Page 58 of Tarnished Reign

Jacob returns to the room at that moment and gives his daughter a sharp glance. “No woman should try to look hot, not when she could be beautiful instead. Beautiful is eternal and classy; hot is fleeting and cheap.”

Wow, talk about the morality police. Nataliya rolls her eyes.

“Lighten up, Daddy. I'm only playing.” She runs over to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him on the cheek. His face changes in an instant. The austere facade crumbles, and as he smiles, maps of lines web the corners of his eyes, and the color of them lightens slightly and warms to a rich amber.

Jacob is absolutely wrapped around his daughter's finger. It makes him a lot less scary when I witness their interaction.

“Can we go upstairs for a while, please?” she asks.

“Of course, but don't use my makeup,” Dimitri’s mother warns.

“I would never,” Nataliya says with a hand on her heart as if it's the most outrageous thing she's ever heard.

She takes hold of my hand and leads me out of the room. I tread the stairs after her, gawping at the absolute splendor of this house. Where Dimitri’s home was all modern sleek lines, this is opulence and sensual curves, with soft fabrics.

“Your home is absolutely gorgeous,” I say to her in awe.

She shrugs. “It's a bit fuddy-duddy and old-fashioned. I prefer the way Dimitri has his place. When I get my own place, which will probably be right next to Dimitri’s, much to his dismay, I'm going to do it out Versace style.”

I don't really know what Versace style is, but I smile at her as if I do. This is how I used to be, with the girls at school and the girls at college. Always trying to fit in. Always trying to be liked. Mostly failing. Except with Sian.

I miss my bestie with a pang of physical pain. What I wouldn’t give to be with her in her rambling home right now. Her home is an actual country estate in the UK. Barnaby, her father, is a widower and says he sees me as a second daughter. Not only do I have my own room, but my own rain boots and jacket, both at their place by the side door, next to theirs. Dimitri warned me not to call anyone, but it wouldn’t hurt to call her. Would it? She’s not even in this country, and she has no connection with my stepmother or the guys who took me.

We reach the top of the stairs and walk down a long corridor, covered in such a thick, plush carpet that I could lie on it and just rest my cheek against it. “Oh, my word,” I gasp in delight.

“What?” Nataliya looks at me as if I've lost my mind.

“That.” I point ahead of me, absolutely transfixed. In front of us is a huge, mullioned window, and in front of that is a window seat with the most intricate and ornate cushions at either end. On either side of the small alcove stands a large bookcase full of books. At the top of each bookcase sits a proud Staffordshire pottery dog.

Aware that it's bad manners, but unable to stop my legs from moving, I walk away from Nataliya and head to this vision of heaven. As I approach the window, my fingers trail the bookshelves, my skin brushing along the spines of the books, most of them leatherbound. I reach the window and look down to see nothing but long, lawned perfection stretching into the distance. “This is incredible. Do you spend hours sitting here every day?”

“And doing what?” She wrinkles her nose. “It's just the window. There's nothing beyond it but the garden. It's so boring and manicured. I like wild gardens. Loads of bright, messy plants. My stepmother likes it like this. Manicured and green. I love her to bits, but her gardening taste is dire.”

“But the books,” I say, breathless. “There are so many, and lots are seemingly early editions. Look at those beautiful leather spines. And I love those dogs.”

“Those old pottery things?” She shakes her head and laughs. “Did you come from another century? This stuff is so boring. I'm going to show you something that's going to make you gasp in delight; come with me.”

We step into a bedroom, and I know it's hers the minute we step inside. It’s decorated in soft lilac with accents of dove grey, and I must admit it looks nice even though it isn’t my taste.

“Your room in stunning.”

“Thank you; I chose the colors myself. I didn't mean the room, though. I meant this.” She grabs my hand again and pulls me forward before opening a door and leading me into a huge walk-in closet. I do gasp but more in shock.

She takes my stunned silence afterword for the delight she’s searching for if her grin is anything to go by.

The walls to the left and right of me are filled with a long rail on which hang dress after dress, with jacket after jacket, and trousers after trousers. They are color coded, and it all appears to be very expensive even to my untrained eye. The back of the room consists of floor-to-ceiling shelves, the bottom half of which hold shoes, and the top half bags. There's a small ladder on wheels, the kind you see in libraries.

“Isn't it magical?” she breathes.

I prefer the bookshelves myself, but I don't tell her that. It's clear this is her pride and joy.

“It's amazing,” I say. The people pleaser in me is in full flow. “It must have taken you ages.”

“I didn't build it, of course. Daddy paid for that. But I put everything on display myself.”

She says it as if putting her own clothes away in her huge custom-built closet is something to be congratulated on. I almost gave her a sarcastic little round of applause, but then remember I'm trying to be her friend.

“When Dimitri asked me to buy you clothes because Janice was sick, I didn't know anything about you. He gave me your size, and that’s it. Anyway, I knew you were one of the poor girls kept on that boat by those horrible men, and I didn’t know what had happened to you.” Her face is serious as if this is very important to her. “I didn’t want to make you a further temptation, not when there were going to be lots of men hanging around, so I got you Upper East Side matron style clothes. Do you see?”

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