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In some ways, he was so ritualistic about his routine that I often wondered if he wasn’t simply repeating the same habits his father had before him.
“Pardon me, ma’am.” Gaze averted, the servant steps into the hall. I realize he must not want to be in the same vicinity as me while I’m wrapped in a sheet, and I hastily exchange it for one of the several robes hanging in the closet.
Casting a glance over the breakfast pastries, I sink into my chair and pick up the coffee carafe. “Is Ivan home—” I hesitate, uncertain of his name.
The man re-enters and takes the carafe from me. “I am Brodie, ma’am, and no, not to my knowledge.”
I’m not too fond of the repeated ‘ma’am’s,’ but there’s little I can do about that. I stir two sugars into my coffee, then add cream until the drink is a pale blond. “Brodie. Where is Ivan?”
“I do not know, but he is not on the grounds.”
I’m not surprised that Ivan’s not home. He doesn’t normally hang out at the house and play checkers or watch TV with me. Still…he was so rough last night, so casually cruel. There’s a tiny, female part of myself that would have liked some softness this morning.
I turn away from Brodie, my eyes returning to that island only a thousand feet outside my window. I take a careful sip of my coffee, hot and sweet, just the way I like it.
My cage has expanded a tiny bit. This marriage was one more thing among all the others in my life that I had no control over, regardless of my agreement to Ivan’s terms.
The one thing I am still in control of, though, is myself. My parents raised me to be the perfect mafia wife. That is what I will be. I will give Ivan no reason to be unhappy with me.
No reason to hurt Angel.
I look at Brodie. “I need to get dressed now.“
Brodie leaves with an agreeable nod, and I dress quickly. Opening the door afterward, I discover him standing right beside it. He snaps to attention.
“How may I help you, ma’am?“
“I need to meet with the head of housekeeping.”
An uncertain look flitters across his face. “What are your plans, Mrs. Romanov?”
God, that sounds so weird.
But it’s a necessary reminder. I draw myself up as tall as my five-foot-three inches will allow and give him an imperious look. “I have responsibilities, Brodie. There are certain things I should be doing to make my husband’s life easier, and I am going to do them.”
Brodie appears even more uneasy and possibly even slightly amused—as if he doubts I could make things easier for Ivan. “Yes, ma’am, but the elder Romanovs have been gone for some time. Mr. Romanov has his house in order, the way he prefers things to be.”
Translation: if you mess up his system, he’ll be furious.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. This is now my house. I shouldn’t be fearful of arranging things to my satisfaction or attempting to be a good wife.
And yet…
“Then, teach me. Show me how he likes his house to be run.”
Brodie stares at me for a moment. I don’t like the look. I don’t like the amusement in his eyes or how he is looking at me; more like I’m a child playing dress-up than the lady of the house. Finally, his gaze softens, and he rolls his eyes.
“All right, ma’am. But it’s best that you don’t go changing anything, or I’ll get the brunt of it.
“Okay.” I nod.
Brodie gestures to the interior of the bedroom. “We can start here.” Walking past me to the closet, he swings open the door. “Mr. Romanov is very particular about how he likes his clothing to be arranged. You’ll notice the colors and the fabrics…and the shoes…”
The shoes don’t look unusual, simply neatly arranged in cubbies along one wall. I look at Brodie questioningly.
“All of the toes must point inward,” he says softly. “Toward the wall.”
My lips round in a silent O. He leads me back out, showing me several other things, such as how Ivan likes the blinds during the day, before proceeding down the hall with me trailing behind him.
