Page 7

“Please,” I insist to the kitchen staff. “I can make my own lunch.”

The staff and chef exchange glances, and I can tell they’re unsure of my request. I try to prove my point by reaching for the pan, but the chef gasps. When I turn to look at him with an inquiring glance, he averts his gaze.

“Mrs. Letvin. We’re hired to do such chores. Mr. Agafon has given strict instructions to keep you happy. If he learns we didn’t cook your meals…”

“He’ll get upset, Miss,” the scullery maid finished his sentence.

I sigh and stare around the kitchen, incredulous.

But, I also recognize that I’m a new member of this household, and if I get the staff in trouble, they’d hate me for ages.

I need to gain their trust and loyalty if we hope to work together for years to come.

As for the fact that I’m bored out of my mind, that’s not their problem to deal with. I’ll simply have to entertain myself by finding something else to do.

“Carry on,” I say, begrudgingly.

The kitchen staff hovers nearby, waiting for me to make a decision about lunch. They're polite but keep their distance, as if I might bite. Or maybe it's because they're loyal to Agafon and see me as the newcomer I am.

“I'll just have a sandwich, please. Whatever's easiest,” I tell them, and they nod, already moving to prepare it.

I sigh and wander out of the kitchen. The house feels too quiet and big. Everything is perfect. A little too perfect, almost as though it’s a showpiece and not for actual living.

Tomorrow will mark one week since Agafon and I got married, yet it feels like I’m the only one living in this house. On the rare occasion I catch sight of him, it’s when I’m reading by the window late into the night and see his car pull up in the driveway.

If I didn't see Agafon's black Bentley come and go, I'd think I was completely alone here. My husband is like a ghost. When we do cross paths, he's distracted, checking his phone or speaking to one of his men. Our conversations have been limited to logistics and pleasantries.

“Will you be home for dinner?” I asked him yesterday.

“Don't wait up,” he replied, not even looking at me.

By now, I’m starting to feel a deep sense of lingering resentment.

I knew our marriage was arranged for Agafon to gain power by tapping into my family’s reputation, but still, I hoped he would give some thought to how I’d be spending my days.

But by leaving me to my own devices, which at the current moment consists of none, he makes it clear that my feelings aren’t a part of the equation.

Just then, my phone buzzes. My heart lurches at the sound. These days, even receiving a text message counts as excitement. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. What has my life come to?

I put in my passcode and see I’ve received a message from Sofia.

“Helloooo, bridey. How’s it going?”

My family is always checking in on me. Nikolai calls on his way to work nearly every day. Dima and Fedor send constant texts. My brothers provide regular updates about their whereabouts, what they can share without giving away too much. Last I checked, Samuil had joined Lion and Benedikt in Moscow.

They all had just one question. How are you doing?

How am I doing? I could cause trouble. I could throw a tantrum and demand attention. I could call my siblings and complain. But what would that accomplish? I'd just confirm what everyone already thinks—that I'm the baby of the Orlov family who needs their help.

That would only make them worry and, worse, interfere, which would make Agafon angry.

So what do I do instead? I lie and keep up appearances that all is well.

I send back exuberant texts filled with excited exclamation marks and emojis.

I send them any photos I can of things that make my life seem exciting and happy—my bedroom, the house, my meals, and the lovely library.

I turn back to the text, realizing I need to send Sofia back a reply, proof of how content I am. But seeing as there’s nothing new to fake joy over around the house, I decide to step out and explore the grounds.

The autumn air is crisp, carrying the scent of the pine trees that surround the property.

The guard at the door straightens when he sees me. “Mrs. Letvin,” he says with a nod.

“I'm just going for a walk around the grounds,” I explain, wondering if I need permission.

“Of course. Please stay within the perimeter fence.”

Translation: Don't try to run away.

I smile sweetly. “Of course.”

The gardens are beautiful, I'll give them that. It’s sprawling with manicured lawns that stretch out like the sea with no end in sight, beautiful hedges cut into intricate patterns, and beautiful fountains all around.

And then there’s the matter of flowers. So many flowers, spilling out from all over the place.

Rows of late-blooming roses line the stone pathway leading to a gazeb,o which sits at the center, painted white and surrounded by a small pond where koi fish swim lazily.

