Page 49 of For a Price

“Um,” I murmur, hesitating slightly. “Maybe something to drink… if that’s okay.”

No less than a second later, he’s listing what’s available. He speaks in an accent like everyone else around me does since I’ve been in Roman’s custody. Of the many beverage options available, I choose water. He seems surprised before nodding and returning only a moment later with a cool glass for me to sip from.

I fumble with the remote and turn on the first decent movie I find on the streaming apps. The seats are plush and comfortable, reclining when I pull the lever on the side. Movies have never been my thing since I couldn’t afford to go often growing up, but sitting in the dark theater inside Roman’s penthouse is surprisingly enjoyable.

I’m so relaxed, my achy body starting to heal, that I don’t even notice when the door opens.

“You,” Polina says. “Zver is on his way. He requests you change for dinner.”

“Hmm?”

I’m lured out of the theater room and into the bedroom where Polina gestures to the dress that’s been laid out on the bed.

“He will be here soon. Change.”

The brunette spins on her heel and marches out of the room with a curtness that tells me she doesn’t give a damn what Roman’s orders were. She’ll have as much attitude as she wants when dealing with me.

The fact that she was comfortable enough to barge into his bedroom like it was nothing lingers in my mind. How many times in the past has she waltzed right into his private quarters to see him?

I change into the dress, which makes me do a double take in the mirror. It fits me perfectly, a simple midnight-blue dress with thin straps that accentuates my curves and teases some skin. My neck, shoulders, and arms are bare, as are my legs and thighs.

I fluff my curls as best as I can given my lack of tools and products and slide into the heels that have been provided.

Roman waits for me in the dining room. He’s still in his all-black outfit from earlier, though somehow sexier in the hours since we’ve been apart. I step toward the chair opposite his and let the same butler from earlier push my seat in.

“Moy kot vyglyadit krasivo?*.”

“Does that mean hello?”

Humor flashes in his sapphire gaze. “It means my kitty cat looks beautiful. And you do, devochka.”

“I have no makeup on and my curls are a mess. Even with the twist out.”

“Then that speaks to your beauty,” he goes on. “That you could look so good with so little. But I have noticed that from the first moment I saw you. Many women spend hours on their appearance and still do not look as good as you do.”

My cheeks warm up. “Err… thank you. But I’d prefer if you don’t tell me that kind of stuff. It feels…”

I trail off, uncertain why his compliments make me uncomfortable. Probably because I’ve spent my life as someone who lived on the streets and heard very few good things about myself. It’s caused major self-esteem issues that I tend to avoid thinking about.

“I’ve told you I’m an honest man, devochka. If you think I won’t say what’s on my mind, then I’ll tell you right now, you are mistaken. And if I want to tell you I find you beautiful, I will. Just like I have told you other things. Naprimer, kakaya ty chertovski seksual’naya i kak mne ne terpitsya pochuvstvovat’ tvoye telo?*.”

“I need a translator when I’m around you.”

“Perhaps I will make you learn Russian. That will keep you preoccupied while I am gone. What did you do these last few hours?”

Servers enter the room clutching plates they deliver to the table. A mousy woman in the same uniform the others wear sets down wine glasses and begins filling both with a dark red wine. They slip back out of the room as seamlessly as they entered, like they’re aware they should be drawing little attention to themselves while we enjoy dinner.

“I slept in your bed,” I confess. “I, um, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Roman asks. “It is where you are supposed to sleep, devochka. With me.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s, um, good to know. And I watched a movie in the theater.”

“You didn’t cause trouble. My staff said you were good. Even Polina had no complaints.”

“Who is she, by the way?”

“My staff.”

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