Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,36
got home. She loved that sort of thing, and we always—
I stop that line of thought and inhale to clear the painful constriction in my chest. “I can take my hair down, but I don’t really have—”
“Yes, you do.” She pulls open one of the drawers next the sink, revealing a selection of tubes and bottles that would make a professional makeup artist proud. “I made sure Nikolai got all the necessities,” she explains.
“You helped him buy all this?”
“Who else?” She grins, revealing that perfectly imperfect little gap between her straight white teeth. “None of my brothers know mascara from lipliner.”
My ears perk up. “Brothers?”
She nods, reaching into the drawer. “There are four of us. I’m the youngest and the only girl.” She uncaps a foundation bottle and grabs my hand, turning it palm up. Smearing a streak of bronze color on my inner wrist, she eyes it critically, then opens a slightly more golden shade and tests that.
“Where are your other brothers?” I ask, watching her work in fascination. I did just think it might be nice to get a lesson from her one day, and here we are. I’ve always had trouble finding the right foundation; most drugstore brands offer shades that are either too light, too dark, or too ashy. But the second color Alina tries blends into my skin perfectly—she definitely knows what she’s doing.
“They’re both in Moscow,” she replies, capping the bottle. “Well, at this moment, Konstantin is on a business trip in Berlin, but you know what I mean.” She sets the bottle on the counter in front of me, along with mascara, eyeliner, and a bunch of other stuff, including an egg-shaped sponge that she wets under the faucet. Meeting my gaze in the mirror, she asks, “Do you mind if I do your face? Or would you rather do it yourself?”
“No, please, go ahead.” I’m more than eager for her to continue. Beauty lesson aside, this is a chance for me to learn more about my mysterious employers without Nikolai’s darkly magnetic presence scrambling my brains.
“All right then, wash your face and come along.”
I do as she says while she sweeps all the makeup she laid out into a little silver case. After I pat my face dry and moisturize with a fancy-looking face cream I find in yet another drawer, she leads me back into the bedroom, where she stands me in front of the floor-to-ceiling window—natural light is best, she explains. Placing the makeup case on the nightstand nearby, she steps in front of me and, bending her head with a look of intense concentration, begins applying foundation with the damp sponge.
“You always want to pat, not rub,” she explains, dabbing at my cheeks. “The color blends in best that way.”
“Good to know, thank you.” I wait until she’s done with my chin before asking, “So what made you and Nikolai decide to come here? I imagine it must be a big change from Moscow.”
She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. “Oh, it is. Moscow is… a whole other world.” Her red lips tilt up without humor. “Not always a nice world.”
“Oh?”
She resumes her careful dabbing. “It’s quiet here. Calm. And the nature is beautiful. Nikolai wanted that for his son.”
“So you’re here for Slava?”
“My brother is.” She frowns, studying my face, and uses the pointed end of the sponge to add a little foundation under my eyes. The dark circles must be bugging her. “Me, I just needed a break,” she continues as she moves on to the bridge of my nose, “a little timeout, if you will.”
“From life in Moscow?”
“Something like that. Close your eyes.”
I obey, silently digesting what I’ve learned as she sweeps eyeshadow onto my lids and applies mascara to my lashes. It makes sense that they’d be here for the boy—the timing of their move to this compound lines up with Nikolai’s learning of his son’s existence. And I suppose if quiet, calm nature is what you’re after, you can’t do much better than this place.
Still, something doesn’t smell right. I’m sure there are spots of wilderness untouched by civilization in Russia and other countries nearby. Why move halfway across the globe if pretty nature is all you’re after? The time difference alone must make it difficult to stay in touch with family, or conduct any type of business—assuming there is a business.
I wait until Alina is done tracing my lips with a pencil before opening my eyes to ask, “What do your brothers do, work-wise?”