Chapter 8
Something is not right. I remember Roman mentioning an important meeting planned for this morning. It’s after nine, and he still hasn’t come out of his room. I heard his phone ring around eight, and then him speaking to someone. Fifteen minutes later Valentina came to bring breakfast, saying that Roman instructed her to leave it with me.
Maybe I should check on him. I put away the paintbrush on the small plate I keep near my canvas, wipe my hands, and turn to head to Roman’s room. Suddenly, his door opens, and he wheels himself out and toward the kitchen. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his upper body fully on display, and I can’t stop staring.
Roman doesn’t even notice me approaching. Instead, he heads to the set of drawers near the sink and starts rummaging through the top one. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he mumbles something in Russian, shuts the drawer with a bang, and moves to the next one.
“Need any help there?”
“Nope,” he snaps.
I watch him fish out a white bottle from the drawer, take out two pills from it and swallow them. He looks at the bottle again, takes out another pill, and throws the bottle back into the drawer. While he’s grabbing the water from the fridge, I take the opportunity to have a look at the label to see what he took. It’s painkillers. Finally, he turns his chair to face me, and I gasp.
“You look like shit.” His face is pale and his eyes bloodshot. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Not really.”
I follow him to his room and watch as he enters the walk-in wardrobe and comes back with a pair of pants and a shirt on his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Please leave, I have to change.”
“You are in no state to go anywhere, Roman.”
He ignores me, puts his clothes on the bed next to him, and starts to stand up from the wheelchair, but the moment he tries to straighten, a hiss escapes his mouth and he drops back down. “Fuck it!”
“Well, I guess this means there won’t be any disrobing involved in the near future,” I say. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”
“Bed won’t work. My knee is stiff, I can’t straighten the leg.”
“How about the sofa? We could put something under your leg and watch a movie.”
Roman looks at me like I’m insane. “I can’t spend the day watching movies. I have a criminal empire to run.”
“Yeah, you won’t be running anywhere today, literally or figuratively. You just took a triple dose of painkillers, so you’ll probably be out in less than an hour, sleeping like a baby.”
“Shit,” he curses, then grumbles something in Russian and shakes his head.
“I have no idea what you just said, but I agree.” I nod. “Do you need to call them to cancel?”
“Yeah. Give me the phone.”
When we get to the living room, Roman somehow manages to transfer himself to the sofa. I grab one of the big pillows to put under his leg, then go to his room and bring back a blanket, which I throw over him. Roman follows my every move with his eyes but doesn’t comment. I don’t think he’s accustomed to having someone fuss over him. I might be wrong, but I believe he secretly enjoys it. I head to the kitchen and check out the breakfast left on the tray. It’s some kind of a hand pie with fruit filling. I take a bite. Still warm—it’ll do.
“I started watching a movie last night, do you want to join in? I only watched fifteen minutes or so. I’ll bring you up to speed,” I shout while I’m taking a carafe of orange juice from the fridge.
“Sounds good.”
“Any chance there is popcorn somewhere?” I ask as I open the cupboard.
“I doubt it.”
“What about the kitchen downstairs? We can’t watch a movie without popcorn.”
“I have no idea. Call Varya and ask her.”
I carry over the tray with breakfast and place it on the low table in front of the sofa, then turn to Roman. “You take an awful lot of space. Head up, please.”