All the smiles he’s given me were either scowls or mocking smirks or taunting in some way.
They start speaking in Russian like old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. I watch them feeling my blood heat, and when she giggles and he laughs, I decide I’ve had enough.
The only thing left is for her to sit in his lap and straddle him. I’ve known him for close to five weeks, yet I’ve never heard him laugh.
They continue talking, but I interrupt the conversation when I tap on the hard wood of the table.
They both look at me then.
“Excuse me,” I say. “What are you guys talking about?”
Irena looks surprised, as does Mikhail.
“Adriana—”
“No, scratch that,” I cut him off before he can have the pleasure of punishing me or embarrassing me in front of her. “You.” I point to Irena. “You understand me. I’ve heard you speaking English before, so I know you understand me.”
“I do,” she replies.
Wow.Five weeks in this house, yet those are the first words she’s spoken to me.
I straighten. “When you come to this table and I’m sitting here, I want to know what the hell you’re talking tomy husbandabout.” I don’t care who I’m supposed to be pretending to be or that I face death if my secrets are revealed. I’ve had enough of people treating me like shit. I’m not going to sit here and take it. “You don’t walk in and have some secret conversation with my husband I can’t understand. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dmitriyev. I apologize.” She dips her head and leaves.
Of course, Mikhail is staring at me with his eyes blazing when I look back at him, but I still don’t care. No matter what happens to me, I’m glad I did that. It’s not like Irena didn’t deserve the warning.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asks, squaring his jaw.
“Are you kidding me? You thinkI’mthe problem? The maids don’t talk to meever,and Aleksander is rude as fuck. Why is that? Did you tell them to treat me like shit?”
“No, they just know they’re not here to socialize.”
“Well, you sounded like you were socializing just fine with that girl, so I don’t believe that.”
“You believe what I tell you to believe.”
“She got a real smile from you,” I snap back. Outside my head, the words sound stupid.
“What?”
His stupid phone buzzes with a message, cutting into our conversation. When he pulls it from his back pocket, looks at it, and stands, I realize straightaway he’s going out again.
“We’ll finish this conversation another time.”
“When are you coming back?”
He pauses for a moment, considering the answer, then shakes his head.
“I don’t know. I have to work.”
With that, he leaves, and I fall into my usual habit of watching him walk away.
I’m so pathetic. And listen to me; I just sounded like a crazy brat.
Or maybe I just sound like I’m in love with my husband and am trying not to be.
33
