Page 111 of My High Horse Czar

I’m not sure how I got to Russia the last time I went, since I was unconscious, but I feel like I might have been rolled up in a rug or something.

This time is a little different.

Aleksandr knows how to travel in style. Our private jet—seats for twelve, but only the six of us on it—is met by the man from the phone. It turns out his name is Igor Baranov, and he lives larger even than Aleks. The man travels with an entourage that would staff a circus. The deep wrinkles in his face nevertheless don’t give the impression that he spends a lot of time smiling. Quite the opposite.

Someone’s dabbing his face as we deplane, as if he’s going on TV.

“Alexei.” His voice is deeper and more compelling in person. “You said you’re not bad looking.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I wish I was as ‘not bad looking’ as you.” His chuckle is low and deep.

“He’s modest,” I say. Or at least, I’m pretty sure I used the right word for modest.

Judging by the look he gives me, I might have said something else. “And who’s this?” His smile definitely turns forced in that moment.

“This is my girlfriend,” Alexei says. “Adriana Strelkova.”

“And where are you from?” Mr. Baranov keeps blinking, his brittle smile frozen in place.

“I’m from Latvia,” I say.

“How lovely.” He’s one of those people who says one thing while clearly meaning the exact opposite.

“I’m worried we may have a problem right from the start,” Alexei says. “You haven’t said anything rude, but you’re treating my girlfriend as if she’s not welcome here. If she feels unwelcome, then so do I. We’ll both leave together.”

“I was merely surprised,” Mr. Baranov says. “But of course, having a lovely girl on your arm will only help your image.”

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “Really.” It’s not like Alexei can really force every single person we meet to like me. It’s the exact reason I’m a terrible match for him. A Latvian with a shady past? Not good arm candy for the possible future president of Russia.

“It’s not fine,” Alexei says. “I can’t control how other people treat you, but I can certainly ensure that the people who are working with and for me treat you well.”

It’s just that what they think I deserve and what Alexei thinks are unlikely to align.

“You said we’d have accommodations in St. Petersburg,” Aleksandr says. “Novgorod is too far?”

Mr. Baranov waves his hand and a half dozen people rush forward, eagerly taking our bags from the airline crew. “The best hotel, of course. We’ll get you settled right away, but depending on how tired Mr. Romanov is, we’d love to get started on at least some of the preparation work today.”

And here’s where we find out how well the story Aleksandr crafted is going to hold up. Even though I may find him a little overbearing and irritating, most of his obsessive traits might actually help Alexei today. We’re claiming he’s Anastasia’s great grandson—which the DNA mostly bears out—but thanks to a lot of Disney movies and conman schemes, no one trusts anything to do with Anastasia.

The rest of the day is very, very boring, but thanks to the ironclad evidence of his DNA, no one seems to question his lineage. I suppose some parts of modern-day technology are pretty cool. Aleksandr won’t leave his side at first, but after several hours, it becomes clear that the people here don’t need to be sold on Alexei’s identity. Or the man himself.

They already adore him.

They’re prepared to tattoo his name on their butts.

At that point, even Aleksandr realizes that there’s not a lot for him to do. Eventually he decides to leave Alexei in their care and find a place to eat and rest. You can only eat so much of a cheese and fruit platter, no matter how nice, before it starts to look nasty. They all decide to head for the hotel around dinner time.

I decide to go with them.

It’s not like I’m really getting anything out of the long, boring meetings and strategy planning. Since I’m secretly hoping none of this pans out, I feel like my very presence might be bad juju.

“I’m surprised you came to Russia, to be honest,” Mirdza says. “You hate meetings, and you hate being stuck inside buildings, and you can’t stand politics of any kind.”

That makes me laugh, because it’s so true. And also, it’s so very my life. I finally like someone, and it’s a person who, by the very nature of being who he is, requires me to do all the things that I hate. Talk about ill-fated. Romeo and Juliet had it easy, for heaven’s sake. Who doesn’t have a little family drama?

At least they weren’t interested in a stallion shifter who had been sleeping for a hundred years. Thankfully, the hotel is amazing. It looks like a palace—then I work out the words on the sign. It’s the Four Seasons Lion Palace Hotel.

“Was this a property that Alexei’s family owned?” I whisper as we approach the enormous front entry of the massive yellow palace, replete with tall white columns, and two huge white lions guarding the doors.

“Hardly,” Aleksandr says. “It’s been bought now, by some American computer guru named William Gates, but it was built by the Kurakin family. While we slept, they built palaces.” He looks absolutely disgusted.

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