As I walk, I see a few guards on patrol. I count at least twelve and these are the ones who aren’t hiding.

I walk over to the pond and take some photos. “Having a great day! Decided to feed the fish,” I tell Sofia. There. That’s done.

I follow the path around to the back of the house, where it opens up to a vast lawn. A tennis court that looks barely used stands to one side, and beyond that, a small orchard. I wonder if anyone ever sits out here, enjoying the view. Somehow, I can't picture Agafon relaxing out here with a picnic.

The sound of a car engine draws my attention back to the house. It’s a convoy of cars, but I don’t recognize it as Agafon’s. I hear doors opening and voices drift toward me—laughing, teasing, alive in a way this house hasn't been since I arrived.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I make my way back around to the front entrance. Standing on the steps is a group of seven, contemplating what to do next.

“I told you we should've called first,” says a tall man with Agafon's dark hair but a much friendlier face.

“And miss seeing the look on Agafon's face when we all show up? No way,” replies a woman with the sharpest, most beautiful cheekbones I’ve ever seen.

“He's not even here,” says another with a groan.

“Well, we can wait for him. Our brother must surely miss us,” another woman laughs and makes it sound like a near threat, in that endearing way only sisters have.

That’s when I understand. Of course. His siblings. I quickly scan over the group of seven and notice that Nikandr isn’t there. He wasn’t at the wedding either. It’s strange, his absence.

I step forward and speak up with a bright smile on my face. “Hi there!”

They all turn toward me and break out into smiles. One of the taller men steps forward with arms wide. “And here she is! The new Mrs. Letvin, in the flesh.”

I feel my cheeks warm as he walks over to pull me into a hug. “Hi,” I manage, smoothing down my simple sundress, suddenly aware that I'm underdressed compared to them. “I'm Lilibeth.”

“We know who you are,” says the woman, stepping forward. “We were at the wedding, but there were so many people, we didn’t get time to talk. I'm Tatiana, Agafon's sister.”

She pulls me into a hug, surprising me with her warmth.

“And I'm Katya, the youngest,” says another woman, shorter than Tatiana but with the same confident posture. “We've been dying to properly meet you.”

One by one, they introduce themselves. Bogdan, with his beard, is the oldest brother after Agafon.

Faddey is leaner than the rest and a bit aloof.

Ilariy wears sunglasses that make him look like he’s walked off a runway.

Melor seems to be around the same age as me and has a boyish charm.

Rurik is the one who spotted me first and is insanely tall.

“Where's Agafon?” asks Bogdan, looking past me as if expecting him to materialize.

“Working, I assume,” I reply. “I don't see much of him.”

The siblings exchange glances.

“That's our brother,” Tatiana says with a roll of her eyes. “All business, all the time.”

“Well, his loss is our gain,” says Rurik. “Now we get you all to ourselves.”

They usher me inside, bringing life and noise into the quiet house. I instantly begin to feel less lonely. The staff seems startled by the sudden invasion but quickly adjusts, bringing refreshments to the sitting room where we all settle.

“So, Lilibeth,” Faddey says, leaning forward, “what do you think of being a Letvin so far?”

I pause, considering my answer. “It's... different from what I expected.”

“Different good or different bad?” asks Katya.

“Just different,” I say diplomatically. “I'm still getting used to everything.”

“The house is too big,” Tatiana declares. “I told Agafon when he bought it. Who needs fourteen bedrooms?”

“A man with plans for a big family,” suggests Melor with a wink.

I nearly choke on my tea, and they all laugh.

“Don't mind him,” Katya says, patting my hand. “He was dropped on his head as a baby.”

“Multiple times,” adds Ilariy.

The conversation flows easily, jumping from topic to topic. They tell me stories about growing up together, about Agafon as a teenager, who happened to be serious even back then.

They ask about my family too, and I tell them about my brothers, careful not to reveal anything too personal or sensitive.

It strikes me then that none of them have mentioned Nikandr, not even while sharing stories of their childhoods. I glance around, wondering if it's appropriate to ask about the missing brother.

But for some reason, asking such a loaded question to the whole group seems unnerving.

I don’t want to set off any alarms. They’ll only wonder what I could possibly have to glean from them that I can’t from Agafon.

And just like that, to my luck, the boys declare they don’t mind playing some pool over in the basement game room and leave us girls to ourselves.