Page 109 of Bratva's Vow
With my phone still warm from my call with Maxim, I trotted downstairs. The second I hit the bottom step, I paused.
I smelled food. My stomach did a happy little flip, which was weird because we didn’t cook like that around here. Maxim didn’t know his way around a stove, and I wasn’t much better. I knew how to cook the basics, and that was it.
I stepped into the kitchen and stopped dead.
Nik sat at the island, sipping coffee and eating what looked like an actual breakfast spread. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, even a carafe of fresh orange juice. And homemade too. Not the store-bought kind Maxim usually ran out to get me.
Nik nodded at me like this was all totally normal.
It wasn’t.
There was a strange woman in my kitchen. Petite, in her forties, I’d assume, with kind eyes and a calm, no-nonsense air. She moved like she belonged in the space, setting outplates and rearranging the silverware like she’d done it a thousand times.
I blinked. “Uh. What’s going on?”
Nik swallowed a bite of bacon and gestured with his fork. “Wren, this is Pilar. Pilar, this is Wren.”
She smiled warmly at me. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Holloway.”
Mr. Holloway?
“Um, call me Wren. But seriously, what’s going on?”
“She’s the housekeeper,” Nik said around another bite. “Starts today.”
I frowned. “Since when do we have a housekeeper?”
“Since today,” he repeated casually.
“I—” I looked back at Pilar, who was gently patting the folded napkins on the table like they were alive. “I don’t… we don’t need a housekeeper.”
With just Maxim and me, we managed quite fine. I did our laundry, even though he said I didn’t have to. The robot vacuum did its thing, and we had several restaurant menus in the kitchen drawer to satisfy our hunger.
Pilar turned to me with a kind smile. “Mr. Morozov doesn’t want you to worry about cooking or keeping things tidy. He said your studies should come first.”
I blinked again.
She added, “I’ll mostly be here while you’re both out or in the mornings. Just to keep the place clean, stock the fridge, handle meals. Nothing intrusive.”
“That’s… considerate,” I said slowly, trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was now a stranger in my kitchen making eggs and reorganizing our fruit bowl like this was Downton Abbey.
Nik poured himself more coffee. “You should eat. She makes a mean omelet.”
I sat down, still slightly stunned, and grabbed a slice oftoast. “Err, thank you.” I ate quickly. My nerves weren’t helped by the fact that Pilar somehow managed to smile exactly the way my high school librarian used to when I was overdue on a book—gentle but with a quiet sense of “I will take no shit from you, young man.”
A moment later, she returned with a small white mug and set it in front of me with careful hands.
“I made you something relaxing,” she said. “Chamomile, fennel, and a bit of motherwort. Just enough to keep your body calm and your mind clear today. Helps you to focus in classes.”
“Oh. Uh… thanks.” I glanced at the cup, steam curling up in soft tendrils.
Nik looked up from his plate. “Maybe I’ll take one too.”
Pilar shook her head. “Not for you. It’s a little too calming for someone who carries a gun all day.”
Nik snorted. “Fair enough.”
I brought the cup to my lips. It smelled sweet, earthy, kind of floral. I blew on it, took a sip, and let the warmth settle in my chest. Not bad. If anything, it tasted like one of those overpriced blends from the health food aisle.
