Page 10 of His Prince

“Oh, well…”

“Fuck that. I want varenye.”

I don’t know what any of those are and I’m feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“I can try. I’ll try my best, but if I don’t have the ingredients for those Russian dishes, would cookies work?”

They all stare at me, taking sips of their vodka as they ponder it.

Finally the one on the treadmill grunts, “Alright. Sounds good, little husband. Bring us the goods and we’ll see how long we keep your fucking secret.”

I nod and smile at them, my heart thundering in my chest. I don’t know if I made a good impression, but I’ll take it. And I’ll try my best to give them all the Russian food.

All of them.

“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll be back soon with…something.”

“You better,” one of them says, and I leave to the sound of muffled Russian words, the door slamming shut behind me. I let out a loud breath and hope like fuck Mikhail doesn’t find out I’ve been sneaking around.

If he hadn’t coldly walked away from me after fucking me, I would have shown him all my cards, but now I think it’s better to hold everything tightly, tuck it deep down and reveal it only if I think it’s safe.

Right now, I don’t know if it is.

I’m second-guessing everything at the moment.

I walk to the other set of stairs, this set not as steep as the one leading into the bodyguards’ house, and glance at the steel door. Once more, there’s no keypad, nothing to keep people out. I wonder how many people know about this tunnel.

Probably not many.

Mikhail should really make sure things are more secure.

I tuck that thought away as I pull the door open and take in the musty smell permeating the air.

I inhale through my mouth, sweeping my flashlight around, trying like hell to make out what this space is. Looks like a sort of panic room. Somewhere you can safely hide in an emergency. I take afew steps inside and make out a small bed, a toilet next to a sink, and shelves of food.

What the hell is this? Is Mikhail a prepper? Is he awaiting Armageddon? Some kind of end-of-the-world collapse? Or maybe this is where he’ll go if things start to unravel.

I don’t know if I want to know. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I want to know. I want to know the kind of man I married. Because it seems I got some of it wrong.

“Look at you. So beautiful, sólnyshko.”

I shake that memory away and close the door, realizing that Mikhail isn’t here. Apparently, he doesn’t want to be found.

I huff in frustration. I traversed this tunnel for nothing and now I need to return with flowers and cookies so that his bodyguards keep their mouths shut. When I have more time, I’ll inspect the house further, needing to find those little secrets that he keeps hidden.

I make my way back the way I came, pushing on the panel and walking into his office.

It’s empty, nothing but the sound of my shoes padding across the carpet.

I let out a little sigh, push my way out of the office, and meander around, trying to understand the layout of this mansion. For a moment, when I first arrived, I had hope that it could feel like home, but now it just feels chilly and dark. Constricting. Like a tomb.

My eyes start to water, the weight of what I’ve done nearly swallowing me whole, but I shove the emotion down.

I can have a breakdown later. Right now I need to make something for Mikhail’s men and find some flowers. I always keep my word.

I continue to make my way around, getting lost several times before finally finding the kitchen. It’s new with white cabinets and white marble counters. New stainless-steel appliances sit unused in the empty space, nothing cooking on the stove, nothing baking in the oven. Who the hell cooks meals for everyone around here?

I peer into the pantry, eyeing unopened food scattering the shelves. Whoever shopped isn’t using the food lining them.