Page 13 of Cruel Demands

She looks past me, at the guards stationed discreetly beyond the dining room, at the maid clearing my untouched plate, at the polished marble floors and the towering windows and the house too large for two people.

“No,” she says quietly. “Of course not. You have your guards.”

My phone vibrates beside my plate.

Olga Dobrovaa.

I consider letting it ring.

Mama glances at the screen. “Who is Olga?”

“Minister of Education.”

“For the region?”

“No, Mama. For a small village in Siberia. She calls me each morning to discuss chalk.”

“Do not be sarcastic with me.”

The phone continues to vibrate.

“You should answer,” she says.

“You just accused me of working too much.” My mother is staring into my soul with the icy blue eyes I did not inherit, and I stare back as I answer the call. “Yes?”

“You sound delighted,” Olga says.

“I was eating.”

“You could have finished your bite.”

“That would imply I respect your time. Say what you need.”

Mama’s eyebrows lift. I avoid looking at her.

Olga exhales sharply. “I called to compliment you.”

“Then you have already made a mistake.”

“You approved the revised education budget.”

I take another bite of toast. “Apparently.”

“You sign documents without reading them?”

“Only yours.”

Mama taps one finger against the table. Eat, the gesture says. I obey before she can interrupt aloud.

Olga continues. “You also approved the hospital allocation.”

“That is not your ministry.”

“I am capable of caring about people who do not work in schools.”

“A dangerous habit.”

“And I hear you may support the teacher salary increase.”