Mikhail places his arm around my waist. “Not Sofiya. She’s the picture of elegance.”
Andrei’s eyes darken as he looks me over again. “I’m sure she is.”
I don’t want Andrei looking at me like that. I don’t want any man to look at me like that.
“I’m going to take her home. I’ll see you later, Andrei.”
“Yes, you will.”
It almost sounds like a threat.
Mikhail lives in the penthouse suite of an extravagant apartment building, where the lobby is made of gold, and the footmen and guards are dressed in formal black uniforms.
The penthouse suite is luxurious, from the warm wood floors to the tall windows letting in natural light to the cream-colored furniture.
“Let me give you the tour.” Mikhail shows me around the living room and downstairs bathroom. A hallway leads to his office and another room, but the door is closed.
“Can I go in there?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not a place for you. Not yet, anyway.”
I frown but don’t ask questions. I only take a beat to look at the closed door before moving on. We enter the kitchen next, which is all cream cabinets and black and white tile.
I stop short when I see a middle-aged woman by the stove. “Oh.”
The woman looks me up and down disapprovingly.
“Sofiya, this is my housekeeper, Mary. She cooks and cleans and does pretty much everything else.”
Mary only gives me a stern look.
“Hi,” I offer up.
Mary turns her nose up at me and turns her back to me.
“She doesn’t like me,” I whisper to Mikhail as we go upstairs.
“She doesn’t like anyone.” Mikhail opens up a pair of double doors. “And this is my bedroom. We’ll share it, of course.”
The room is shrouded in a soft glow from the lamps. The bed is large, and cream and brown sheets cover the top. It looks so comfy, and I want to sink into it, but I don’t want Mikhail to think that means I’m inviting him to bed.
Mikhail steps up behind me and trails his fingers down my arms. “I want to fuck you in here. I want to fuck you all over the house. But I want to start in here.” He presses his lips to my neck, making me shiver.
I step away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready. I only met you a couple of days ago. I’m still getting used to this. Can we … wait?”
Mikhail silently studies me before nodding. “We can wait. But you’re missing out on pleasure because of your fear.”
“I’m just not ready.”
“Then I’ll have to make you ready.” He stares at the bed for a moment. “I’ll leave you be for the day. I have work to attend to. Give you a chance to get situated. When you’re ready, you can come to me.” With that, he leaves the room.
I sink onto the bed. What have I gotten myself into?
The only thing I know is that the bed is super soft, so at least that’s one good thing.
Mikhail really does have work to attend to. I don’t see him at all for the rest of the day, for which I’m grateful. During that time, I check out the closet, which is stocked full of clothes. Women’s clothes.
They’re all in my size, so I know there are no leftovers from other women he’s brought home. These are clothes he bought for me.
I change out of the wedding dress and heels into a pink top and skirt. Now what?
I walk downstairs and find Mary still in the kitchen.
“I made you lunch,” she barks, placing a plate with a sandwich and apple on the counter.
“Oh, thank you.” I didn’t ask for lunch, but I am getting hungry. I sit at the table and start eating. The entire time, Mary stares at me with disapproval.
Once I’m done, I look through Mikhail's books, but they’re all in Russian. Then I turn on the TV, but all the channels are in Russian.
With nothing to do, I lie down for a nap.
And I wake up hours later in darkness. I must have been so tired from the long trip to Russia—I never slept on the plane because I was too nervous—and from the wedding that I just crashed.
Checking the alarm on the nightstand, I see it’s eleven o’clock. Mikhail never woke me. I’m also starving because I never ate dinner.
