long?”

He sighed, as though I was being a nuisance. “Since I was small. The others lived here, too, until they got married and moved to the mainland.” His English was stilted, as though he didn’t use it much, but he didn’t seem to struggle to find words.

“The others? Like your sister?”

“All of us lived here as children. One of my sisters is married, but the one whose room you are using—” He shrugged. “One night she was gone.”

I inhaled, feeling guilty for touching her things. Jeez, I was wearing her dress! Not that I had other options, but still.

“What happened?”

“Probably Vas.” He shrugged.

Why was this like pulling teeth?

“What is Vas?”

“Vas is our father. He is a very important man in Moscow.”

My idea that Ilya might be Bron’s servant was wrong, obviously.

”Is Bron one of your brothers?”

He laughed, the flash of straight white teeth and the delight in his eyes turning him from good looking to gorgeous. Wow.

“The Queen of Whores is making you laugh?” Bron said, appearing in the doorway, freshly showered and looking far too delectable for my own good.

Ilya sobered as he mixed seasonings together in a large bowl. “She thought we were brothers.”

Bron snorted rudely. “If I was Ilya’s brother, I would jump from the tower like poor Yana.”

“Yana didn’t jump,” Ilya snapped, pointing at him with the mixing spoon. “If she had jumped, we would have found her body.”

I grimaced, thinking of how far down the ground was from Yana’s tower, and the rocks beneath it.

Ilya went to the fridge and used its door to shove Bron out of the way.

Bron frowned at him. “The only escape from your family is death.”

“Unless you’re like me and your father is ashamed of you.”

“That will change soon enough.”

Ilya sent a glance my way, arching one skeptical eyebrow, then got back to breading fish. “She’s perfect, but her perfection won’t hide my flaws.”

“We shall see.” Bron lifted a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his fingers. He sniffed it, then dropped it like produce that hadn’t quite met his approval.

Asshole.