Page 12 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride

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Every dinner, as the evenings go by, I am dutifully seated at the table with him, asking him about his day. In the mornings, he leaves for work, and I do my own thing.

On this particular morning, I’ve decided it’s time to start searching around for anything that I can find on Miron. I’vebeen waiting until I learned Benedikt’s routine, because I don’t want to get caught in an awkward situation snooping around, but I’m confident that he’ll be gone for most of the day today.

I’m standing in the sunroom on the top floor. It has a view of every angle of the property, and right now I’m at the window facing the driveway.

Benedikt walks towards his car, and as though he can sense me watching him, he looks up at the wide glass walls of the sunroom. Even from this distance, his smile makes my body spark.

He waves at me, and I wave back.

It’s still shocking to me how attractive that man is. I often find myself just staring at him, daydreaming, embarrassed when he catches me.

Benedikt climbs into his car and starts the engine.

I wait, sipping my coffee as I watch.

Once Benedikt’s car has pulled out through the massive security gates around his mansion, I set my half-finished coffee down and get to work.

The two places I want to look at today are his home office, and at the back of the library—he has a store room of files there. I don’t know what they’re for.

I start with the office, thinking that any current projects would be kept close at hand and not filed away.

His office is immaculate.

Sitting at his desk, I can smell his cologne. Closing my eyes, I let myself breathe it in, leaning back in the chair and picturing him.

Dammit, Ulyana, what are you doing? You haven’t got all day.

I shake my head to force myself to focus.

Drawers. Start there.

While his home is filled with interesting pieces of art and unique statues and odd, rare ornaments, his office is organized to a T.

As I open each drawer, I notice that every item has a place. If I don’t put something back exactly the way he has it now, he’s going to know that I was in here snooping around through his things.

The bottom drawer has tech equipment. Nothing that would tell me anything about Miron, though.

The second drawer has a notebook and some pens in it.

I go through every page of the notebook, reading endless notes, written in a slanted, firm cursive. A man’s handwriting. If it’s Benedikt’s, and I assume it is, he has a beautiful style.

But there is nothing in here about Miron, just day-to-day operations and notes about shipments.

Again, not useful.

I’m getting frustrated.

The top drawer has a wad of cash, a voice recorder and walkie-talkies along with a spare clip for his Glock. In excitement, I press play on the recorder, but a light flashes ‘0’ on the little screen to say it’s empty.

He must have cleared it after taking notes somewhere. Maybe in the notebook that was also useless.

My eyes trace over his laptop. Chances are slim that it doesn’t have security on it. But hey, might as well try.

I open it, and as expected, it asks me for a password.

If it’s like my brother’s laptop, it will basically self-destruct and fry the hard drive if I put the wrong password in too many times, so there is no point in sitting here guessing.