Page 11

I wake up feeling like I could devour half the kitchen. My stomach rumbles in a way that startles me out of the last dregs of sleep, and I stretch beneath the covers, wondering where Grigor is. The space beside me is empty, and the sheets are cool to the touch. Something about that emptiness tugs at my thoughts, reminding me of last night. Heat flutters through me at the memory of how his body felt against mine, but I’m quick to shake it off.

Catching feelings for my husband is a terrible idea, given the circumstances.

I slide out of bed, and my bare feet sink into the plush rug. One of his shirts drapes across the armchair in the corner, and I tug it on rather than trekking down the hall for my own clothes. The fabric is too big, and it hangs almost to my knees. As I inhale the faint trace of his scent clinging to it, an odd comfort that makes me roll my eyes at myself.

Trying to ignore the flush on my cheeks, I pad over to his dresser. It’s left half-open, maybe in a hurry. Curiosity gnaws at me, and I find myself peering inside. Most of it is a jumble of folded clothes, but near the back, I catch a glimpse of a small photo with worn edges. I slip it out carefully, blinking at the image of a woman with bright eyes and a dazzling smile.

Jealousy prickles at me before I can tamp it down. She’s gorgeous, with dark hair that falls in loose waves around her shoulders. I stare at her features, trying to figure out who she might be. Maybe she’s the reason Grigor didn’t push me further that first night. Maybe he’s already in love. A sour taste fills my mouth at the thought.

“What am I doing?” I mutter to myself. After sliding the photo back where I found it, I close the drawer. I don’t want to feel this way—like I’m already competing with someone who might hold his heart.

I push the feeling down and decide to head downstairs. My hunger returns with a vengeance, and if Grigor’s busy elsewhere, I can make something for myself. I smooth the shirt, ignoring that it rides up enough to reveal my thighs. If anyone stares, too bad. I’m the lady of the house, for better or worse.

The hallway is quiet. I make my way to the kitchen, inhaling the scent of coffee and something cooking. That alone triggers another wave of hunger, and I quicken my pace, only to stop short at the threshold. Grigor is standing by the stove, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of lounge pants with a spatula in hand as he stirs something in a pan.

He turns when he hears me, lifting his eyebrows. “Morning.”

I swallow, caught off-guard by the domestic scene. “Hi,” I mumble. My gaze shifts to the pan, then to the countertop where a cutting board is covered with chopped vegetables. “You’re… cooking.”

A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “You say that like it’s the most shocking thing you’ve seen.”

I can’t help a small huff of laughter. “I guess I didn’t expect it.” I wander closer, drawn by the aroma. Whatever he’s making smells divine.

He gestures at the table. “Sit. This will be ready soon.”

I glance at the utensils and plates he’s set out. The tension from last night lingers in the air between us, but I’m too hungry to argue. I slip into one of the chairs, noticing how he eyes me in his shirt. The look he gives me sends a warm flush across my skin, reminding me of exactly what happened not too long ago.

My gaze drifts to the window, letting me compose myself. “You’re up early,” I remark. “Could’ve woken me.”

He shrugs before turning back to the stove. “Didn’t want to.”

I’m not sure how to interpret that, so I keep quiet. A minute later, he brings over two plates of scrambled eggs mixed with vegetables, plus a side of crispy potatoes. My mouth waters at the sight. He sets them down, grabs a pot of coffee, and pours me a mug without a word.

I curl my fingers around the warm ceramic, momentarily unsettled by the normalcy of it all. “Thanks,” I offer, trying not to sound flustered. The moment feels intimate, in a subtle way that ties my tongue.

He sits across from me and digs into his own plate. The flavors burst on my tongue—seasonings, herbs, the fresh crunch of peppers. I can’t stifle the moan that slips out. “It’s good,” I mumble around another mouthful.

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I am,” I admit. “The only meals we’ve shared together so far were prepared by your private chef. Don’t get cocky, though. One decent meal won’t erase the fact that you nearly shot me last night.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “I told you, you shouldn’t have snuck up on me. Especially in that manner.”

Annoyance stirs in my gut, but I push it aside. “Fair point,” I concede. “Still, I’m grateful you didn’t pull the trigger.”

A shadow passes across his features, but he shrugs it off. “I’d rather not kill my wife,” he says, so matter-of-fact it sends a shiver down my spine.

I change the subject before we can spiral into hostility. “Earlier, I was in your room looking for a shirt. I found… a photo.”

He tenses, and his gaze goes cold. “You were snooping?”

