No denial.
So he'd been at my computer, steering my entire life, when he'd heard my whimper, deciding to check that out as well? Did he have no boundaries?
God, so much had happened since then. It felt like weeks ago that I'd been at that bar with my friends, probably because my life had changed more drastically in twenty-four hours than it had in the last six years--since my dad had died and I'd realized how short and precious life was. Since I'd started my quest.
My nervousness about this entire situation returned full-force. "Okay, what about my living arrangement? Where will I stay? And how long are we looking at?"
Sevastyan cast me a puzzled glance. "You will live with Kovalev at his home. Once it's safer, you'll come and go as you please."
"I'm supposed to live with someone I don't know?" I hadn't even had an opportunity to Google Kovalev.
"It's not as if you'll step on each other's toes there," Sevastyan said. "You'll stay encamped at his estate until the threat has been eliminated. Unless you decide to make your home there once the danger passes."
Voluntarily reside with a stranger? At the dingy Soviet compound? "But how long will it take for the danger to pass? A couple of weeks? A couple of months?"
"This is your life for the foreseeable future."
My lips parted. My fall vacay had just gotten extended--all because of a father I'd never met. "Tell me what Kovalev's really like."
One corner of Sevastyan's lips might've lifted. "He's nothing like you're expecting him to be." A little thawing from the Siberian?
"You genuinely like him. It's more than just, um, organizational loyalty."
He nodded. "Kovalev's the best man I've ever known. I respect him more than anyone."
"How did you meet him?"
"In St. Petersburg. By chance," Sevastyan said, with a twist of his thumb ring.
"Ah, that explains everything." Closemouthed Russian.
"Ask Kovalev for the story, if you like."
Maybe I would. "So what will I be expected to do all day, now that you've unenrolled and unemployed me?" Already I had much more energy than I was used to. "It's going to be difficult to go from hard work to hard leisure."
"You'll get to know your father. You'll enjoy the amenities at Berezka."
"Little birch? Is that the name of his compound?"
"Da."
We fell silent. The landscape grew wilder, with more trees and larger properties. We passed gate after gate, each more elaborate than the last.
My nerves were getting the best of me. I fussed with my new coat. A fur one. My grandmother's.
What if I said something stupid or ticked Kovalev off? I didn't often put my foot in my mouth, but when I did, I tended to go big in that department as well.
What if the man wasn't even convinced that I was his daughter and this was some kind of test? I only had Sevastyan's word on everything. Shit. How much could I really trust him--
"Natalie, rest easy." He leaned forward and took my hands. "He's a good man."
Right when I'd decided Sevastyan was a dick, he had to go and be all understanding. A raw moment of insecurity from me. A raw moment of sympathy from him.
Then he frowned. "Your hands are cold." As I stared down, he took both of mine between his own. To warm them.
Just as I'd imagined my future, faceless guy would.
I blinked up at him. Had that only been last night?
"Weren't there gloves for you?"
"I didn't have a chance to look through everything."
"Don't be nervous." With utter confidence, he said, "You will take it all in stride."
"How do you know?"
"Because you have everything else." The car decelerated; he dropped my hands, clearing his throat to say, "We're here."
CHAPTER 11
Guard dogs and machine guns. Why was I even surprised?
At the beginning of the driveway, a pair of two-story white stone towers formed an arc over ornate iron gates. Uniformed men were poised in front of the structure, weapons at the ready, dogs snarling.
Our driver rolled down the window and spoke to a guard, who seemed to be trying to get a look at me. I supposed they must be curious about Kovalev's long-lost daughter.
A motor whirred as the gates opened. When they closed behind us, Sevastyan relaxed a degree, just as he had once we'd gotten into the air. His expression grew a shade less grim.
"Well." I exhaled a surprised breath. "That was different."
"The security has been increased for your presence. Kovalev will take no chances. But you shouldn't be frightened. We won't let anything happen to you."
"I'm not frightened, I've just never been out of the Corn Belt before. And now this . . ."
"I know, pet." I caught his glance at my lap, where I was twining my fingers together, and thought he had the impulse to hold my hands again. But he didn't.
