Maisy tried to process this jigsaw of information. Alexei was Kostya’s godfather, but what on earth was the brotherhood?
‘What I’m dying to know—and you’re going to tell me, Maisy—is where you come into the picture. A little bird tells me you were the nanny, but that can’t be right. Alexei’s got too much class to sleep with the nanny.’
‘I don’t know,’ Maisy said fuzzily. ‘He slept with you. His standards must be pretty low.’
Tara didn’t blink. ‘Oh, Maisy, you’re a funny little thing.
Make sure he puts your goodbye package into shares—they’ll last longer.’
Suddenly Maisy was so very glad he had never given her any jewellery. All of that stuff she’d worn she considered on loan. Tara was wearing a single sapphire pendant that hung low between her small high breasts, but all Maisy could see was the diamonds she had seen in the magazine photograph. He had bought Tara. Just as he’d bought this luxury yacht.
He didn’t buy me, she told herself. That’s the difference. He didn’t buy me.
Tara stood up. ‘Just one more word of advice, Maisy. Today? He invited me.’
Maisy spilled her champagne. She stared blankly as the liquid soaked into her expensive lap, darkening into a wide stain.
‘Oh, honey.’ It was Ivanka, instantly at her side, putting the glass to one side, sliding a maternal arm around her waist. ‘We need to fix you up. Can you walk?’
Maisy nodded, unable to speak because she needed all her concentration to keep herself together and take a step, and then another. She was grateful for Ivanka’s sturdy arm around her waist and her knowledge of the yacht. When they reached one of the staterooms Ivanka led her straight to the bathroom.
‘Take off the dress. We need to soak the stain.’
As Maisy hesitated Ivanka grinned at her. ‘You really are a sweetheart. I’ll fetch you a robe.’
Stripped, Maisy waited in her knickers, arms crossed over her bare breasts. She ventured out into the stateroom, feeling distinctly woozy. For a moment she couldn’t move because a man was standing in the doorway. He said something in a foreign language and Maisy made a sound, stumbling back into the bathroom and slamming shut the door. She leaned against it, terrified of what was going on. She didn’t know how long she waited, heart pounding, before there was a brief knock on the door.
‘Maisy, it’s Ivanka.’
Maisy slid away from the door. She wrapped the robe around herself gratefully. ‘There was a man in the doorway,’ she said shakily. ‘He saw me.’
Ivanka swore quietly. She squeezed Maisy’s hand. ‘You’re okay?’
‘I think I’m drunk.’
‘Yeah, I saw Baba Yaga casting her evil spell. Don’t believe anything she told you, Maisy. She’s had a hard time adjusting to life post-Ranaevsky.’
I can imagine, thought Maisy drearily. She was feeling distinctly light-headed. The room was beginning to spin.
‘I think I need to lie down,’ she revealed shakily.
‘Right.’
Ivanka got her to the bed, and the moment Maisy’s head touched the pillow the whole room started to lurch. She groaned. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she pleaded.
‘I’ve got your back, honey.’ The mattress sank a little as Ivanka perched beside her. ‘You don’t drink, I take it?’
‘No.’
‘Well, Tara Mills would drive anyone to it. You know …’ She stroked Maisy’s temple. ‘I think he picks them because they’re the last women in the world who’ll get under his skin. Which makes you a freaking miracle.’
Maisy suddenly wished she was a million miles from drunk. This woman knew the secrets of the universe, and this was her chance to make sense of them.
Ivanka smiled at her, as if sensing her unspoken need to know. ‘My husband Valery—you met him earlier,’ she prompted. ‘He and Alexei go right back to the orphanage.’
Orphanage? Maisy’s eyes snapped open. ‘Is this something to do with the brotherhood?’
‘Brotherhood? Oh, Tara strikes again. There is no brotherhood. It’s just the four boys—well, three now that Leo’s gone.’ Ivanka crossed herself reflexively.
Maisy’s tired brain did some quick turns. Orphanage in Russia. Four boys. Suddenly Alexei’s life opened up before her and darkness rushed in. The dreams. Last night. The way he was behaving today. Maybe it wasn’t about her. She thought she was the centre of his life because he was hers. But it wasn’t about her.
An orphanage?
He never talked about his family and she had never asked, afraid he would ask about hers. Now she wished she had—wished she had shown more courage.