“Not snooping,” I protest. “I just saw it in the drawer. Who is she?” The question emerges with more bitterness than I intended, but I can’t help myself.

“Why do you care?”

I resist the urge to snap back. Instead, I soften my tone. “Because I saw how carefully it was tucked away. She seems important.”

He’s silent for a long moment, keeping his eyes fixed on a point behind me. Something tells me I touched a nerve. Finally, he exhales. “Her name was Anya. She was my sister.”

“Oh,” I recall how jealous I felt seeing that picture, how I assumed it was some girlfriend he was pining over. The shame of that assumption burns.

“She was murdered,” he continues. “Years ago. My parents passed away soon after. I blame the grief.”

I watch the flicker of pain in his eyes. Something twists inside my chest. “I’m sorry,” I manage. “I didn’t know.”

He pushes the eggs around on his plate without meeting my gaze. “She was the only girl in our family. The rest of us made it out of adolescence alive, but Anya…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “She was sweet. Too good for our world.”

My own heart twinges at the thought of losing Cecily. The mere possibility of her being harmed is what drove me into this predicament, to begin with. “I can’t imagine,” I whisper. “If anything like that happened to my sister…” The words catch in my throat, and I press my lips together.

For a moment, we share a silence weighted with grief—his for a sister lost, mine for a sister I fear might be in danger if I don’t appease Father. It’s the first time I feel a genuine sense of connection to Grigor, something beyond attraction or anger. A bond formed by understanding what it means to love a sibling fiercely.

He finally glances up. “Your sister’s name is Cecily, right?”

I nod. My hunger wanes as worry flutters inside me. “Yes. She’s younger by a few years. She’s… too kind and obedient for her own good.”

He offers a small, sad smile. “That was Anya, too.”

A beat passes. I realize the significance of his opening up, even this little bit. I catch myself feeling an urge to comfort him, to place my hand over his. But the memory of last night—how we ended up entwined—still dizzies me. And then I recall the reason behind my seduction. Guilt curdles in my stomach. Is it manipulative to show sympathy now, or is it genuine? I can’t even tell.

Trying to gather myself, I pick up my mug and down a gulp of coffee that scalds my tongue. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shakes his head, pushing his half-eaten plate aside. “You didn’t know.”

He studies me a moment longer, then stands to gather the dishes. I scramble to my feet. “I can help with—”

“Leave it. The staff will handle this.”

I nod and hug his shirt closer to my body. “Thank you for breakfast.” The gratitude sounds awkward, but it’s real. I never expected him to cook for me. It’s a departure from the commanding figure I’m used to.

He gives a curt nod. “I have to head out. Business.”

Unease stirs in my chest, thinking of how that business probably involves violence. He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m not sure I want him to. “Be careful,” I say, surprising myself.

“I always am.” He brushes past me, collecting his jacket from a hook near the door. “Stay here. Don’t wander off,” he adds. Then he’s gone, and his footsteps echo in the hallway. Moments later, I hear the door shut behind him.

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My emotions churn; a blend of pity for his loss, guilt for my father’s demands, and an odd warmth at the memory of him making me breakfast. This marriage is a tangled mess, and I can’t see a clear path forward.

I ignore his order about leaving it for staff and tidy up the plates myself before I wander into the living area. Grigor’s head housekeeper, Galina, appears with a polite smile. “More coffee, Mrs. Barkov?”

I hesitate, then nod, grateful for the distraction. She returns with a fresh mug, and I wrap my hands around it, seeking comfort. “Thank you.”

She glances at me carefully. “Is everything alright, Ma’am? You seem… thoughtful this morning.”

The question rattles me. She’s just a housekeeper, but I suspect she sees more than she lets on. The help is usually the first to learn any secrets since they have their fingers in every part of the household.

“I’m okay,” I respond, though I’m not entirely sure if it’s true. Then I force a small smile. “Just adjusting. That’s all.”

“If you need anything, please let me know.” She steps back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mr. Barkov mentioned you might want to redecorate some areas soon, once you’ve settled.”

Redecorate. The idea of putting my personal stamp on this house is bizarre. I barely feel like I belong here. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Galina begins to tidy the cushions on the sofa, so I take my coffee to the far window, where I look out at the garden where I found solace last night. Maybe I’ll make my way out there again today.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I stiffen. Another text from my father, no doubt.

Pulling it out, I see the dreaded name on the screen. Tension knots in my shoulders. I glance at Galina, who’s still preoccupied with her tasks. Quickly, I unlock the phone. The message glares at me:

What is taking so long? I need answers. Don’t forget our deal.