Day two, morning…

I pull on a pale-pink cotton maxi dress with embroidered flowers at the neckline, and a pair of the macramé sandals that appeared in my room overnight thanks to the Shoe Fairy, and then I join my family.

A silent butler guides us outside. We’re served breakfast in the rose garden. We can see the ocean from where we’re sitting. There’s an obscene amount of food on the table, and we dive into piles of fluffy pancakes and salty bacon and buttery scrambled eggs.

Maks and Jasha sit down with us. Sergei’s still not here.

“Do you want some pancakes? They’re really good.” Yuri asks them politely, and my heart aches. He is such a good kid, despite everything. I mean, he’s offering pancakes to his freaking kidnappers.

Maks is curt. “We already ate.”

“Then why are you here? Jerkhole?” Helenka snaps at them. Sometimes she gets crabby with her brother, but nobody else is allowed to be rude to him.

Maks fixes his cold gaze on her. “Because it’s our job.”

I snort in contempt. “I’m just curious,” I say to them. “What exactly are you afraid we’ll do if you’re not watching us? Do you think we’re going to dive into the ocean and swim for it? Or try to run for the gates and climb over the razor wire?”

“Would you like to tell me how to do my job, Willow?” Maks grabs a silver coffee urn and pours himself and Jasha some coffee. “I’m all ears. I’m sure you’ll have some really good suggestions.”

I give him one of the smiles I’ve learned from Sergei – the smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, and says, I’d rather be stabbing in you in the jugular than talking to you. “None I could repeat in front of the children.”

“Jeez, like I’m five. I’ve heard people swear before,” Helenka says with annoyance.

I wave her off and turn to Anastasia. “So, I was web surfing yesterday, looking at some jewelry and shoes, and this morning when I woke up I found that someone had been in my room and, lo and behold, everything I was searching for online was now by my desk. Someone managed to buy all that stuff, that fast, and sneak it into my room. That’s not at all creepy.”

She grimaces in sympathy.

Maks bangs his fist down on the table. “Don’t insult Sergei’s generosity!” he barks at me.

Anastasia looks at him and says something in Russian that makes Jasha choke on his coffee. Maks stares at her in surprise, and actually looks mildly offended. I know conversational Russian, but nobody’s taught me the really good insults. Anastasia knows them, apparently.

Seriously. I do not know my aunt at all.

Jasha’s still coughing.

“I got certified in CPR while I was in Ohio,” I say to Jasha. “Ask me if I’d use it to help you if you choked right now. Go on, ask me. Oh wait, you can’t, you’re choking.”

Maks says something in Russian that I partly recognize – something about me being a very cheap prostitute – and he slams down his coffee cup and storms off.

Helenka glares and waves at him as he walks away. “Buh-bye,” she says, and then she and Anastasia high-five each other and exchange the kind of secret smile that only mothers and daughters share. It makes me miss my mother so fiercely that tears sting my eyes.

I don’t think about my mother very much, because when I do, it feels like the hot jab of a knife in my heart.

My lovely mother, Tatiana. She was soft and strong at the same time, steel wrapped in cotton. I grab my coffee and drain an entire cup, blinking hard, and I wrap the image of my mother up lovingly in her blue comforter and shove her back in the corner of my mind where I keep her memory safe but hidden.

“Willow! Willow!” A familiar voice calls out.

It’s Lukas, rushing towards us, followed by his caretakers Kris and Marya. He’s wearing Ralph Lauren jeans, expensive leather loafers, and a polo shirt. His cheeks are pink, and he’s glowing with health, if not happiness. He’s dressed up like a child model in a catalog.

He slows down when he gets to me, and pats my arm. He doesn’t try to cling to me like he used to when he first met me. “You are my friend,” he tells me, in thickly accented English. “Not mother. Friend.”

The look on his face brings tears to my eyes. It’s the look of a child whose heart has been broken. When he saw me in the garden in April, he was so sure that I was his mother. I tried at the time to explain to him, gently, that I wasn’t, but he refused to believe me.

And then, thanks to Sergei’s abuse, I went on the run with my family and vanished for two months, without saying goodbye to him. I hurt Lukas. I made the world feel less safe for him. I didn’t mean to, but I can see the pain in his eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I am your friend, always,” I tell him. “How have you been?”

“I am very well, thank you.”

He couldn’t speak a word of English the last time I saw him. “Your English is excellent, Lukas!”

He lights up, and a little of the sadness fades as he nods vigorously. “Yes. I am learn it very good.”

Helenka and Yuri smile at him. How could they not? Lukas is a little bundle of sweetness. He’s a walking bag of sugar.

I introduce him to my aunt and cousins. They try to talk to him in Russian, and he looks confused.

“He’s Czech,” I tell them. “And how is he related to Sergei again?” I ask Jasha. Jasha gives me that stone-faced stare that all of Sergei’s men have perfected.

Anastasia looks from Lukas to me and back again, with a tiny frown. Then she shrugs and ruffles his hair with her hand. “He can come play with Helenka and Yuri,” she says. She glances at Kris and Marya, who both nod their approval.

“You bring him back after,” Kris says to her. Then he says something to Lukas in Czech, probably reminding him to say please and thank you. Kris and Marya leave us.

Lukas’ eyes light up with excitement. “I show you the garden? Come, come, I have jungle gym. It is very high!”

We follow him, winding through the sweet perfume of the rose garden, down gravel paths, towards the little house where he and Kris and Marya live. There’s an amazing wooden play structure there, shaped like a castle at one end and a space ship at the other. Sergei always buys the best of everything.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. There’s a puzzle here. Sergei’s part of it, my family is part of it, Lukas is part of it. If only I could figure out where the pieces fit into the whole, I might have a better idea of what Sergei ultimately plans for us.

