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)
But that was different. He was drinking red wine, and not to excess. And he asked for water. Sparking mineral water, of course. Shockingly expensive. But it sent a little shiver of… something… through me.
I could not, and would not, examine that feeling too closely.
He had listened to me, it seemed. For my offer of water had influenced him, which seemed shocking. I had no way of knowing if his behavior was normal or not. If the excessive vodka consumption over the past two weeks was the normal. Or if he often drank red wine.
I really did not know him well. Yet. Even if I spent months observing him at close proximity, I wondered if I ever would. I could work here for years and never know. I could work here for a decade.
My heart started thudding in my chest at that thought. The room seemed to tilt as that potential reality set in. Years of this mind-numbing service, all to repay my father’s debt for a business that was not my dream. Not my future.
Anton as much as owned me. We both knew it. I was completely vulnerable to his whims. So far, they had been benign, but I had no idea what the future might bring. Perhaps he was just biding his time. Perhaps he would continue this odd arrangement forever, like a cat toying with a mouse.
Was this my fate? Would I be a marionette, standing at attention for the rest of my life? Was I truly his, body and soul?
Would I ever play violin in front of an audience again, other than hidden in an isolate music room? Would I be allowed to attend my audition for the Moscow Symphony in six months? What was the point, if I would not be allowed to accept the position if I actually succeeded in receiving an offer of my dream career?
I needed to practice and prepare, not be standing around, pouring wine for a spoiled, criminal, aristocrat.
I swallowed back my tears. I would figure this out. And my father’s life, and the chance of saving it, was more important than my hopes and dreams. The Symphony was a long shot, anyway. So why did I feel like my future was crumbling before my eyes?
I could risk losing the candy shoppe. If my father did… not survive… then the Aslanov’s could have it to settle the debt. I would be free.
But if he lived, then surely my service now would help to pay down the debt, so he could continue working in his beloved storefront, making generations of children smile, and flirting benignly with their mothers, grannies, and nannies.
I exhaled. I was not going to be here forever. If I missed my audition, perhaps I could reschedule, or try again for the next cycle. It had been a long application process, started nearly a year ago, and something I daydreamed about for as long as I could remember. Since I was a little girl with tender fingers, before my calluses had developed.
And through it all, papa was there, rooting for me, cheering me on. I could not ask for a better man in my life. I could not ask for a more loving, supportive, and caring father.
I stiffed my back, having worked through the problem in mind as I stood there in silence. I could navigate this. I could tolerate it. I had made sacrifices before and I could again. My school friends had wanted to hang out and play video games on weekends and after school. I never could do that, having music lessons and chores at the candy shop. I had never really regretted missing out on those wasted hours hanging around.
That was all this was. A sacrifice. A decision. A choice.
This was not a life sentence. Merely a moment in time. And papa was seeing the doctor today. We would know more soon. I closed my eyes, saying a silent prayer that the news was good. That we both were given a reason to be hopeful.
I snapped back to attention at the sound of a chair scraping.
“You are lost in your thoughts tonight, little Mishka.”
I stared at him. He was pouring himself a glass of wine, his powerful body moving in a relaxed, almost lazy, manner. He leaned against the banquet and looked at me, his movements resembling that of a large, predatory cat. My eyes widened, then rushed towards him, only to stop steps away from him, confused.
“Hmmmm, the wine is already poured. Were you planning to bring me more water, instead?”
I blushed and shook my head, stepping away. Then I curtsied, feeling absolutely mortified. He laughed, which only made it worse.
“It’s alright, little Mishka. I am done with dinner. Grab the wine and follow me to my study.”
I curtsied again and did as he asked.