Page 13 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

T he cupcakes are a disaster, but I’m not worried. I shall prevail in my culinary endeavors and in the meanwhile, I’ve gotten my revenge on Olga.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen she hovered.

“I do that.”

“Nope.” I turned on the oven. “I’m baking.”

“I bake.”

“And I do, too. I’ve taken up a new hobby.”

She lingered for the first hour, rolling her eyes and speaking in Russian under her breath. I downloaded an app, deciding I’d also learn a new language with all the new free time I have.

I’m a little ashamed to say my shoulders are sore from baking, proving Yelena’s point that I need to exercise more.

Or maybe it’s my lack of moving around in general.

I’m cooped up. Maxim told me there’s no point in my going to work unless I wanted to work for his father.

He came across as an asshole when he said it and I not so respectfully declined which ended up exactly like it always does.

Me on my knees, his fingers tugging at my scalp as he mouth fucked me.

A glob of icing lands on a vanilla cupcake, I squeeze my hand against the pastry bag so hard at the memory.

Marissa would get pleasure in knowing I’m nothing but Max’s fuck toy.

I’ve tuned out Olga so thoroughly that it’s not until she sighs for the fifth time before I realize she’s on her phone.

She says something in Russian while rolling her eyes, clearly disgruntled, and hangs up.

With a scathing look at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, she announces, “I leave now.”

“Oh, okay.” Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.

I don’t bother to look up from my piping as she leaves but I’m secretly delighted. She never leaves until Max is home. The penthouse is gloriously empty for once.

At least until I hear the chime of the elevator opening again.

Max is robotic in his routine. He shouldn’t be back yet, and I don’t hear the usual movement of a jacket being hung up or his shoes removed.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Zimin?”

I set down the piping bag and scurry to the foyer.

Elijah smiles over the top of a giant pizza box.

“Uh, Maxim isn’t here,” I tell him. He’s already out of the elevator, looking around as if remembering the floor plan.

“Really?” He swings around, the pizza box sliding from his hands.

I step forward, my arms out, but he manages to catch it.

“Well then—”he points to the box—“guess it’s up to us to finish this off.”

Or not. “It’s probably best if you leave.”

“Why? Is something wrong? Oh, I hope I don’t make you nervous. Are you frightened of men?”

It’s got to get on Elijah’s nerves, this play-acting thing he does.

It’s a 24/7 performance from the overly awed expression on his face that dips from bored to mischievous.

Maxim is formal in his trousers and button-down, but Elijah goes for three-piece suits.

I’m surprised he wears a watch around his wrist instead of keeping a pocket watch.

A caricature. That’s what he is, but I don’t know who or why.

“I don’t know what this is, but no,” I tell him frankly.

More astonished disbelief. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I bet you ten bucks, you knew Max wasn’t going to be here, and that’s why you came.”

“Will you hold this?” He hands me the pizza box and digs into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. A second later a crisp ten-dollar bill is produced. “Here.”

He’s so annoyingly stupid I can’t fight the grin on my face.

“Now come on.” He grabs the pizza again and walks into the living room. It’s the center of the penthouse, Maxim and I pass through it every day but never use it.

Elijah plops onto the couch, sighing in comfort, and opens the box. “I should get napkins. Do you want anything to drink?” he asks on his way to the kitchen.

My sleeves are balled up in my fists as I perch on the edge of the couch. Damn him cause the pizza smells great. “Maxim will be upset that you’re wearing your shoes in the house.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who goes around barefoot?”

No. His loafers go perfectly with the dark tweed of his suit. “I can get you a pair of slippers.”

He comes back out with two glasses of wine. “You’re very accommodating toward my brother’s whims.”

The city is gross and I’d appreciate it if he took his shoes off too. But that’s not what he’s getting at. “It’s always better to pick your battles.”

Elijah cocks his head to one side. “What battles do you pick?”

I pick up my wine glass. “The ones that leave me alive at the end of the day.”

So none currently. Call me na?ve, but I don’t think Maxim wants me dead. I think he wants a wife. A home and a marriage. A picture-perfect photo for the yearly Christmas card. Fake and meaningless.

But at least his punishments, which admittedly make me rub my thighs together, only happen in the bedroom. The pain ends in pleasure. He doesn’t hit or yell like some of the other men I know.

I walk on eggshells because this pristine house is more of a museum than a cozy living space.

Elijah makes a noise under his breath, handing me a plate and offering me the first slice.

