Page 28 of Marked (Russian Sinners 1)

“Good morning.”

I cleared my throat, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. “Thank you for-” I paused for a second and cleared my throat again, then continued locking eyes with him. There was no sense in hiding. “Thanks for staying with me last night.”

He didn’t reply, just nodded.

“Bet you didn’t expect to have to deal with pacifying me in the middle of the night.” My attempt at a joke to lighten the mood was for both of our benefits.

He actually smiled and oh my gosh, he was drop dead gorgeous when he smiled. He went from hot as sin devil to hot as sin angel.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling through me. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a person having a nightmare.”

I thought back to what Sergei told me, how all three of them grew up in an orphanage. Did he see it there? Or was it after? I got the sense he’d had a hard life, and that was the reason he gave the appearance of a cold, hard man. Perhaps he was a hard man but I also believed he had a soft side. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed last night.

Why did I ask him to stay with me?

I never asked anyone to stay with me, not even my father. I never wanted witnesses when my nightmares plagued me. What a few relationships I’ve had were always platonic. Unless I felt safe with a man, it was impossible for me to open up or feel comfortable. Which was probably the reason I was still a virgin. I never felt safe with a man. It was hard to get over certain nightmares. Days became weeks. The weeks became months. Now, it’s been years and, at twenty-five, I was still a virgin.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” he interrupted my train of thoughts.

To my embarrassment, my stomach rumbled in answer.

“I guess I can’t hide it,” I told him. “Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“Yes, when you are done, just come down the stairs and the large door on the right is where we are eating.”

He left me to get ready in private. After a quick shower, smearing lotion over my bruises and changing clothes, I threw a glance in the mirror. My bruises were still there but at least they didn’t hurt as bad. I wore a pair of blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt withSave The Planetin green writing combined with white flats.

“Yes, let’s save the planet-” I muttered under my breath, “and myself.” The planet might have a better chance at being saved right now though.

I guess I looked as good as I could with a bruise on my cheek. My hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, which enhanced the bruise even more. But I didn’t want to hide it; I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was alive and that was all that mattered.

In twenty minutes, I was showered and as ready as I could be to start my day. I found Dimitry, Nikolai, and Sergei in the dining room. They were speaking amongst themselves in Russian, and the moment I stepped into the room, the three of them looked up.

“Morning,” I greeted them.

“Princess,” Sergei started. “It is almost eleven. It is afternoon.”

I slowly walked over to them but stopped about five feet away from them. “Technically, it is a good morning until 11:59,” I told him with a smile. “At least that is what they taught us in the useless school of etiquette and perfect wives.”

“They actually have a school like that?” Sergei asked in sincere amazement.

“Yes, they do,” I had to smile because it was rather ridiculous they still ran a school like that and it made enough money to stay in business.

“So did they make a perfect wife out of you?” Nikolai asked.

A soft chuckle left my lips. “No, I got kicked out,” I replied. “I am starving. Can we eat?” Dimitry pointed to the spot at the table and I realized the men were waiting on me to start eating. “You guys waited?”

“Yes.” Dimitry was always so to the point. He pulled out a chair for me, and I swore it made me feel like we were on a date.

All three of them followed suit, and sat down as two women brought over food. “You shouldn't have waited for me. You must be starving too.”

“We are,” Sergei confirmed. “Now tell us. Why did you get kicked out? You can’t drop a bomb like that and expect to end that conversation.”

I smiled, slightly uncomfortable. I opened that door so I had nobody to blame.

A young girl, probably around my age, poured me a cup of coffee and orange juice.

“That smells great. Thank you very much,” I murmured, smiling at her as I eagerly grabbed the cup of coffee, that wonderful smell invading my senses. It was my first cup since I had been kidnapped.

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