Page 106 of Porcelain Lies

I’m naked.

Memories of last night flash through my mind — his gentle kisses, tender touches, so different from when we’d been together before. He’s always been so aloof. Last night was… different.

“Zaychik,” he called me. I remember that from when I was a kid. Little rabbit. The endearment echoes in my mind.

Did I make that up too?

My reflection in the ornate mirror shows tangled hair and kiss-bruised lips. Real then. The marks on my neck remove any doubt. I touch them gently, remembering the careful way he held me after, so at odds with what I’ve come to expect from him.

“You smell like sex,”Boyana pipes.

“Will you shut up?” I grumble. But she’s right. A shower would be a good idea.

I cross the room to the door on the other side that opens into a bathroom. It’s huge and ostentatious, just like the rest of the place. I take in the gleaming gold taps and marble fittings before moving to the shower and stepping into the cubicle.

The water hits me in a gentle rainfall, and I sigh as I soap off with the jasmine-scented body wash I find on the counter.

Minutes later, fragrant and refreshed, I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy towel before returning to the bedroom. There’s a small tea station on the dresser; a kettle with a tea cup and a selection of herbal teas. I pick out a soothing chamomile and brew myself a cup, sinking onto the dresser seat.

It doesn’t soothe me. How could it? My life just turned upside down.

My stomach growls again, louder this time. I need to move, to find food, to prove to myself I’m not actually trapped in some elaborate fantasy.

Toweling myself dry, I take another look around. The silk robe draped over a nearby chair wasn’t there yesterday — another sign of his presence, or the staff’s efficiency? I wrap it around myself, the material whispering against my skin as I approach the bedroom door.

My hand hesitates on the handle. Am I allowed to wander?

The growing hunger makes the decision for me. I swing the door open. Then stop short with a yelp. Imelda is standing on the other side with a tray.

“Oh! I…I…” I struggle to find my wits.

“Breakfast, Miss Stella.” She nods down at the tray before stepping past me into the room.

I stare at the tray Imelda sets on the small table beside the windows — two small poached eggs, half a grapefruit, and plain toast. My stomach growls in protest.

“Is this all?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Mr. Tarasov’s orders. Good food for baby.” She turns to leave, clearly not sympathetic.

I sink into the chair, poking at one of the eggs with my fork. The yolk breaks, running across the plate in a sad yellow stream. After last night’s… activities, I need more than this bird food.

“He’s trying to control your weight,”Boyana whispers.

My hand clenches around the fork. No. I refuse to let that man dictate my eating habits. I wolf the eggs down, followed by the toast, and then scoop out the grapefruit and eat it hungrily. The meal barely touches sides.

I wait until I’m sure there’s no sound from outside before slipping out of the room. The hallway stretches in both directions, but I catch a whiff of coffee from the right. There’s a kitchen somewhere nearby. I can smell it.

My stomach growls again. I follow the scent, letting my nostrils guide me. It’s not long before I find what I’m looking for.

The kitchen is enormous, all gleaming stainless steel and pristine white surfaces. I trail my fingers along the marble countertop, taking in the professional-grade equipment. Threeovens, a massive gas range, and more appliances than I can name line the walls.

There’s a plate of apple danishes on the counter.

“Halle-fucking-lujah!”says Boyana.

I grab one, taking a hungry bite from the sweet flaky pastry.

“God, that’s good,” I groan around it. I glance around, taking in the rest of the room.

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