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At those words, the smile on Ivica’s face falls.
“He is not amobboss,” she corrects me sharply. “He is a pakhan. For him, everyone in this castle is a member of his personal household, and we owe our lives and livelihood to him.” Her expression softens again. “I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t be cross with you. You are new here. But soon, you will learn. And please don’t be angry with him. He’s a good man who has his reasons for doing the things he does.”
Like kidnapping random women and using them to secure an inheritance?
But I don’t say that to Ivica. Instead, I just smile and thank her.
Satisfied, Ivica hunches her shoulder to make herself smaller, bows, and shuffles out of the room. I don’t try and stop her from leaving this time. The door lock doesn’t click into place, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m not going anywhere.
Someone knocks lightly on my door. Before I can respond, the door is pushed open.
I’m preparing myself for Ivica or Konstantin, but it’s neither.
A young woman, holding a plate loaded up with artistically peeled fruit, crusty sugar-laden bread rolls, and delicately sliced roast beef, leans into my room.
“Hello,” she says, voice thick with what I can only assume is a Croatian accent. “Konstantin Yurevich wants you to eat.”
“Does he?” I muse. I want to act uninterested, but the sight and smell of the food has my mouth watering.
She sets the plate on the table near the window, then bows at her waist. “I’m also to tell you that your engagement photo shoot will be tomorrow.”
My appetite dissolves into rank mud. He’s really in a hurry. I shouldn’t be surprised. “Sounds like Kostya sure is impatient.”
Like hell I’m going to show him the “deference” he demands from the staff.
All the color drains from the woman’s face. Covering her mouth, she gawks at me like I just slathered myself in pudding. She whispers to herself in another language.
“What?” I ask, blinking. “Can’t I call my husband by his diminutive?”
“Apologies, miss.” Her head moves from side to side slowly. “I’ve seldom heard him be addressed that way by anyone else!”
Well, tough luck, sister. Because if that’s the easiest way for me to get under his skin, then that’sexactlywhat I’m going to do.
The woman hurries from my room without looking back. I don’t spend any extra time thinking about her though, because the food deserves my full attention.
Staring down at the food, I remember his comment about me not being picky. Konstantin has a sharp memory. Besides his power and influence here in his castle, he’s using every advantage available to make me do what he wants.
It’s time for me to do the same.
With both hands, I shove fistfuls of fruit into my mouth. It’s not about hunger. It’s not even about how delicious the meal is. I barely taste anything with how fast I’m swallowing.
I need my strength if I’m going to make Konstantin regret picking me to be his wife.
22
EMILY
Breakfast in bedis one of those things reserved for luxury hotels or Hallmark movies. Both are equally fictional to me, so I’m stunned when I wake up to find a different woman—yet another new face—delivering a silver tray heaped with food. She doesn’t linger, doesn’t bother to speak. Just a nod of her head before she rushes away.
Sitting up with the tray over my lap, propped on my overstuffed pillows, I marvel at my feast. I went to bed after eating to the brink of pain.
By all logic, I shouldn’t be hungry, but my stomach is rumbling.
“It’s because there are pancakes,” I whisper to myself. “Who can resist those?”
The sunlight over the lake outside my window declares a beautiful day is waiting for me. Birdsong serenades me in a layer of music humans could never replicate. It’s straight out of a fairy tale.
