Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“I’m Jennifer,” she said, grabbing the handle of a large rolling tote and heading for the stairs.
“Nice to meet you.” I slapped on a pleasant smile. “I’m Oksana.”
Jennifer lugged her tote up the stairs and was disinterested in my greeting. When she reached me on the landing, she evaluated me critically and her tone was matter-of-fact. “He wasn’t wrong when he said you were beautiful.”
The offhanded comment nearly knocked me from my feet. Up until now, I’d only attracted unwanted attention from Ilia, so it was thrilling to have it reciprocated for once. Even if it was Vasilije Markovic.
“Thank you,” I said.
Jennifer stared plainly at me. “Which room is yours?”
While she got organized and set up in the bathroom, I brought in a desk chair from one of the other bedrooms at her request. I sat in the center of the bathroom, facing the mirror, and held still as she began to work.
It was surreal as she draped a towel over my shoulders to prevent any makeup from getting on my dress. She slathered on moisturizer, followed by primer, then foundation. I kept waiting for her to start a conversation, but it didn’t happen. I’d have to fire the first shot.
“You’re Vasilije’s cousin?” I asked lightly. I didn’t know everyone in the Markovic family tree, just the major players, and she wasn’t one of them.
“By marriage, yeah.” She swept powder over the bridge of my nose.
I thought I’d kicked the conversation off, but it died instantly, and I scrambled for something else. “How long have you been a makeup artist?”
It did the trick. Useless info poured from the woman, telling me about how she’d done a wedding last week where the bride had a bad reaction to a facial peel, but Jennifer had been able to work a miracle. She loosened up as she moved on to doing my eyes, chatting about celebrities and their Instagram accounts like I had a clue, but I nodded back enthusiastically. Could I get her relaxed enough to tell me something useful?
The answer was no.
I tried everything to steer the conversation toward the Markovics, but she shut me down every time. When I had exhausted all my options and she’d finished, she pulled out a mammoth bottle of hair spray and a tray full of bobby pins, sectioned by color. A large-barreled curling iron was plugged in and flicked on.
“You’re doing my hair, too?”
“Yeah.” She wasn’t gentle, either, but I stayed silent as she tugged my hair up into a ponytail and began curling and pinning. When she was done, my hair looked sophisticated, matching both the dress and the understated makeup.
If my half-sister Tatiana could see me now, her jaw would hit the floor and then she’d be pushing me out of the chair, demanding Jennifer do her next.
“Thank you,” I said genuinely. “You’re very good.” I didn’t have many emotions, but knowing I looked nice was an advantage.
She smiled warmly at my compliment. “Goran’s going to do a double-take when he sees you.”
I watched in the mirror as the smile froze on my face. That confirmed it; dinner was with Vasilije’s uncle tonight. If I was being sent to my doom, at least I’d leave this world with a pretty face. I pretended to be confused, disguising my dread. “Who?”
Jennifer sucked in a breath. Clearly it had been a slip. She wouldn’t look at me as she hurried to pack up her supplies. She put samples and a business card in a zip-top plastic bag and set it on the counter. “I can order more of whatever you like.”
I almost laughed. She was trying to sell makeup to a girl who could be dead tomorrow.
She dragged her tote bag down the stairs and rolled it through the entryway, tossing a perfunctory goodbye over her shoulder as she left. I went upstairs, collected the black heels, and carried them back down to the piano, figuring I’d play until Vasilije arrived—
The garage door squealed and clanked as it rolled up.
I jammed my feet into the shoes and did the tiny buckle around the ankles, using the action to focus myself and tamp down my nerves. Vasilije didn’t want me dead. He’d paid thousands of dollars in clothes. He’d had the piano tuned. He’d commissioned a piece and said it was all right if it took me a while to write. Why do any of that if he was going to hand me over to his uncle or get rid of me himself?
“Jesus.”
Vasilije’s stunned voice drew my attention up from my shoes and I froze. “What’s wrong?”
His expression was shock and it turned my bones to ice. “Nothing,” he answered. He stared at me like he wasn’t sure I was real. “You look . . .”
I braced myself. He liked to fuck with me, so I expected almost anything to come out of his mouth.