“Spread your legs. I want to see your pussy.”
I flush. How can he say things like that so … casually? I could never utter something like that.
“Sofiya,” he warns.
I force my legs open.
“Place your feet on the bench.”
After a beat, I do as he says.
I’m laid out before him, fully naked. My entire body on display for him.
And Mikhail doesn’t touch me. Not once. He just … looks. Watches.
I finally work up the courage to meet his gaze, and what I see there lights me on fire. Awe in his eyes. Lust in his eyes. The desire he has for me is overpowering.
My breath comes faster and faster. I think I might pass out.
Mikhail walks around my body, observing me but never touching me. It’s almost like I’m a statue in a museum.
When he stands before me, staring down at the space between my legs, I have to fight the urge to fidget. Does he like what he sees? Should I even care? Maybe I should have just let Irina have him for the night. She was right—I’m not ready for this. Mikhail will eat me alive.
And then he turns away from me, and the spell breaks.
“You can get dressed now.”
I sit up on the bench, closing my legs but not rushing to get dressed. “I don’t understand.”
He picks up my clothes and hands them to me. “Get dressed, Sofiya,” he repeats in a softer tone. “That’s all for tonight. You’re not ready for more.”
I grab my clothes, shame burning my face as I get dressed.
“You can leave,” he says.
I almost run for the door. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think this would be a good idea? I’m in over my head. I’m drowning.
Then he speaks again: “You made me proud tonight.”
And for the first time since my parents died, I smile.
The next day, I go into the kitchen for lunch, but Mary isn’t there. Mikhail is in his office again. Fortunately, there are no sightings of Andrei today. I didn’t tell Mikhail about Andrei. I’m not sure. I just don’t want Mikhail to blame me for what happened. That’s the thing—I’m not even sure if he would. But I don’t know my husband well enough yet to know.
I check the pantry to make sure Mary isn’t there. She’s not. She must be in another part of the house, cleaning.
Now’s the time to try the phone.
I hurry to it and dial Mila’s number. It’s only seven at night in New York. She has to be awake.
After a couple of rings, she answers. “Hello?”
I sag in relief. “Mila. It’s Sofiya.”
“Sofiya!” She pulls the phone away from her mouth. “Vik! Sofiya is calling.”
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m …” She sighs heavily. “Boris wants to marry me.”
I was worried about that. “Is there any way you can get out of it? I tried, Mila. I tried to protect you from him, but Mikhail … he wanted me.”
“I don’t blame you. Are you ok? It’s been days, and you haven’t called.”
“I don’t have my cell phone. I haven’t been allowed to use the phone. I’m just glad you answered. I’ll find a way to protect you from Boris. I promise.”
“I know you will.”
“Can I talk to Vik?”
“Hang on.” After a moment of muddled conversation, Vik comes onto the phone.
“I’m glad you’re alive, at least,” she says.
“Nice to talk to you, too, Vik.”
She sighs. “I’m glad you’re ok. You are ok, aren’t you?”
