Innocent in the Ivory Tower

‘Tell them I’m Maisy Edmonds and I look after Kostya,’ she said, kicking back her chair, feeling furious with him and sick to death of herself. ‘And that when I’m done supervising his meals and making sure he gets enough sleep, I look after you.’

She made to stalk off, and it would have been a great exit, but he reached out and leashed her wrist, dragging her onto his lap. She sat stiff and affronted, refusing to look at him.

‘I’ll send a car for you at one. Carlo will come with you on the launch.’

‘I hate Carlo,’ she said with a passion, not sure why she’d chosen now to tell him.

‘What has he done?’ Alexei’s gaze sharpened on her.

‘He’s a pig. He thinks you’ve bought me. Ever since you gave me those stupid cards and that smart phone.’

‘I’ve never seen you use it once.’

‘I put it in a drawer. I don’t need it,’ she dismissed, annoyed they were talking about gadgets instead of what mattered: her and him, and where they stood. ‘I don’t need any of it.’

‘The money is there for you to spend, dushka. I want you to enjoy yourself.’

Maisy sighed heavily. He was never going to understand how she felt. ‘I’ve told you, Alexei, I don’t want your stupid money.’

He’d given her a bank account, but he’d never so much as given her a bunch of flowers. Everything was rising to the surface today, and now she had to face a host of strangers, and be introduced as what? Alexei’s latest accessory?

‘Can you be ready at one?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

He stroked the curve of her jaw, encouraging her to look at him.

‘I think I told you once before, dushka, you always have choices. You made one when you decided to be with me, and now I need you to abide by your choice a little longer.’ He dislodged her from his lap. ‘Off you go. And I’ve organised a little help for your dress.’

Maisy puzzled over this enigmatic statement until midmorning, when a stylist arrived at the house. She was sorting out Kostya’s washing when Maria let her know over the intercom, and she came down in jeans and a stained T-shirt, her hair pulled back in an elastic band.

The woman had clearly been paid a good deal of money, because she barely raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, but Maisy was whisked upstairs immediately. Apparently two hours was going to be pushing it to get her ready.

It was gruelling. She was plucked, waxed, polished, made up, brushed, stripped, and dipped into a hot pink silk and chiffon dress that fell from spaghetti straps from her shoulders, skimmed her breasts and flounced over her knees. She stepped into silver sandals. Her hair was elaborately plaited and pinned, tendrils artfully brimming around her made-up face. Her eyes looked like mysterious pools with all the kohl, and her mouth was as fresh as a pink rose.

Maisy could categorically say she had never felt beautiful in her life.

And she felt beautiful now.

‘Bellissima,’ murmured the stylist’s assistant.

Maisy blinked rapidly. Tears were going to ruin the effect of her eyes.

‘I’ve never had a client cry before,’ said the stylist, gently dabbing Maisy’s lashes.

Except she wasn’t emotional about the dress, the make-up, the look; she was thinking that if Alexei saw her looking like this he might keep her a little longer, that she might stand a chance against his lifetime ingrained habit of treating women like expensive toys.

She didn’t want to end up like her smart phone. In a drawer, out of sight, out of mind. Redundant to needs and circumstances.

Maisy stayed below deck to protect her hair from the wind during the high speed trip in the motor launch to the floating palace that was called Firebird.

It was her first visit to the yacht, although Alexei had pointed it out to her with binoculars. He had casually commented he used it mainly for entertaining, and as he hadn’t been entertaining anyone but her there had been no need to go there.

Clearly her entertainment value was on the wane.

There was something about seeing the sleek lines of the yacht and experiencing its vast size up close that had Maisy once more thinking about what this opulence must do to someone’s sense of self. Yet for all his wealth Alexei was remarkably down to earth. It was a big part of why she had fallen in love with him.

The yacht was buzzing with activity. Another tender was arriving as she stepped aboard, and Maisy felt an unexpected flutter of nerves. She was naturally shy, but had worked very hard to practise her social skills, so that she could usually make friends wherever she went. But these people were Alexei’s friends, and that thought sent her over the edge. She needed to pull herself together and remember there was no reason why they wouldn’t like her, that there was nothing out of the ordinary in her situation. In this world mistresses were an expected addition to a successful man. And, although Alexei had never used that word, Maisy now understood he believed it was the only position in his life a woman could occupy.