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, smelling all good, looking all dark and sexy, the two of us in a dark room enjoying a meal and wine like two upper class citizens without a care in the world. His hand on my thigh under the table. Closing my eyes and leaning in to kiss him while soft violin music plays in the background.
I am not that kind of person, though. All the money in the world won’t take away who I truly am. It could be fun to pretend though, even if it’s just for a night.
“I will come for you at seven,” she says. “Does the dama need any special preparations?”
“I don’t know, do I?” I ask. I figure as long as I’m showered and do something with my hair, I’m about as good as I’m going to get. He’s seen me in much worse condition, like when he used to walk me home from the bakery and I was all covered in flour, smelling like a Kolachke and drenched in sweat. Maybe his tastes have changed in the time we’ve been apart.
“Let me know. I can send someone for supplies.” She slips a brown bag stuffed with tissue paper into my hand and shuts the door behind her and my mind starts racing, thinking about all the women he’s probably been with over the years. He’s rich and gorgeous. He could have his pick at nearly anyone from celebrities to royalty. I fall in neither of those categories unless Poland’s Most Wanted Criminal counts as fame. He’s going to be sorely disappointed when he finds out I’m still the lowly dull peasant he knew from high school.
All this money his parents gave me couldn’t buy me grace or class.
I whistle as I tear the tissue paper out of the bag and feel the silk dress inside.
It’s navy blue and comes all the way down to the floor, an elegant slit up the side. It’s very tasteful and plain, and even though the neckline comes up high, I can’t help but feel sexy just touching it. I fall down on the bed and start laughing when I pull the bright red lingerie out of the bag.
He’s still the boy I fell for all those years ago.
I read the note, scrawled in his choppy handwriting. “I never had a chance to take you to Studniowka. Let’s try this again.”
It’s a tradition in Poland for women to wear bright red under their dresses to surprise their dates afterwards. Apparently, he wasn’t too concerned about the surprise factor.
I hold up the sheer lacy panties up to the light, marveling at the intricate flowers cut out in the fabric. They’re definitely racier than the cotton polka dot boy shorts I have in about every color. I guess I probably should’ve told Maria I needed some supplies, namely a waxing kit and some double sided tape to hold the matching strapless bra up.