“No tears for me this morning?”
“Do you wish for my tears?” My tone conveyed I would muster up a few if he did.
His jaw tightened. An angry sound rose in his throat, then he pushed my face away and turned his back to me.
“May I go now?”
He shook his head and gritted, “You may,” before slamming the bathroom door behind him.
I bumped into Yulia in my bedroom doorway. She held out a glass of water and two ibuprofen for my wrist. As I plopped the pills in my mouth and swallowed them down with a drink, I thought I saw a flicker of softness in her gaze. Though it disappeared with a purse of her lips and the next words from her mouth.
“If she profanes herself by whoring, she shall be burned with fire.” Then she grabbed the glass from my hand, brushed past me, and headed down the hall, humming.
I was really living the dream here. No doubt Captive Barbie would be in stores next season.
After taking a hot shower, I drifted into the dining room for breakfast. Completely unconcerned with my presence, Kylie’s twin set the table between bouts of texting and delicate giggles. It was only when I poured a cup of tea that she stilled to examine me like bacteria under a microscope.
“They say you are Mikhailova,” she said very slowly.
The last thing I wanted was to make small talk, but my manners forced me to respond. “They’re correct.”
“They also say you are witch.”
I could only give a hint of a smile.
“You do not look like one.” Her unimpressed gaze slid down my wet hair and T-shirt dress. “Or like prisoner.”
“I guess they come in many shapes and forms.” I wasn’t sure if we were talking about being a witch or a prisoner at this point, though I guessed the statement worked for both.
“You seem . . .” She frowned as if she had to force the word out. “Nice. But what do they say?” She tapped her lips in thought, then her eyes lit up with a snap of her fingers. “Blood will out.”
Her excitement to use the expression watered down the insult. Apparently, she’d heard the rumors of my mother. Or my papa. I guessed I had a lot of bad blood on both sides, but it was clear she spoke of the former when her gaze slid to the hickey on my neck and she purred, “Though it seems you have already gone down that road.”
Kylie was a total buzzkill. I didn’t respond and added some sugar to my tea, which seemed to annoy her.
“You must know he does not actually vant you.”
A kernel of bitterness infiltrated my chest. It must be everyone’s mission to ruin my pleasant state of depression this morning.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I told her blandly, “but yes, I’m fully aware.”
Ronan stepped through the doorway dressed in Givenchy, and by the hint of violence in his gaze, he’d overheard the conversation. What an eavesdropper.
He sat down in his chair like any other morning. I was again invisible to Kylie as she turned her full attention to Ronan and worked on his place setting. It couldn’t be more obvious she’d waited to do it until he arrived. And, really, how many forks did he need? I buttered a piece of toast and ignored the scene while she spoke to him in Russian.
“Tea. Then get the fuck out of my house.”
My butter knife faltered for a split second. That was a, “You’re fired!” to rival The Apprentice. Kylie shot me a hostile expression as if it was my fault, quickly poured Ronan’s tea, and fled the room.
“Do you seriously let people talk to you like that?” Ronan growled, his irate gaze on me. I avoided looking at him as if he were Medusa.
“Like what?”
“Don’t play games with me.” His anger chafed my skin. “She practically called you a whore.”
The fact he was acting like he cared swept over me in an itchy wave of frustration, but if I didn’t contain all feeling, I was afraid I’d explode like Hiroshima.
“You love calling me a whore,” I returned indifferently. “And you told me to not patronize your staff. I was just doing what you told me to.”