by Bethany-Kris
When she did finally open her eyes to the full blast of sunlight coming in through the window, the room was ablaze. And so was her fucking head. She whimpered, and turned her face away immediately, losing hope that she’d be able to get herself out of bed today. Especially with the deep throbbing that started somewhere in the back of her head and reached all the way to her temples.
A hangover?
Right.
This felt like death.
“Here, have some water—you need it,” Masha said.
Her voice was kind, but commanding at the same time. Much like a baba’s would be—no one knew how to be a better caretaker and disciplinarian than a Russian grandmother with a wooden rolling pin. Karine had never known her own grandmother, so Masha was the closest thing to it that she ever had. Even if the forty-year-old woman was a bit young to claim her as a grandchild.
Blindly, she reached out toward Masha’s voice, and found a cold glass of water pressed back into her palm. She molded her fingers around it, silently grateful for Masha’s attentiveness to Karine’s constant plight—especially in the mornings—even if she did hate the process of waking up.
Every single time.
Masha continued to hold the glass, guiding it to Karine’s lips, and helping her take the first sip. She smacked her lips lightly as she drank more water, desperate to rid the dryness that chapped her lips and made her tongue feel like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.
The water was heaven.
When was the last time she had something to drink?
Masha had to be right. She was too hungover to remember or move. However, she couldn’t recall a single memory of how she found herself in this condition either. Walking around with a glass of something in her hand—usually vodka, maybe a bit of wine—was commonplace for her. What began as a little something to make breakfast go down easier ended up with mornings where she found a nightstand full of empty glasses.
Only dribbles of liquor ever remained.
“Open your eyes now, dear.”
Masha’s voice came softer than ever, and a gentle hand pressed to Karine’s forehead. She recognized the touch well since nobody else was affectionate with her—not like this.
Not any other member of her family, only Masha.
And Masha was just a slave.
Hers, sure.
Or that’s what her father always said.
But a slave all the same.
Karine opened her eyes, then, testing the waters of her hangover once more. The pain wasn’t as bad—she didn’t think she was going to immediately puke all over the dark hardwood floors. Bleary-eyed, she quietly watched while Masha strode around the room, plumping pillows, dusting surfaces, and chatting about the roses that were in bloom in the garden.
White and red.
Pink was her favorite.
Yellow was hard to keep—sometimes. It depended on the rain, apparently. She listened on, not really replying to joining in on the conversation, but the older woman didn’t mind. Karine had never really thought about who Masha was outside of the confines of her own life. Certainly not beyond the walls of the place they called home.
A nanny—that was who she told herself Masha was to her. The reality wasn’t that straightforward. Masha certainly had all of a nanny or caretaker's responsibility, and she possessed these all through Karine’s life. Ever since she was a child and could remember, Masha was the one who tucked her in bed at night.
She was always there.
Kind.
Soft-handed.
Promising better things.
Karine was twenty now, and Masha still helped her bathe most days. Well, if one considered bringing her the things she needed and running the water so that Karine didn’t have to touch a thing was bathing her.
The difference between a nanny and Masha—was that she was not allowed to leave the Yazov mansion unless it was with Karine, or one of the bulls. Masha had no freedom and no other home. She would never be free of Karine, or the rest of the Yazov family. More importantly, she was not paid for her undying loyalty ... or her lifetime of services.
Masha earned her keep by serving Karine and anyone who called the Yazov mansion home with her every waking minute. She looked after Karine, ruling her life with a firm hand to get her through the day and yet, she had no power or control.
Even though Masha spoke to her as though Karine had no choice but to listen—all Karine needed to do was point at the door, and Masha would apologize and leave the room. Those were the rules that existed between them though they never actually acknowledged it.
The levels of power and expectations existed everywhere else in the Yazov household, except in Karine’s bedroom. She also made it a point to never make Masha feel less than, or reminded her of her true position within these walls—that of a slave.
She meant more to Karine.
More than just that.
“It’s time to get ready, yes? Your father and the others will be waiting for you.” Masha stood at the entrance of her walk-in closet, speaking with her head tilted to the side. Like someone might do to a sleepy child. “What happens when we make them wait? You’ve already slept in too late.”
Karine didn’t need the reminder.
And yet ...
Masha still gave it.
“Why do I have to see him?” Karine asked, at least making an attempt to keep the whine out of her words. It was the most she could do. “Why now? I have a headache.”
“Yes, that much is obvious, child. But here’s the thing—you constantly have a headache because you have been drinking too much and having a good time, haven’t you?” Masha asked, amusement thick in her voice as it grew fainter when she disappeared into the closet, presumably to pick out Karine’s outfit for the day. “Too good of a time, apparently. Something to consider, Karine.”
On mornings when she woke up feeling like this, which was more often than not lately, Masha was the one who took the responsibility of making all her daily administrative decisions. She emerged with a cream lace dress that would show off her figure, and tan pumps that had a way of making her legs look longer than they actually were.