“Does he not feed you?” he asks a little while later.

I slap a napkin over my mouth. Okay, so I demolished half a pizza in five seconds flat, but so what?

Olga only feeds me salad. One time she caught me in the pantry eating chips, and I swear since then, she’s done everything to eradicate carbs from our house.

And Max has a thing about dinner only consisting of boring grilled chicken and veggies.

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head, grinning, and then grabs a remote. A second later what I thought was a picture frame turns into a TV.

“Has that been here the whole time?” I ask midbite.

This time his mask slips when he asks, “Did Max even bother to give you a tour of the place?”

I shrug, shrinking back into the brown leather couch.

When I first arrived I went from room to room, exploring the place but I was too afraid to mess with anything.

There’s our bedroom and the kitchen. The library is off the living room, and then the empty bedrooms on the other side which never get any foot traffic.

“Max is so particular, I don’t like to touch his stuff. ”

And no TV in the living room totally fits his personality. I don’t think he even watches sports.

Elijah snorts. “Maxie grew up with two brothers and employs a full time maid. Make a fucking mess if you want. It’s your home now too.”

Gray eyes bore down on me when he says the last sentence. I focus on the TV knowing there’s over a month’s worth of pop culture I need to catch up on.

“I saw your cupcakes. You like baking?”

I’m slightly embarrassed somebody so well put together saw that disaster of a creation. “Sort of.”

“They look good.”

I give him a look.

“They look edible,” he amends.

I slowly finish eating my fifth slice of pizza. I’m going to be bloated but it’s worth it.

“Does Max leave you here alone often?” he asks.

Here we go. The real reason he’s here. To snoop. “Normally Olga’s here.” There’s no harm in giving the information away since it’s probably well-known.

“And where is she now?” he asks.

His shit-eating smirk implies he knows the answer. “Did you?” I ask.

The grin widens. He offers me another slice of pizza.

My defenses were down because of the food, but they’re back up in an instant. “Why are you here?”

“Because you need a friend,” he says, propping up his feet on the glass coffee table. “You know Sergei isn’t here on Thursday evenings.”

This is news to me. He always remains outside while I’m in the house. Of course, there’s got to be a shift change at some point and hopefully, Max doesn’t make him work seven days a week.

“Where is he at?”

“No idea,” Elijah says and I don’t believe him for a second. If Elijah wanted the codes to some nukes I think he could achieve it. Worse, he might actually use such a weapon.

My legs are crossed, my plate in my lap. I yanked the bobby pins out of my head as soon as I could after lunch and I’m wearing pajamas. For once I’m comfortable, even while sitting next to this cunning man.

“Do you hate your brother?”

His surprise appears genuine. And so does the soft look in his eyes. “No.”

“Then why are you breaking in?”

“You let me in.”

“After you bribed Olga and the new guard to get in.”

He laughs. “I didn’t bribe Olga. I had her building manager call about a fake emergency.”

“So she wouldn’t be here and tell Max you stopped by. You don’t want him to know you’re here.”

“Yes,” he admits readily. “But you don’t care about that because you want pizza and a half-hour to yourself.”

For the first time in my life, I’m living in luxury. A penthouse worth millions. A driver and a maid. You’d think I wouldn’t be begging for food, but here I am.

Alone all day, but not truly. Olga’s always lurking, reporting my movements not just to Max but to his mother as well. Sergei is friendly but I’m not stupid. He’s loyal to my husband not to me. It’s the same with Pavel and every guard I come into contact with.

Please help me pay off my debt and then I’ll be free.

But I won’t be, I whisper to the imaginary Daisy in my head .

Elijah’s silent, studying me closely. “How did lunch with Yelena go?”

“Fine.” I pick at my pizza crust.

“You go to that pretentious place she loves?”

“Yep.”

“That place is a fucking bore.” He holds out the TV remote and for a second I don’t know what to do with it. I begin clicking buttons, flicking through channels. I stop when I get to an episode of the Real Housewives . I’m not sure which city it is, but I’m calmer now that it plays.

Sugar, carbs, and trashy TV. All my favorite things in one day.

Elijah doesn’t stay long. He takes the empty pizza box, saying he’ll deposit it in the trash on the way out, wiping any evidence of his visit away. After he puts his coat on, he fixes the collar and simply says, “See you next week.”

“What did you get up to?” Max asks an hour later, causing me to jump.

I’m in the pantry and he leans in the doorway, his brow knitted together.