8

Summer

It’s starting to get dark, and Eric’s not back yet.

He left me in the care of his staff a little after lunch.

He introduced me to Lyssa, his maid who is here for six hours a day, Oleg, one of his personal bodyguards who would be looking after me—more like watching me—when Eric’s not here, and Borya his second in command. Borya was the guy who came in this morning when I first went out.

Both he and Oleg look exactly like what you’d imagine Bratva men to be like and not the kind of men who stand for nonsense. Both look like they’ve been trained to kill without question, and they barely said anything to me.

I spent the day going over what I was going to say to Dad. Now my head is more than the mess it already was.

I mostly stayed in my room because I wanted to gather my thoughts. That’s where I am now, and I’m no far forward than I was earlier.

I have no idea what I’m going to say to my father. I’m sure Eric is going to want to hear that I’ve spoken to him when he gets back.

At least I can be grateful I’m now wearing actual clothes, and I’m out of his shirt, out of his shirt and away from the scent of him, like he’s making his mark on me that way too.

Just before Eric left, a pretty little blonde woman stopped by with bags of clothing from Neiman Marcus. Although she saw me briefly, I made myself scarce because of my inappropriate-for-visitors-wear. I was, however, inclined to think she could have been his girlfriend—or one of them. She didn’t stay long. She was probably here for ten minutes tops.

I wasn’t expecting clothes of the Neiman Marcus variety and would have been just as happy with something from a cheaper store. Or not at all because I had clothes at the cottage. Granted, nothing I own is as nice as the little summer dress I’m wearing that looks like it belongs on a model. Everything else I had looked like I was ready to dig around in a garden or milk the cows on a farm.

When I looked at the clothes, I was surprised to see she got my size right, and she got some really nice things as well as the essentials like underwear and skincare. It seemed thoughtful of her like she’d tried to think of everything I might need.

Pulling in a deep breath, I push to my feet and gather courage once more. This is the second time I’ve had to gather courage today, but this is harder.

I should do it, though. I already feel bad that I haven’t called my father, and I know I’ll feel worse if I leave it any longer or wait until Sunday to speak to him.

I find Lyssa in the kitchen. When she sees me, she lifts her head and greets me with a bright smile that makes her green eyes look bigger but also deepens the wrinkles on her face. With her gray beehive updo she seems more like she’d be more at home in a 1960’s TV show, but it gives her a warm presence.

I picked up on that warm presence straight away when she was showing me around the apartment and gave me a motherly look I’ve only ever gotten from two women in my life—Grandmama and Marquees’ wife. It was a genuine look of concern for another’s wellbeing. She’s doing it again now.

“Hi,” I say nervously.

“Hello dear, how are you feeling?” she asks, speaking in a Russian accent.

I’m not sure what Eric told her regarding me being here, but since that’s the second time she’s asked me that today I’m assuming he must have told her about Scarlett. Not the full details of what happened, but maybe that my sister just died.

She has that flicker of sympathy in her eyes that shows the compassion you’d feel when you know a person has lost a loved one.

“I’m not too bad.” That’s my default answer. “Lyssa, did Eric speak to you about the phone?”

She smiles and nods. “You want to talk to your father?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

She’s leads me into the living room, where she opens a little cupboard and takes out a silver cellphone.

When she hands me the phone, my hands shake, and she gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sure you’ll feel stronger when you start speaking to him.”

“I hope so.” I think if I try to keep the discussion focused on Dad’s health, it might be okay. Not that I’m going to avoid mentioning Scarlett. I definitely couldn’t do that. I just think it’s best to speak to him face to face when it comes to her.

“If you need me, I’ll be out on the terrace,” Lyssa says. “Just come out and get me.”

Tags: Faith Summers Dark Syndicate Dark
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