by Lucy Ellis
But she couldn’t help murmuring, ‘You want to see other people?’
‘Maybe you need a job,’ he said instead. ‘You need a life of your own.’
It hurt. ‘I have a job. I look after Kostya. I have a life.’
‘For how long?’ He turned his head and she was shocked by the tension bracketed around his mouth and eyes. He looked older, tired.
‘I think that rather depends on you.’ There—she’d said it.
‘If I had my way we’d never leave this bed.’
But his expression didn’t soften and he was done talking. She knew there would be no revelations tonight. She knew she should push, but his words were pounding in her head: we can’t keep this up; we need to be with other people; you need a life of your own. And it all contained the same message: you’re not enough any more.
‘Can we go to sleep?’ She voiced the last thing she wanted to do.
He stretched across and the light went out. Maisy waited for him to reach for her, but he didn’t. He remained upright, sitting still and silent in the dark.
Rolling over, making herself as small and unobtrusive as possible, she stared into a bleak future without him and she too didn’t sleep.
‘There’s a boatload of people turning up at noon. I thought I’d put them on the yacht instead of dragging them through here, but there’s a small group who will be staying overnight. Do you think you can handle that?’
Alexei delivered this with the unconcern of a man who issued orders on a daily basis. It was just he had never issued an order to her, and Maisy didn’t quite know how to react.
He looked amazing this morning, in an olive-green polo shirt and tailored chinos, freshly shaven and no doubt smelling of tangy aftershave and male skin, but Maisy didn’t know because he hadn’t so much as bussed her cheek since their early-morning discussion.
Now he was springing this on her. People were coming? He hadn’t said a word.
‘I’m usually quite good with people,’ she ventured. They were eating breakfast in the dining room. Maisy never felt entirely comfortable, perched at the end of the long table. Alexei’s place was set beside hers, but he had managed to set his chair back and Maisy didn’t feel their usual morning connection, when he sat so close she could hook her foot around his ankle and rub up his calf. She wasn’t rubbing anything this morning.
‘I know. I’ve seen you in action. The staff love you.’ He sipped his espresso as if it held his attention. But Maisy wasn’t fooled. His highwire brain was on the job. ‘However, after today it’ll be official. People will want to know who you are.’ He turned his head slowly, fixed her with those blue eyes. ‘What do I tell them?’
I’m your girlfriend, Maisy wanted to scream at him. I love you. I’ve loved you for every minute of every hour of every day since I laid eyes on those handmade Italian shoes. You’re everything to me. You bring the day and you hang the moon, you stupid idiot.
‘Tell them I’m Maisy Edmonds and I look after Kostya,’ she said, kicking back her chair, feeling furious with him and sick to death of herself. ‘And that when I’m done supervising his meals and making sure he gets enough sleep, I look after you.’
She made to stalk off, and it would have been a great exit, but he reached out and leashed her wrist, dragging her onto his lap. She sat stiff and affronted, refusing to look at him.
‘I’ll send a car for you at one. Carlo will come with you on the launch.’
‘I hate Carlo,’ she said with a passion, not sure why she’d chosen now to tell him.
‘What has he done?’ Alexei’s gaze sharpened on her.
‘He’s a pig. He thinks you’ve bought me. Ever since you gave me those stupid cards and that smart phone.’
‘I’ve never seen you use it once.’
‘I put it in a drawer. I don’t need it,’ she dismissed, annoyed they were talking about gadgets instead of what mattered: her and him, and where they stood. ‘I don’t need any of it.’
‘The money is there for you to spend, dushka. I want you to enjoy yourself.’
Maisy sighed heavily. He was never going to understand how she felt. ‘I’ve told you, Alexei, I don’t want your stupid money.’
He’d given her a bank account, but he’d never so much as given her a bunch of flowers. Everything was rising to the surface today, and now she had to face a host of strangers, and be introduced as what? Alexei’s latest accessory?
‘Can you be ready at one?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
He stroked the curve of her jaw, encouraging her to look at him.
‘I think I told you once before, dushka, you always have choices. You made one when you decided to be with me, and now I need you to abide by your choice a little longer.’ He dislodged her from his lap. ‘Off you go. And I’ve organised a little help for your dress.’
Maisy puzzled over this enigmatic statement until midmorning, when a stylist arrived at the house. She was sorting out Kostya’s washing when Maria let her know over the intercom, and she came down in jeans and a stained T-shirt, her hair pulled back in an elastic band.
The woman had clearly been paid a good deal of money, because she barely raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, but Maisy was whisked upstairs immediately. Apparently two hours was going to be pushing it to get her ready.
