“Oh?” I ask, wringing my hands together. “In what way?”
“I suppose finding your way is always hard,” she muses. “But trying to find your way in your sixties is an altogether different challenge.”
“At least you’re trying,” I point out. “That’s brave. Braver than anything I’ve ever tried.”
She looks at me with a sympathetic nod. “You are much too young to be playing it safe, Olivia.”
I laugh bitterly. “The last time I decided to live on the edge, I ended up trapped in this house with a sick man who forced me to marry him. As soon as I get out of here, no one in history will ever play it safer.”
“Those are all things he would have done regardless,” she replies. “He had his sights set on your brother long before he ever set eyes on you. This had nothing to do with your choices.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better,” I mutter. “Possibly even worse, actually. The only reason he even looked my way that day is because he was planning this diabolical scheme to get even with my brother. I could have been anyone.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yulia asks. “The fact that he was only feigning interest in you?”
“I… no, of course not. We don’t have to talk about this,” I say awkwardly, even though I’ve already blurted out the embarrassing truth.
“Don’t worry, Olivia,” Yulia says kindly. “He has that effect on women.”
“Oh God. Kill me now.” I bury my face in my hands.
She chuckles next to me. “Don’t be embarrassed. You have nothing to be ashamed of. All women want to be seen. That’s no crime.”
“Would you mind not…”
“Not telling him?” she asks. “Of course. Our little secret.”
“Thank you,” I say, even though I’m not a hundred percent certain I can trust her word.
“But a word of advice from an old woman who’s been through it all,” she says, turning to me with solemn eyes. “Don’t lose yourself to him completely, Olivia. It will destroy you before it makes you stronger.”
“I know.”
She nods. “Of course you do. You’re a smart woman. Smarter than I was at your age.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
She sighs and is quiet for a moment while she thinks. “Do you know, I was actually relieved when my husband had his stroke? It’s a horrible thing to admit, I’m aware of that. But it’s the truth. I finally had some measure of freedom. I was finally able to live the life I wanted.”
“And did you? Have you?”
“Some days, yes. Some days, no,” she admits. “I still have a son to answer to.”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t do what you do.”
“You might have to, unless you are ready for war,” she warns. “Or you can be like me and take the hard route. I did the latter; I rebelled. Sometimes, if I was secretive enough, my affairs went unnoticed. But other times, we were caught.”
“What happened then?”
“I would be punished. The men would disappear. I knew better than to ask questions.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I think about the kindly old man I shared a few laughs with by the lake. Suddenly, I feel guilty about that.
Just another thing I have to add to the list.
“What a bullshit double standard,” I spit. “He can bring women home whenever he likes, but you step one toe over the line he dictates for you and people die? It’s fucked up.”
My thoughts are beginning to spiral as I stare at the woman who’s been through it all and still manages to present herself with grace and dignity.
I admire Yulia.
But I refuse to follow in her footsteps.
“If I’m not free, then neither is he,” I conclude.
I hear a snap and look down to realize I’ve tightened my fist so hard that the pencil broke apart in my hand.
Yulia raises her eyebrows and reaches out to place her hand over mine. “I tell you this because I do actually care about you: submit. It’ll be easier that way.”
I tear my hand out from under hers. “Easier?” I scoff. “Easier for whom?”
“For everyone involved,” she says with a defeated sigh.
I shake my head and get to my feet. “I already told him I won’t stand for him screwing around while I’m his captive. I just won’t.”
Yulia’s eyes go wide. She looks guilty.
“What?” I press. “What is it?”
She shakes her head quickly. “Nothing.”
“Yulia, if you really are on my side, you’ll tell me.”
She looks so conflicted. If Aleks were in my position, he would demand she tell him everything. He’d threaten her, do whatever it took.
But I’m not him.
And as much as I don’t want to be like Yulia—bending under the pressure of powerful men, living always in a terrified survival mode—I don’t want to be like him, either.
She sighs. “He has a woman in his office right now.”
My body goes cold. I don’t even realize I’m up and striding away until I hear Yulia cry out my name.
“Olivia, what are you doing?” she calls.
I don’t reply—mostly because I don’t have an answer for her. I’m not quite sure myself.
I keep walking until I reach his office. There’s no one around, so I move closer to his door. I press my ear against the cool wood.
Nothing. No sound comes through. I take a step back and weigh my options.
Luckily, a maid rounds the corner just then. “Hey!” I call out.
“Yes, ma’am?” she asks, her eyes downcast. “How can I help you?”
“Aleks… ah, Don Makarova wanted some ice in his office. Immediately.”
“There’s ice in a silver bucket under the bar.”
“Um, he… ran out.”
“Oh! I’ll get some right away,” she says. She scurries off and she’s back in less than a minute with a small bucket of ice.
We stand awkwardly outside the door for a moment, each of us waiting for the other to open it.
“Why don’t you knock?” I suggest.
Her brow creases, but she doesn’t disobey the order. A second later, I hear Aleks's voice. “What is it?”
“It’s Lydia, sir,” she says. “I have your ice.”
“Ice?”
I hold my breath, waiting for my plan to dissolve right in front of my eyes.
But then, the door opens.
Aleks is standing there, looking annoyed. I don’t have time to see if he looks disheveled or mussed or guilty. I just shove past him and Lydia, pushing my way into the office.
I swivel towards the fourth person in the room. Yulia was right. There is a woman in his office.
But unlike what I feared, she’s not naked.
It’s so much worse.
36
OLIVIA
“Isabella?”
She looks different than I remember. Her hair is a little longer, a little more styled. She’s more toned, too. Hardened. Her cheekbones are sharper, her jaw more angled.
But it’s definitely her.
“Am I hallucinating?” I whisper out loud.