Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Finally, she emerged, wearing the plush robe that were always waiting in all of our guest suites. I swallowed thickly as she slipped it off and put on a modest nightgown, catching a glimpse of her smooth, perfect flesh.
“Goodnight, sweet Mishka,” I whispered as she got into the enormous bed.
I carried the monitor with me as I silently passed her bedroom on my way to the attic. It took all of my will to resist the urge to open the door, climb into bed with her and pull her into my arms.
But I could not. It was too soon. Instead, I would paint her. The attic was clean and finished, but the low ceiling and dormers made it feel snug and private. Secret.
I pulled a drop cloth off of my old easel and took a deep breath. A swell of something welled up inside me. Inside my chest. It felt like coming home to myself. Remembering who I was. All because of her.
I looked around and located my old tools, including a jar of paint thinner and rags. I set everything up, with the monitor propped on a stack of boxes. Then I rewound the feed until I found a moment of her playing that captured her beauty and passion.
I picked up my paint brush for the first time in almost twenty years, and began to paint.
Chapter 8
Mishka
Ihurried up the stairs from the servant’s level. I was still running late, even after eating a quick and solitary breakfast of a hard boiled egg with half a grapefruit. That was all that was left by the time I got there. Thankfully, the coffee was still hot and delicious. I nearly burned my tongue chugging it down. I’d overslept, and nearly missed the morning meal. I was grateful that the cook had saved a little bit of food for the new girl.
Anton’s dining room was more impressive in the daylight. Enormous double doors opened up to a terrace, where a smaller table was already set. It was an unseasonably warm day outside, I realized. Of course, Anton would want to take advantage of it.
I hesitated, unsure what to do. Did I serve him in here? Or outside?
Footmen started streaming in, putting trays of food along the enormous serving table. I chose to stand against the wall, trying to ignore the rumbling of my stomach with the delicious smells of eggs and sausage wafting throughout the room. I actually heard my stomach rumble, vowing to be early for lunch and eat my fill.
It was in that oh-so-perfect moment that my employer, or master, arrived. Anton looked unfairly well-rested, relaxed, and handsome in his wool slacks and dress shirt. He had skipped the jacket and tie on this mild, sunny morning. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing tanned skin and a little bit of warm brown hair peeking out from the crisp white cotton.
Oh, great, his majesty has arrived.
I was pretty sure I looked like a hag in contrast. Crying half the night had probably only made me look even more provincial. Not that anyone cared about my appearance. I was grateful to be here, because my father was getting the help he needed. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.
It didn’t matter that my ‘master’ was cold and cruel. He had offered my father a solution. I only had to suffer for a few years to pay off his debt.
Actually, I wasn’t sure how long I was expected to remain here, or what the consequences would be if I left. I suddenly doubted that I would be allowed to leave, regardless of my father’s debt. Perhaps even having knowledge of the estate was dangerous to them. These men were dangerous criminals, not just absurdly handsome and wealthy gods.
Keep your eyes down, and be polite, I reminded myself. Say nothing.
I knew that was not in my nature to be meek, but I had to keep my father and myself alive. This was not an annoying boss, nor an unfair teacher in school. This man owned me, for the foreseeable future. And apparently, did not want anyone else to serve him.
“Coffee, black,” he said as he passed me on the way to the terrace.
“Yes, sir,” I said softly as I poured him a cup and brought it to the round, outdoor table, already set with crisp linens, white plates, and shiny silverware. I wondered if setting and clearing the table would become part of my duties eventually, or if I was literally just meant to be his handmaiden.
I set the cup down and skittered back to the dining room. Literally all I did was fetch and carry. Plus answering his harshly worded questions and waiting to see if he needed more vodka. Would he drink at breakfast, too? I wondered.
“Wait out here, Mishka” he said mildly, stopping me in my tracks. “Over by that column, please.”