My stomach tightened in a bundle of nerves, but I stayed quiet for fear of losing the food I’d just eaten. He drove farther down the long drive until it split into a T-junction. He turned left, and I saw one of the three houses.
It was still massive compared to the regular homes and apartments I was used to seeing. The two-story home was beautifully designed from the outside, and held a romantic style with quaint terraces in off-whites and light sandy yellows. The lights were on, and I suddenly wondered if anyone else lived with him. The thick silver ring on his wedding ring finger would suggest so.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
My tense shoulders lowered a little. Well, that was good. I didn’t need a woman around accusing me of all kinds of nastiness. Women could be brutal.
He parked outside the property, walked around, and helped me out of the car, taking my bag of crap from me with one hand and holding out his elbow graciously. I took it almost immediately, and he led me up the front steps, unlocking the door. The giant glass door was pushed lightly, and the house revealed itself.
My gut rolled aggressively. I so did not belong here.
The inside of the house was pristine, with white, sparkling marble and wooden masculine furniture. The very first thing that caught my eye in the giant foyer was the staircases on the left and right, leading up to the second floor and meeting in the middle.
What was it called when stairs did that?
“It’s an imperial staircase. Many royal houses in Russia have it.”
I turned to him, not realizing I had asked the question out loud. Then I turned back to the stairs. “That’s a little arrogant, don’t you think?” I side-eyed him. “Comparing yourself to royalty and all.”
His lip lifted so slightly that I might’ve imagined it. “That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?” He side-eyed me right back. “To assume I don’t stem from royalty.”
My eyes widened as I whispered, “Do you?”
He turned to me and, I swear, his eyes smiled. “No.”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head as he walked to the left side of the stairs and began to walk up. “Follow me, mouse.”
Mouse? Why mouse? Why not just call me what I am?
A street rat.
At the top of the stairs, we came across two halls, one leading left, and the other leading to the right. He seemed to hesitate a moment before he turned left, and took me to the door at the very end of the hall. He placed his hand on the fancy brass lever and threw the door open, lifting a hand to turn on the lights.
It was a bedroom. Definitely a man’s bedroom. A woman would be too conservative to furnish a room in such garish furniture and strong, royal colors.
It looked more like an apartment, really, at least four times the size of a normal bedroom. I definitely couldn’t complain about the room, if this was to be where I was going to sleep. There were three floor-to-ceiling windows in this one room. The drapes were the fancy, ruched kind in a dark burgundy with gold trim. In the right corner of the room was a large, maroon, suede sectional sofa, which took on an L-shape to fit into the angle perfectly. The bed was placed opposite the couch, a king-sized mahogany sleigh bed with heavy dark red covers and more pillows than was necessary. There was no TV, or any sort of entertainment other than the full wall-to-wall bookshelf on the left.
I stood there, mouth gaping. “Wow. This is so fancy.”
His next sentence had me confused. “This is my room.”
“Then why—” Realization had me taking a step back and away from him. My voice deceptively calm, I stated, “I am not sleeping with you.”
He looked me up and down then scoffed. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”
Oh, Mina…again with the assumptions!