At least, her nanny had good taste.
“How about this?” Masha asked, smiling eagerly as she waited for Karine’s approval.
“Isn’t that too much for a morning visit with family?”
Masha’s smile stretched wider as she brought the items over to the bed. “You’re being silly again. You must always look your best, no? Especially for the family.”
The throbbing ache at the back of Karine’s skull sent pain dancing down her spine in punishing steps. She put the glass down on the bedside table, and leaned further into the high-piled pillows, pinning her eyelids shut again.
If only she could feel that delirious joy again—what she felt in her dream when she was circling the tree.
Masha’s hand was back on her cheek in an instant, the back of her palm gently stroking Karine to wake up and face the day.
“Why does my father want to see me?” she asked.
Maxim never wanted to see her.
That was the whole point.
A part of her even liked it this way.
Karine forced her eyes open while Masha stepped away from her, replying softly, “I get directions—not details. You know this. Now, come over here, let’s get you out of those clothes and into this.” She picked up the dress and pumps, swinging them from her fingertips as she added, “I have some makeup laid out on the vanity. I think it would suit the look.”
“I don’t want to wear makeup. I don’t even want to wear that dress.”
Don’t you care?
Karine couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Even her protests came out as barely a whisper. She wasn’t sure if Masha had heard her—she’d not quite learned how to be loud. She watched others do it, but the idea of drawing attention, especially unwanted, frightened her more than she could explain.
She could already predict
what the rest of the morning and subsequent day was going to look like. One of those where Masha would have to supply her with a few pick-me-ups. Pills for her to swallow—quickly and discreetly. It helped her get through the day, at least.
If she made any more complaints, Masha would quickly offer her the pills and Karine knew she would readily accept. It was the only way for her to feel remotely human—someone capable of a conversation and a smile, even if it was a little too loose—and then everyone would be happy.
She wouldn’t feel like such a lost cause. Everyone else would pretend they didn’t know the truth.
See?
Simple.
“What beautiful skin you have—women spend thousands to make their skin as soft and pale as yours,” Masha said.
Karine, out of bed now and positioned in front of Masha who was slowly helping her out of her clothes and into the lace dress, mumbled back a non-reply under her breath. She hoped the woman was too distracted to sense how her cheeks blushed in response to the compliment even if she wanted to also act like it didn’t exist in the first place.
She never knew how to react to something like that.
Compliments ...
Attention.
Affection?
“And this will make you look even more beautiful,” Masha continued. “The color compliments your skin and hair—and those eyes.”
Karine blinked up, meeting the gaze of her caretaker through the sweeping veil of her inky lashes. “What about my eyes?”
“The prettiest blue.”
“The sky is pretty. So is the ocean.”
And both were blue.
Karine didn’t think she was anymore spectacular or amazing than those things—and certainly not her eyes. Hell, those were the things that the people around her often found the hardest to meet. Staring at her meant seeing her.
Actually fucking seeing her.
No one liked to do that.
She just wasn’t sure why.
Masha nodded once, saying only, “And they don’t compare—nothing compares. Remember it, yes?”
She zipped the dress up neatly and smoothed down the front, running her palms gently over the fabric until she was satisfied with the way it sat on Karine’s body. Next, she picked up the tube of stick foundation and a concealer that worked magic on the ever-present dark circles under Karine’s eyes.
Behind Masha stood a tall mirror—the one Karine was avoiding looking into. She never really understood the unsettling feeling that came to cloak her in anxiety when faced with her reflection, but she knew she couldn’t look at it for long. It was only a reminder of how she didn’t recognize the person who stared back at her.
Masha’s hands flitted over her face tenderly while she stood there for her, unmoving. Despite her care with the makeup brushes blending color and life into Karine’s cheeks, she was hurrying. It was apparent that Masha had received her orders, and was trying to get her ready to go as quickly as possible.
Karine wouldn’t make her job harder.
“There, all done, and now we'll put some color to your pretty lips,” Masha muttered.
This time when the older lady moved, Karine couldn’t look away fast enough. Her eyes fell on the reflection staring back. She held her face as still as possible while the pale coral lipstick was being applied to the small bow-shaped mouth that matched the rest of a face full of equally delicate features.
The dark circles she had inevitably woken up with were gone now—hidden away under the magic touch of Masha’s concealer. Her face looked bright and fresh in the mirror, alive again. But Karine knew as well as Masha—it was all a facade.
A mask.
The emptiness she felt inside was clearly reflected in her eyes. Those same ones that Masha called incomparable to the sky and ocean—they were empty.
Big, and blue ...
And empty.
Masha had moved on to her hair now, brushing it gently and over and over again till her limp dark tresses radiated with a bit of natural shine. She pinned it back out of Karine’s face neatly, and then, hooked a finger under Karine’s chin. Turning her head slowly, side to side to admire her work, she said with another smile, “Beautiful, yes? You look beautiful, child.”
