Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I was tempted to say that ‘yes. Naked violin playing was part of her duties’ but I did not. I realized I wanted her to play for me on her own accord. I realized I was willing to wait.
“Not at all. We do entertain from time to time, however, and if you played for our guests you would be paid well. In addition to paying down your father’s debt,” I added, amazed by my desire to be generous with her. Even though giving her money would mean she had freedom.
Her eyes swung to mine and I held them, refusing to let her look away. I smiled slowly, leaning back further in my seat.
“If you played for me, that would be something entirely different.”
“Different, sir?”
“Yes,” I said, slowly rubbing my jaw. “That would be more of a favor. A personal favor.”
Her eyes got wider. I could have sworn I heard her gulp. I picked up my paper and waited for the food to be served.
I had scored a point. A deep one. She was unsettled, but not afraid. She was intrigued.
The game was on.
Chapter 6
Mishka
He’s a monster! A monster!
I paced back and forth in my room, unable to sleep. I was exhausted from the stress of the day and standing most of the night. I had barely slept the night before, rising early to say goodbye to papa and begin my indentured servitude to Anton Aslanov.
And yet I was too angry and humiliated to quiet my mind.
Serving a rich man his dinner had seemed intimidating, but not overly complex. I had told myself I could handle it. But I had never even imagined a meal as perilous as this!
Anton’s dinner had stretched on for hours. I had stood in one place for what felt like forever. With my master so close by, I had tried not to shift my weight, or scratch my nose, or move in any way that was not absolutely necessary. It was harder than it looked! But I was determined not to draw his attention.
He veered wildly from ignoring me completely, to staring in an unnerving and overly personal way. The man lingered over every course, asking me probing questions seemingly out of nowhere. It was as if he was firing literal shots at me.
And his eyes! The color was a startling green, with long, thick lashes better suited to a mascara advertisement in a woman’s fashion magazine! The beauty of them was only matched by their coldness. They were so hard and cynical. The way he looked me over, obviously finding me lacking, made me stand up straighter, determined to prove him wrong.
It made me want to scream! It was obvious he had grown up with more money than almost anyone on the planet. More money than God! That didn’t make him better than everyone. He might be far too handsome and well-built for his own good. Certainly, he looked like a Greek god. He seemed to be highly intelligent. That did not mean he was a good person! In fact, it might very well mean the opposite!
I did my best to serve him throughout the meal, refilling his glass and setting plates in front of him as each course arrived on a large rolling tray. I opened the door to a soft knock, handed over the used plates, and closed the door once the new food was served.
I was calm, outwardly. But inside I was seething. Mortified, too.
Every probing question. Every long, judgmental look. Every smirk.
My hair was unsophisticated. That was at the top of the list, I imagined. The simple gold studs in my ears, my lack of makeup other than a quick swipe of lipgloss which was surely gone halfway through the meal, everything about me seemed up for criticism, or at least disparaging looks. His eyes inspected every inch of me, leaving him with a searching, hawkish look on his absurdly handsome face. My uniform apparently did not fit me well enough, if his frequent glances were any indication.
But that was not the worst of it. After the lengthy meal, he made me follow him to his study, where he continued to read his stack of papers and magazines. I poured him drink after drink until late in the night.
Somehow, Anton did not appear to get drunker as the evening wore on. In fact, his voice never wavered. He never slurred or slipped. His voice was calm and modulated. But the cold ice in his eyes turned to fire as the night stretched past midnight. I wondered repeatedly if I had done something wrong, or if he was just making a list of all the ways I was lacking.
Finally, close to one in the morning, he released me. His words were something like ‘fly up to bed, little sparrow’. I had practically run from the room, afraid that I would cry. And then I nearly had wept, getting horribly lost before I even found the stairway. It was not the servant’s stairway, but I didn’t care. I had fled to the wide hallway on the second floor, lushly carpeted so that it muffled my hasty steps, and ran, on the verge of tears, to the comfort and safety of my room.