Page 62 of Under Control

Chapter 22

Karine

The mansion is stifling and overwhelming.

Valentin’s busy over the next few days. I visit with my mother once, as promised, but she’s not in the mood to talk about the looming war. Instead, she cooks us lunch and sticks with comfortable, normal gossip about her Mahjong friends.

Aside from that, I’m basically stuck dealing with the Russian soldiers, my bodyguards, and the steady stream of important Bratva members that Valentin’s forced to entertain as he gears up for a fight.

I’m mostly ignored.

At least the house staff is kind to me. They’re deferential, almost a little too deferential, except for Nikkita. The old woman isn’t exactly kind, but she doesn’t treat me like a nuisance anymore at least. I sit in the kitchen with her a few times and watch her cook, and at first it annoys her, but eventually she starts barking orders at me. “If you’re going to stare, you might as well put yourself to work,” she says.

That’s how I learn to make a few basic Russian dishes.

But getting bossed around by an old lady can only do so much, and soon I’m stir-crazy. On Thursday evening, I get dressed like I’m going to work at Stove and Smoke, and slip out the front door before anyone can stop me. The bar isn’t too far away, and even though I’m being followed by a contingent of very nervous criminal thugs, the evening stroll is surprisingly nice.

And the bar feels like coming home. I’m greeted by my manager, who asks when I’m coming back for another shift, and I know half the regulars. I catch sight of my Russian shadows on the phone at a booth looking like they’re about to be sick. I should feel sorry for them, but I really don’t.

“Oh my god, I thought I’d dreamed you, but here you are in the flesh.” Merrick’s sitting at the far end of the bar and his entire body lights up when I take the stool next to him. The bartender, a girl named Ashley, brings me a glass of wine.

“How have things been?” I ask him.

“On my end, completely fine, about the same. But on yours?” He leans in close, smirking ear to ear. “I hear a littlecongratulationsis in order.”

I swirl my drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please, don’t be like that, darling. I know you and thatgorgeousValentin man got hitched. I have little spies all over the city and they whisper in my ear.”

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you spying on me.”

“I’ve seena lotof you already, darling, don’t you worry about a little bit more.” He raises his martini. “Here’s to a long and happy marriage.”

I refuse to drink to that. “You know we’re neighbors now, right? I moved in with him a little while back.”

“And you haven’t stopped by to say hello?”

“I’ve been, uh—” I hesitate, not sure how to explain my situation.

But good old Merrick comes in with an excuse. “You’ve been busy having a honeymoon experience with the gorgeous Russian criminal. Yes, darling, I understand, getting fucked into a pile of quivering blissful jelly is much nicer than having a chat with boring old me.”

“We’re not, I mean, I’m not—” I stammer at him, and we both end up laughing. Because what’s the use pretending?

I could say a lot of things about Valentin, but I can’t deny that the man absolutely wrecks me in all the best ways.

We talk for a little while. One drink turns to two. Merrick seems very fascinated with my day-to-day life, almost in an unhealthy way, and when I point that out, he only shrugs and wobbles in his seat.

“I don’t know many women married to mysterious wealthy Russians.”

“Many? Or any?”

“Just one at the moment, darling, but I’m on the hunt.”

“I’ll introduce you to a few at some point.”

“Don’t tease.”

I laugh and we fall into our normal banter, almost like I’m back behind the bar instead of leaning my elbows on it. I missed this a lot—before Valentin, working at Stove and Smoke was basicallyas social as I ever got, and I didn’t realize how much I had enjoyed it.

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