The drive meandered through what looked like a park, with hill after hill of golf course-quality lawn. The sun began to break through lowering clouds.
I wanted to pay attention to everything, to memorize my first experience here, but again I was distracted by Sevastyan.
As we crossed a charming wooden bridge, I noticed he was analyzing me. Determining my reaction to this place?
The trees grew more numerous, dense forests changing colors with the fall. The leaves on the birches and other hardwoods were a riot of burnished orange, russet, and gold--gold like Sevastyan's eyes.
When we neared a colossal structure beside a lake, I cried, "Is that it?" The walls and columns were ivory, the tiled roof topped with three copper domes, green with patina. "Domes! Oh, it's gorgeous!" No dingy, Soviet-era monolith here. The lake was so glassy, the building cast a surreal reflection. I was in love, ready to declare myself home--
"That's the lake folly, a former church for the property." At my raised brows, Sevastyan added, "Now it's a place for guests to take tea."
"Oh." Onward we drove.
We passed a stable that must have had fifty stalls. "How many horses are there?"
"Dozens. Kovalev loves animals."
White tigers, anyone? Maybe he'd have caged Russian bears.
As we rounded a curve, a mansion came into view. No, not a mansion--a palace.
Jaw drop.
"That is it," Sevastyan said.
From a main three-story building, two wings stretched beyond my line of sight. It was the size of a freaking state building, but with so much more charm. I realized that the lakeside folly complemented the mansion, with the same colors and types of columns. The late afternoon sun cascaded over the scene. "I . . . this . . ."
"It's a former tsar's residence," Sevastyan said. "Twenty years ago, it was in bad shape, about to be renovated a
s a museum and Russian landmark. Kovalev bought it instead and painstakingly restored it."
"So it's historical." My heart was racing. "You didn't tell me I'd be staying in . . . in history."
The limo parked in front, near a line of high-end cars of all makes and models. Before the driver could reach my door, I scrambled out, Sevastyan following. I craned my head up. "Spectacular," I eventually managed.
He gave me a satisfied nod. "Horosho." Good.
"This must be Natalie Porter!" A young man about my age strolled out of the grand copper doors. When the sun hit his face, my lips parted. He was . . . stunning. His dark blond hair was rakishly cut, his features a study in symmetry. His vivid gray eyes were devilish and alight with intellect.
I'd just recovered speech after the sight of this estate. Now my brain was overloaded again.
"That's Filip Liukin," Sevastyan said in a tone rife with disapproval.
If Sevastyan was ruggedly hot and sex on a stick, this Filip was blindingly beautiful. While I was trying to form words, Sevastyan grated, "He's your cousin."
Awkward.
Filip was quick to point out: "Distant, far removed, and all that." His accent sounded British. He flashed me an easy grin, all dimples and flawless teeth.
Filip reached out as if to clap Sevastyan on the shoulder. "Welcome back, bratan!"
The look on Sevastyan's face deterred Filip from touching him. "Do not ever call me brother."
Whoa. Sevastyan acted as if Filip had just sliced an exposed nerve.
"You got it," Filip said easily, unperturbed. "Welcome back, all the same. I know you're glad to be relieved of this lengthy job."
Did everyone think I'd been merely work to Sevastyan? An onerous task that took him from home for a month? I hadn't been, right? Maybe I was misremembering his response to me. As icy as he'd been on and off today, I had to wonder. . . .
Filip opened his arms. "Come, Cuz, give us a hug."
Still stung to think of myself as a task, I let Filip embrace me. As I drew back, I glanced over at Sevastyan, saw that his jaw was clenched, that muscle ticking. He wasn't liking this whatsoever, as if he was jealous.
Attention fully on Filip--not a chore--I asked, "Do you live here?"
"I might as well," he said, adding in a flirtatious tone, "And with you here at Berezka, I plan to stick around. No one told me you were gorgeous."
My manalyzer sense began tingling, but I couldn't read it, for good or ill. If I felt a touch of unease, my opinion had probably been tainted by Sevastyan's reaction to him. I changed the subject. "Your English is so perfect." Sevastyan's was flawless as well, but unlike Filip, he'd retained his thick accent. "Did you grow up outside of Russia?"