Page 88

I would sound more confident if I weren’t so lost.
Why would Ark organize groceries when I’m reasonably sure he ordered Chef to overcook on the days I work?
My pride wouldn’t allow me to ask Chef directly if my theory was true, but Chef is blunter than his favorite knives. When I dropped hints about my assumption, he told me it is impolite to question someone’s generosity, and that doing so was an insult to both the gift giver and the cook.
“Oh…” Mrs. Lichard’s reply is way too lusty for my liking. It makes my gills a little green. “Tillie is right. Ark is perfect for you. Perhaps she is right about Mr. Gordan as well.” Stealing my chance to reply, she shouts at Mr. Gordan that she’s coming before she tells me to message her before I leave so she can make sure I’ve gotten home safely.
I promise her I will before ending our call and storing my phone.
After a quick breather, I knock on the service entrance of Ark’s living room and impatiently wait.
Mercifully, I’m not left hanging for long.
Regretfully, the person who answers isn’t who I am expecting.
“Ms. Malenkov,” Fyodor greets, his gaze stony and cold. “I was just about to contact you.” He waves his hand across his body, inviting me in. “Please, come in.”
My legs are already wobbly, but their shakes worsen when my entrance into the living room announces there are more bodies than exits.
The person I’m seeking, though, is nowhere to be seen.
After smiling a greeting to Mrs. Whitten and Val, and struggling to hold back the snarl I’d give anything to issue Ark’s mother, I sit on the chair Fyodor gestures at. I trust Val enough to know she’d never place me in danger. I can’t issue the same guarantee for the other three.
I’m on the verge of being sick, but since I am desperate for answers, I fight to speak through the clump of vomit in my throat. “Is Ark okay?”
“Yes,” Fyodor answers, immediately halving my angst. “He’s fine.”
“You, however,” Mrs. Whitten joins in, “are balancing on a very thin wire, young lady.”
Her anger shocks me… until I recall how stringent she is about the rules.
I once cherished her nonfraternization policy.
Now, I loathe it.
“I had no s-sexual contact with Ark?—”
“You will address him as Mr. Orlov or not at all.”
I grit my teeth before shifting my eyes to the person snapping at me like my cat shit in her prize-winning garden.
Even if Ark’s confessions didn’t disclose her as a monster, I’d still declare with utmost certainty that Mrs. Orlov is a bully. She looks down at those she believes are below her and will stomp on people beside her for an inch more leverage.
“No, I will not refer to him bythatname.” Orlov is Ark’s abuser’s surname. He didn’t change it when he was legally old enough to do so because he didn’t want Riley to be the only one lumped with the name of her abuser.
Even having his blood didn’t stop her father from hurting her.
It was the same for me.
Mrs. Orlov gasps, shocked and appalled by the sternness of my tone, before she seeks assistance from Fyodor. “Are yougoing to allow her to speak to me in such a manner? Do something, Fyodor!”
He looks torn. I understand why. I thought he was Ark’s employee, not his mother’s.
After a quick breather, Fyodor says, “We are all here for the same reason. Arkadiy’s well-being.”
Everyone nods, agreeing with him, except Mrs. Orlov. “He wouldn’t be guzzling whiskey as if it were water if this wretched witch hadn’t brainwashed him.”
“Nora, please,” Fyodor retaliates before I can. “If you can’t be quiet, you will need to leave.”