Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,34
filled with black tea. He sets it on the table while Lyudmila clears away the dishes.
“None for me, thank you,” I say when he places a cup in front of me. “I don’t drink tea.”
He gives me a look suggesting I’m little better than a wild animal, then whisks my cup away and pours tea for everyone else, my student included. The delicate china looks ridiculous in his massive hands, but he handles the task deftly, making me wonder if he worked in some high-end restaurant prior to joining the Molotov household.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal. Everything was delicious,” I tell him when he passes by me, but he just grunts in response, stacking the dishes that his wife didn’t get to in a carefully arranged pyramid on top of the tray before carrying them all away. It’s not until he’s gone that I remember something important.
I turn to Nikolai, my face warming again as I meet his tiger gaze. “I keep forgetting to ask… Did Pavel repark my car somewhere? I didn’t see it in front of the house. Also, I don’t think I ever got my car keys back.”
“Really? That’s odd.” Adding a spoonful of honey to his tea, Nikolai stirs the liquid. “I’ll ask him about that.” He hands the honey jar to Slava, who adds several spoonfuls into his cup—the boy must have a serious sweet tooth.
“That would be great, thank you,” I say, picking up my glass of plain water—the only liquid besides coffee I like to drink. “What about the car? Is there a garage or something nearby?”
“At the back of the house, just underneath the terrace,” Alina replies in her brother’s stead. “Pavel must’ve moved it there.”
“Okay, awesome.” I grin, inexplicably relieved. “I was half-afraid you guys decided it’s too much of an eyesore and pushed it into the ravine.”
Alina laughs at my joke, but Nikolai just smiles and sips his honey-sweetened tea, watching me with an inscrutable expression.
19
Chloe
The rest of the afternoon flies by. As soon as lunch is over, I find the garage—the entrance to it is at the back of the house, just past the laundry room—and verify that my car is indeed there, looking even older and rustier next to my employers’ sleek SUVs and convertibles. Then, since the weather is beautiful—low seventies and sunny—I take Slava for a hike in the forested portion of the estate rather than teaching him in his room. We tromp through a wildflower-filled meadow, climb down to a small lake we find about a half mile to the west, and chase a dozen squirrels into the trees. Well, Slava chases them, giggling maniacally; I just observe him with a smile.
He’s an entirely different boy out here than in the dining room with his family.
As we make our way through the woods, he chatters in Russian, and I reply in English whenever I can guess what he’s saying. I also make sure to give him English words for everything we encounter, and I do my best to learn the Russian words he teaches me.
“Belochka,” he says, pointing at a squirrel, only to break into giggles when I mangle the word in my attempt to repeat it. He, on the other hand, pronounces English words perfectly almost from the first try; I suspect he’s either been watching English-language cartoons or he has perfect pitch.
Musically inclined kids tend to master accents faster than their peers.
“Do you like music?” I ask as we’re returning home. I hum a few notes to demonstrate. “Or singing?” I do my best rendition of “Baby Shark,” which causes him to whoop in laughter.
In case there was any doubt, I’m not musically inclined.
As we approach the house, Pavel comes out to greet us, a fierce glower on his face. “Where were you? It’s almost five, and he hasn’t had his snack.”
“Oh, we were—”
“And your clothes have been delivered. They’re in your room.” Eyeing Slava’s dirty shoes with disapproval, he picks up the boy and carries him into the house, muttering something in Russian.
Chagrined, I take off my muddy sneakers and follow them in. I probably should’ve cleared our hike with Slava’s caretakers, or at least kept better track of time. I did bring a couple of apples for Slava to munch on if he got hungry—I grabbed them from the kitchen before leaving—but I guess that’s not as complete of a meal as the cheese-and-fruit tray Pavel brought up yesterday.