I shower quickly and change into a long-sleeved T-shirt and a little wrap-over skirt. Neither are really appropriate for the cold New York weather but the best I can find. Adriana didn’t wear pants. Her signature clothing was short shorts, dresses, and skirts. This one is knitted, so it will at least provide some warmth.
I plan to go outside today and play with the dog if I can. Then I’ll try to stay outside as much and only come in to eat.
I pile my hair on top of my head in a messy bun then make my way downstairs to the dining room.
That’s where I find my husband-to-be sitting at the head of the table looking like he’s the king of the castle.
His face is expressionless, and it doesn’t change when he sees me.
Not even a little bit.
He’s serious, always serious.
How am I supposed to live with this man?
Even if I manage to pull off this stunt of mine and truly be Adriana Alvarez, what kind of life would we have?
Would it be like last night, where he’s gone and I’m wondering if he’s sleeping in some woman’s bed? Would he be gone for days?
Would I care?
There’s nothing normal about us, but I’d at least hoped if I were to ever get married, it would never be to anybody like him. A symbol of everything I loathe. He’s death and captivity rolled into one. The complete antithesis to life.
“Sit here,” he commands, pointing to the chair opposite him. Like Aleksander, he doesn’t say good morning to me either.
I walk around to the chair and lower to sit, but the way he scans over my body before I do doesn’t escape me.
I steady my mind and gear myself up for him, hoping I’ll survive today’s encounter.
The maid I met yesterday who seemed nice but didn’t talk to me walks out of the kitchen with a tray of coffee and gorgeous-smelling pastries. It smells like you’d imagine breakfast to smell. Inviting and delicious, with everything nutritious.
When two other maids join her with more trays of food, I feel like I’m at one of those exquisite vacation getaways in Europe I’ve seen on TV.
They set the table with everything. There are three different styles of eggs, crispy strips of bacon, two different types of sausages, French toast, normal toast, and an assortment of spreads.
There’s so much food I wonder if this is for the two of us or if more people are joining.
As the staff leave and no one else enters the room, I get my answer.
The feast is just for the two of us, and it seems this is what they do every day. I’m probably used to eating this much food over a week. I’m still full from yesterday.
The main maid I’ve seen—whose name I can’t remember—returns and pours Mikhail’s coffee. I notice he takes it black. No surprise there. But he does take two sugars.
She pours me some, too, then focuses her attention on Mikhail as they start speaking in Russian. All the while Mikhail keeps a straight face. I have no idea what they’re talking about, and I can’t figure it out. For all I know, they could be talking about the weather. Or me.
I start eating but continue to watch their interaction, wondering why he’d have such an in-depth conversation with his maid.
I notice how comfortable she looks with him, not like when she was with me. It’s then the thought occurs to me that she could be one of his women.
Maybe he spent the night with her. She’s quite pretty in an English Rose sort of way and is either the same age as me or slightly older.
She makes the simple maid uniform she’s wearing look good with her shapely figure and has her long blonde hair up in a ponytail. It’s also quite obvious from the blush in her cheeks that her interest in Mikhail is more than professional.
She likes him. And I guess from the flow of that conversation he might like her too.
Great.This is another snapshot of what our mornings will be like. I’ll have to sit here and watch him flirt with his maids. I wonder if I’ll catch him doing anything else with them. Something more unsavory.
After a few moments, she leaves us, closing the dining room door behind her, and the tension returns.