But I’m not getting any answers this morning.

Anastasia and I watch for a while as all three kids scramble around on the wondrous wooden play structure. I see Helenka at the top, scanning the grounds. Looking for an escape route. I could join her, but I don’t bother. We’re probably safer here then we would be on our own. If Sergei could find us, then Vilyat could have found us eventually. Also, I’ve already violated my agreement with Sergei once; I shudder to think what he’d do to me if I did it twice.

Jasha comes to fetch the kids. They’ll have another self-defense lesson and then someone will work with Yuri in his new mad science lab. When Lukas hears that he can join them, he bounces with happiness. Anastasia hovers over them protectively, and even holds Lukas’ hand as they head off for their lessons.

I go back to my room. The shoes have all been moved to my closet.

I shower, I surf the internet, looking at yachts just to amuse myself and see if Sergei’s going to buy everything I look at online. Maybe a yacht will show up tomorrow, moored to one of the palm trees. Finally, I get bored, so I go searching for Sergei. I walk past maids and servants who nod respectfully at me as I pass, and then I hear his voice around a corner, and head towards it.

I’m about to turn the corner when I hear something that freezes me in my tracks.

“That’s perfect. You’re beautiful, Ludmilla, thank you.”

I stand perfectly still.

Who the hell is Ludmilla?

“Fantastic. Great, great. Best news I’ve heard in ages. I could kiss you.”

Could you really? Not if I find the bitch and stab her first.

A wave of jealousy snatches the breath from my lungs. I turn and hurry away before he sees me.

I try to remember if Sergei ever told me I was beautiful.

As I make it back to my room, I realize I’m actually crying. I hurry into the bathroom, and my hands are shaking as I turn on the tap. I grab a washcloth and scrub at my face.

Who the hell is Ludmilla?

This is insane. Sergei has made it abundantly clear that he will leave me for good at the end of thirty days. He’s even offered to write me a huge “thank you for letting me fuck you” check in the form of his glorious estate.

He can’t possibly care about this woman as much as he cares about me. He admitted it himself; he’s obsessed with me. So obsessed he spent a lot of time and money hunting me down and bringing me back to him.

Did he sound passionate on the phone? Could she be a family member? An employee? That must be it.

It has to be.

He brought me back here, not her. I know how strong his feelings are for me. I’m not saying they’re healthy feelings – they’re a dark obsession. But if he has such strong, enormous feelings for me, they must fill up his whole heart. They couldn’t possible leave room for anyone else.

That’s what I tell myself as I try to wash away the hurt and jealousy that chew at me.

I’m scrubbing and scrubbing at my face when I hear Sergei’s voice right behind me.

“Come with me,” he says without preamble.

I start and stifle a shriek. I turn off the water and drop the wash cloth, and spin around to stare up at him.

He turns around and walks away. So sure, I’ll follow, like the loyal dog I am. And I do. I hurry after him.

“You know, normal people might say something like, hello, how was your day?” I say mildly as I follow him out the door.

“Do I seem like someone who’s interested in what normal people say and do?” he asks. His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s not friendly either.

“What about being interested in how I feel? Like not having someone bark orders at me like I’m a dog all the time?”

He glances back at me. He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t lie to me, Willow, because it won’t end well. We both know that you love it when I give you orders. It makes your pussy wet for me. It makes your nipples hard.”

I flush with embarrassment.

“I like it when you give me orders under certain circumstances,” I say quietly. “But when we’re not having sex, I enjoy actual conversation.”

“I don’t need to ask how your day was, because I know what you’re doing every second of every minute of the day. And where you are, and who you’re doing it with. And I’m not big on idle chit-chat to fill up dead space.”

He stops, and I realize that we’re at the doorway of his playroom.

He gestures impatiently, and I walk in, emotions roiling inside me. He’s given me so much pain and pleasure here. Just walking through the door makes my nipples harden in anticipation.

It’s all as I remembered it – the big X-shaped thing with cuffs attached, the whips on a rack on the wall, the shelves of dildos and lubes, the cabinets full of toys, the bed, the structures whose functions I don’t even recognize. There’s a sink with a rolling cart of towels next to it, and a refrigerator.

We stop in the middle of the room. I want to stall – because whatever he has in mind for me is going to hurt.

“Well, how was your day? What have you been up to?” I say in a bright, perky voice, shifting from one foot to the other.

And who the fuck is Ludmilla? I want to scream it at him, but I don’t want him to know I was eavesdropping. And I’m sure he won’t tell me anyway.

“I have been conducting my business, and that’s all you need to know.” He starts taking off his shirt, which is a little startling.

That’s not how we did things before. He would tear off my clothing or make me strip. If he condescended to have sex with me, he’d take off his pants eventually, when he was damn good and ready.

I slide the sleeves of my dress off my shoulders, preparing to step out of it, and he fixes me with a look.

“Did I tell you to take off your clothing?” He sets his shirt, cufflinks and tie down on top of a dresser.

I look at him in confusion. “No. I just thought… What do you want me to do?”

Whenever we walk into this room, I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. I only know that no matter how hard and how long he punishes me, and no matter how badly it hurts, I always crave more. The unpredictability of it, the fear pooling in my belly, are a twisted aphrodisiac.

He gestures at the whips on the rack on the wall. “Pick one.”

Now, this I’m familiar with.

“You’re going to punish me,” he says.

Wait, what?