Page 21 of The Bratva King's Claimed Bride

“Just another trick to try and escape,” she says. “I have better things to do than try to aid in your dramatics.” She sweeps from the room, and I feel a twang of guilt in my chest.

I get up, and two servants come in. They stand to the side.

“What are you here for?” I ask curiously.

The person on the left answers, “To help you out of your wedding dress and to pack it away.”

I nod and turn around. “Okay then.”

They come to me and start undoing the bow and then the bodice. Once everything is loose enough, I get it off and look around. “Where is the bathroom?”

“Through that door. Can we run you a bath?” the younger of the two servants asks.

“Is there a shower?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am, let me turn it on for you.”

“I…”

She hurries off, and I follow her. The bathroom is black and sleek. The bath is in one corner and takes up a good deal of the room. It is sunken into the floor, so you step down into it like a small pool.

There is a black toilet in one corner, and one wall has two black basins that are free-standing.

Then the shower is near the bath, a large open area with a drain in the floor.

The servant turns the water on hot and scatters salts on the floor, which look like little blocks.

“Ah, what are those?” I ask.

“Shower steamers to open up your pores.” She smiles. “Mr. Sidorov said we are to give you every luxury.”

I feel like I’m in one of those olden-day series I watch on Saturdays. Who even has servants now?

The woman leaves after saying quietly, “I’ll be just outside.”

I strip off my underwear and step into the shower. It’s piping hot, and these shower steamers smell divine. I pick up the bar of soap on the side of the shower and start to soap up my body before I rinse it off.

Then I wash my hair, washing it with the shampoo and conditioner two-in-one combo I find in the shower. I wish they’d brought me the ones from the other room.

When I’m finished, I simply stay in the shower for some time, letting the hot water relax my body before I climb out and brush my teeth with my finger. I’ll have to ask them to bring me those things from the other bathroom.

I rinse off, and with a towel wrapped around me, I step into the bedroom where the two women are waiting.

“What am I going to do once I’m dressed? Where does he want me?” I ask.

“He said to take you to breakfast but that he won’t be joining this morning because he has work to do,” the older servant says.

“What are your names please?” I ask.

“Olga,” the older one says. “And this is Marie.”

“Thank you for helping me out. You can let me be. Please, just bring me the toiletries from the guestroom.” They look at each other, and Olga shakes her head.

“We can only leave you once you’re having breakfast. Then the guard will watch over you.” She bows her head, and I sigh. I take the clothes into the bathroom, dry off, and dress. The clothes fit a little loosely, but they’ll do.

I think of my apartment uptown and how it’s filled with my things—not some stranger dressing me, but my clothes.

Olga leads me out of the room. The tiled floor is cold to my bare feet. Marie follows behind us, and falling into line behind her is a beefy man.

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