Page 11 of King’s Promise

This is ridiculous. Doesn’t anyone here breathe without his permission?

I storm out of my en suite and head to Nikolay’s, figuring he’s gone there to freshen up after his flight. As I get closer, I can hear him speaking in Russian.

“I want Baran found, and you know what to do. No guard gets to live after that fuck up.”

Immediately, I’m fearful he’ll find me in the hall. Obviously, I’ve overstepped. I backpedal, stepping backwards in the hallway.

His door flies open before I can’t distance myself fast enough. Pavel brushes past me without a look or a word. Obviously, he has important shit to do with those instructions. I wonder who pulls the trigger.

“What do you want?” Nikolay barks. How did he know I was here? He’s in the bedroom.

I enter his room; his energy and proximity intimidate me. Without a buffer between us, my breathing is irregular. The room is the size of my entire flat but I’m still suffocating.

“I need the password for the intranet. I have homework. The funeral is this week, I can’t fall behind.”

He moves to a small desk and scribbles on a note size piece of paper, takes four long strides, and hands it to me. The tension crackles like static electricity taking me by surprise. He’s impressive and intimating. I attempt to take the paper gracefully, but out of fear our fingers touching, I flinch and the paper flutters to the floor.

“You’re clumsy,” he grumbles as he bends to pick it up. “We’ll try this again.” He hands the paper to me once more.

I take it from him, careful not to touch his fingers, and clutch the paper like it’s a life raft. The password is a vehicle to my independent life within these walls.

I turn to leave, wondering why my hand tingles. For some reason, I want to please him even though he is rude, just like Papa. He’s short on patience and no doubt he assumes I am a silly schoolgirl. I learned early on Papa didn’t like to be interrupted, so if I wanted something, I asked for it when he was distracted. He’d say yes more often than not to get rid of me, and there was less time for him to hand out criticism.

“Thank you.” I turn to go, yearning to get out before he can hurt me again.

“Dinner is at six-thirty, I expect you to be on time.”

“Fine.” I agree in order to leave as quickly as possible. Is this how it will always be? He gives me something I want, and he asks for something in return? Tit for tat?

I can’t wait to escape his scrutinizing eyes. I wonder if Konstantin is working on my father’s businesses today. No doubt Nikolay will want to look over the books with him and expect me to know the itinerary for the upcoming seasonal events. It’s May so the botanical gardens will be the place to be followed by horse racing in June, and soccer in September. I read online Nikolay has a fancy purebred racing horse, so I assume I’ll have to wear a fascinator on my head to be in vogue.

In the sanctuary of my room, I pull a few items out of my backpack and set my luggage on the rack in the walk-in closet. I discover there are clothes in my size for everyday use and a few dresses with shoes to match. I pick up a stiletto and realize it’s a shoe I longed to have one day, it cost over 800 pounds and it’s in my size. How did he know? How did he have time to make my room perfect and purchase new clothes? The tags are still on them; my knees weaken at how much they cost. The huge closet in and of itself is a rarity in Europe. In the past, most Europeans didn’t have a wardrobe large enough to justify a closet, let alone a walk-in closet. I’m beginning to see the upside to Nikolay’s generosity and perks.

I unpack my suitcase and place my clothes in the white bureau which matches the bed. Inside the drawer smelling of lavender I find underwear and bras. My items pale in comparison to the new collection and I’m embarrassed by my unsightly bras and unflattering undies. I shrug, maybe I’ll just toss my stuff. Nikolay seems to have everything under control.

I log onto my school account and before I know it, it’s six, and almost time to meet Nikolay for dinner. If I’m late, he’ll be pissed, and I don’t want to piss off a man who has no problem killing men who fail to do their job correctly, a fact I’m trying to forget, knowing it will be impossible. His father raised him in true Bratva fashion. Ruthless and domineering. It’s dangerous for me to stand my ground with him. I don’t want to end up missing.

I find a thick sweater in the closet, remove the tag, and pull it on over my shirt. The temperature in the house has dropped since it rained. It would be inappropriate for me to show bare skin at the table. Based on the formal décor throughout the house, I’m guessing dinner attire is not pool attire. Nikolay is from the old country where only the wealthy can afford to eat prime cuts of meat, drive foreign or imported cars and live in a large house without sharing it with four other families.

I make my way down the wrought iron spiral staircase, careful not to trip while wearing my new shoes. I hope he finds me suitable. I don’t want to have a marriage where I’m skulking in a corner. I refuse to be afraid of him on general principals.

The formal dining room chandeliers are lit and glistening. The gold trim on the porcelain plates reflects the soft light from the candles, giving the room a romantic glow. I’ve never seen such opulence in person. My breath catches when Nikolay stands, his designer suit reeks of all the quid he spent on it. He gestures for me to sit next to him.

The table is decorated with a centerpiece of pink and cream roses. The table runner and napkins are embroidered with his family crest and beautifully tied with a silk ribbon. I’ve only seen elegance like this in pictures of movie stars’ homes and weddings.

I’m underdressed but hold my chin high and refuse to let it show. Papa made me go to finishing school, a secret I’m ashamed to admit. We’re not the royal family, but he acted as if we were, and now it might come in handy. Nikolay is suave, he moves with confidence, and it intimidates me. I can see him filling the role as pakhan with ease.

I recall Nikolay saying I need new attire. It’s obvious I don’t fit the lifestyle he expects. I wonder if I’ll be allowed to wear denim.

Nikolay pushes my chair in as I sit. “Thank you for joining me.”

He’s thanking me? Here he goes, winning me over with politeness.

I place my napkin in my lap, folding my hands over it.

“I realize you may have overheard me earlier outside my bedroom, and trust your loyalty is to me.” His brooding eyes deliver a message leaving no room for questions. Even if I asked them, I’m sure I don’t want to know the answers.

“Of course. Now is not the time to take chances,” I murmur. “But Baran?”

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