8
Mia:
I pace around the guest bedroom, running my finger over the smooth wooden dressers and end tables. Serafin’s house is gorgeous, old money at its finest. Every last detail is immaculate from the gold plated light switch plates to the crown moulding. The bedspread is stark white and fluffy, and the decorations sparse, the maroon textured wallpaper the only block of color visible, and yet it’s a statement all in itself. It’s the color of blood. The color of passion. The color of the royal bloodline Serafin comes from.
It’s a room fit for a queen, and yet looking out the window, I feel like a prisoner. Expensive cars come and go all afternoon, but I can’t hear anything from up here except the sound of my feet on the floorboards. I think this room is soundproof. I’m certain the sheets on this king sized bed are worth more than all my possessions combined.
I thought after all these years, Serafin would at least want to sit down and talk. He seemed so interested the other night at the casino, and I wish with all my heart I would’ve just left with him that night instead of going up to the hotel room. Not just because I would’ve avoided the whole Jakub situation entirely, but maybe because I would’ve had a chance to plead my case.
I know I promised his parents I’d never tell him about the payoff of the contract, but we’re adults now and he seems to be doing well for himself. I wonder if he even talks to them anymore? Certainly if I pleaded my case, him and his men wouldn’t think I was such a terrible person.
Three days and three nights in silence is making me soft. I stopped plotting my escape after day two. It’s not like I’m filthy and starving like I would be in jail. The attached bathroom has a gorgeous clawfoot tub and it’s stocked to the brim with expensive soaps that smell like fresh picked citrus and herbs. His housekeeper, Maria, brings me delicious home cooked meals every day. Sometimes they’re healthy and extravagant, smoked salmon and greens dressed in tangy fruity vinaigrettes, and other times they’re comforting and traditional like warm rosol soup with fresh obwarzanek krakowski, my all time favorite bread. I wonder if he remembers how much I love it, or if maybe his chef is just really good at making it.
There are shelves full of books lining the walls, and I don’t think I’ve ever had the luxury in my whole life of an uninterrupted afternoon of reading, even though I have always loved burying my nose in a book. Something about it feels empty, though. I definitely didn’t earn this right, and I’m pretty sure it could be taken away from me at any time.
I guess I’ve spent most of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I have no idea what Serafin has planned for me, and as much as I just want to sprawl out in this comfy bed and read until my eyes can’t focus, my mind can’t focus long enough to stop worrying about what’s on the other side of that door.
There’s a soft knock, and I wonder if it’s Maria wanting to clean the bathroom or change the bedsheets. I hate that she does those things that I’m capable of. I literally have no responsibility, I have all the time in the world, I don’t need looked after like I’m helpless.
I open the door and she’s standing there with a tray in her arms. The first thing I see is the bouquet of blood red roses laying on top. They’re beautiful but dangerous, the stems covered in pointed thorns. Serafin sure knows exactly how I feel about him.
“I just ate a few hours ago, Maria. You really don’t have to feed me so much. I’ve survived three days off of microwave popcorn when I was waiting for some money to come in,” I say with a nervous laugh. I don’t know why I constantly feel the need to tell Maria about how bad I had it before. Maybe it’s because I don’t want her to think I’m like them. I’m sure deep down she probably despises the people she works for. If I’m going to survive in this house, I need an ally.
Talking to her is like talking to a brick wall, though.
She pushes the tray out to me. “It’s not food, dama.” Every time she calls me that, my skin crawls. I am certainly not a lady or a queen. I’m a homeless criminal biding my time while the Kings try and figure out just what they want from me. “It’s an invitation. Serafin would like to see you for dinner tonight.”
My heart races as I take the tray from her hands. It feels so formal and cold. This house is huge, but he knows where to find me. If he wanted to have dinner with me, he could’ve just asked me himself. Back when we were dating, he never asked at all, just showed up and opened the door of his car and I followed him wherever he wanted to take me.
Maybe he has grown up.
I feel a warmth in my core thinking about him dressed nicely,