Then it was time to go.
She was accustomed to this by now—coming and going when and how she was told. For as far back as she could remember, Karine was transported from one location to the next, herded along like cattle without an explanation. The reason, she was told, being that her place wasn’t to know things, but to do them.
Things she was told, of course.
Not things she wanted to do.
She had always simply accepted it as part of her life. What it meant to be a Yazov girl—the forgotten daughter of a mere man made into a king.
A very cold king.
Besides, there was nobody she could pose a question to. Masha certainly wouldn’t have the answers.
They stepped out of her bedroom together into what was an attached living area to her section of rooms. This wing of the Yazov mansion was just hers, an ecosystem for Masha and Karine to live in together, surrounded by a handful of housekeepers and the men who kept watch from a respectable distance as to not intrude more than they needed to.
It wasn’t like they worried about her running.
Who would she run to?
On the table near the kitchen counter, where Karine usually had her meals, she spotted some drawings strewn everywhere. She didn’t recognize them and stopped to look. At first they appeared to be violent scribbles, like something a child would draw if given some crayons and color pencils to go wild with.
“Where did these come from?” Karine asked, her hand trembling from the after-effects of too much alcohol and mixed medications, as she held the drawings closer. “Isn’t that ...”
Vaguely, she recognized the hastily drawn faces of the people on the page—the rage twisting expressions dark between the men made her blink to take in the image again. On one of the drawings, the name Katee had been written on the top-right corner like a signature—the signature of a child if the loopy writing could be trusted.
Katee.
Masha was at her side before she could ask again, already plucking the drawings from her hand and pulling her away from the table toward the door. “Your father is waiting—today isn’t the day to be late, Karine.”
She spoke sweetly.
The words said it all, though.
Masha acted like nothing was amiss.
Nothing new to see.
Karine glanced back at the trashcan where Masha stuffed the drawings as they passed. “But—”
“Your eyes look a little cloudy,” Masha interjected, bringing her attention right back in an instant.
Weren’t eyes supposed to be the windows to the soul? Did the emptiness in hers mean she didn’t have one of those left, either?
“Maybe I can help with that—something to perk you up before you start your day?”
Even though there was a part of Karine that wondered what the rest of her day would look like if she didn’t take the pill—the present, more prevalent part of her instinctively brightened at the possibility of Prozac. One of her caretaker’s favorite medications to keep on hand because Karine preferred it in the daytime.
Masha made one appear seemingly out of nowhere, offering it without a second thought. Karine popped one in her mouth and gulped it back dry, enjoying the chalky bitterness it brought to the back of her tongue.
It really shouldn’t be mixed with liquor.
Or a hangover.
And yet ...
Karine had never once questioned where the medication came from or how it was available in such great quantity seeing as how Masha never ran out.
Why did it have to matter?
Life was better this way.
Easier.
The world owed her it.
At the very least.
By the time Masha led Karine out of the mansion’s wing and down
the long corridor leading to the doors that separated into her father’s living quarters, her mind was already lighter; breathing wasn’t such a burden.
Prozac was good for that.
• • •
Standing in her father’s massive kitchen—a space she was sure he had never once put to use to make a meal—Karine understood why Masha had gone to such an effort to dress and try to make her look presentable. She tried not to be bitter about said reason.
That was easier said than done.
Dima’s voice droned on, too loud—and way too close—in her ears while he spoke on the phone. He hadn’t got off the call even when she walked in with Masha, acknowledging her with merely a grunt under his breath and a nod of his square chin.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, clueless about how he wanted her to act while he proceeded to ignore her at the same time. Although, it wasn’t anything new for the two.
“Here, eat something, you’ll feel better.”
Masha to the rescue.
As per usual.
She had a plate with a cream cheese bagel ready, holding it out for Karine to take whether she wanted it or not. Karine had to do everything in her power not to go running out of the room—even the growling of her stomach that belied her disinterest in the food wasn’t enough to quell the urge.
To be anywhere but there ...
Away from the man she was supposed to marry.
Yeah.
Dima Kuznetsov was her fiancé. A decision delivered upon Karine with little fanfare, and a total expectation of compliance.
“Well, get the motherfucker on the phone, then, yeah? Let me hear him say it,” Dima growled into the phone, making Karine’s skin crawl. It was his voice, and the way he spoke that did it, but most importantly—the words he used. He enjoyed the vicious way his words could terrify people, including her sometimes. Then, he let out a dark laugh that sent shivers racing down her spine when he muttered, “He won’t, though. He knows I’ll have his balls cut off, and shoved down his throat first.”
At least, one good thing was coming from Dima’s distraction with his phone call. Two things, actually. He didn’t care to pay attention to her, for one. And for two, the passing seconds gave her cloudy mind the chance to remember what she was doing here, and why Masha had been asked to deliver her on time.