It was gruelling. She was plucked, waxed, polished, made up, brushed, stripped, and dipped into a hot pink silk and chiffon dress that fell from spaghetti straps from her shoulders, skimmed her breasts and flounced over her knees. She stepped into silver sandals. Her hair was elaborately plaited and pinned, tendrils artfully brimming around her made-up face. Her eyes looked like mysterious pools with all the kohl, and her mouth was as fresh as a pink rose.
Maisy could categorically say she had never felt beautiful in her life.
And she felt beautiful now.
‘Bellissima,’ murmured the stylist’s assistant.
Maisy blinked rapidly. Tears were going to ruin the effect of her eyes.
‘I’ve never had a client cry before,’ said the stylist, gently dabbing Maisy’s lashes.
Except she wasn’t emotional about the dress, the make-up, the look; she was thinking that if Alexei saw her looking like this he might keep her a little longer, that she might stand a chance against his lifetime ingrained habit of treating women like expensive toys.
She didn’t want to end up like her smart phone. In a drawer, out of sight, out of mind. Redundant to needs and circumstances.
Maisy stayed below deck to protect her hair from the wind during the high speed trip in the motor launch to the floating palace that was called Firebird.
It was her first visit to the yacht, although Alexei had pointed it out to her with binoculars. He had casually commented he used it mainly for entertaining, and as he hadn’t been entertaining anyone but her there had been no need to go there.
Clearly her entertainment value was on the wane.
There was something about seeing the sleek lines of the yacht and experiencing its vast size up close that had Maisy once more thinking about what this opulence must do to someone’s sense of self. Yet for all his wealth Alexei was remarkably down to earth. It was a big part of why she had fallen in love with him.
The yacht was buzzing with activity. Another tender was arriving as she stepped aboard, and Maisy felt an unexpected flutter of nerves. She was naturally shy, but had worked very hard to practise her social skills, so that she could usually make friends wherever she went. But these people were Alexei’s friends, and that thought sent her over the edge. She needed to pull herself together and remember there was no reason why they wouldn’t like her, that there was nothing out of the ordinary in her situation. In this world mistresses were an expected addition to a successful man. And, although Alexei had never used that word, Maisy now understood he believed it was the only position in his life a woman could occupy.
As she was escorted into the main salon she saw people on the foredeck actively cran
ing their necks to get a glimpse of her. It was an odd sensation, and Maisy wasn’t sure she liked it. The attendant with her knocked briefly on a door, then nodded to Maisy and retreated.
‘Enter.’
Maisy felt very odd, waiting for permission to enter Alexei’s presence. He was applying cufflinks to his suit and he dropped one of them as he looked up and fastened his eyes on her.
She went to pick it up but he caught her hand, raising her up. ‘I want to look at you.’
His approval should have been gratifying, but Maisy was finding it difficult to enjoy it.
‘You look so different,’ he said, his accent thicker than usual.
‘It’s the hair and the make-up,’ she dismissed, trying to make light of it. ‘It’s still me underneath the scaffolding.’ She tried not to seem too eager, but couldn’t help asking, ‘Are you going to kiss me?’
‘Of course.’ He brushed his lips over her cheek.
Disappointed, Maisy tried to justify his coolness. She was wearing lipstick; they were both dressed up; he probably didn’t want to reek of her perfume …
‘You look beautiful,’ she said impulsively, touching his jacket, straightening what was already straight.
‘That’s my line,’ he replied, subtly drawing away.
But it hadn’t been his line. Different had been his line.
‘I’m nervous,’ she blurted out.
‘Don’t be. They’re only people.’
‘They’re your friends.’
‘No, Maisy, for the most part they’re just a crowd. You’ll enjoy yourself. I’d ask you to keep a lid on the Kostya situation, if you would. People are curious, but it’s none of their business.’
The Kostya situation? ‘I don’t quite understand.’
Alexei scooped up the gold cufflink. ‘Simple. I’ll be blunt. Don’t tell people you’re the nanny.’
He gave her a brief taut smile, as if trying to take the edge off his words.
‘No,’ Maisy said quietly, ‘I wouldn’t do that. It would be humiliating for me, considering my circumstances now.’
‘We’re not going to have an argument right now, are we, dushka?’ He was smiling but his eyes were hard. ‘So close to showtime?’
‘No, no argument.’ She focussed on his hands, fumbling with his cuff, and instinctively reached out and took the cufflink from him, fastening it to his sleeve in silence. She could feel him breathing so close to her. She stroked his wrist with her fingertips and his breathing hitched. It was the reassurance she needed. She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his palm. It was then she realised why he had been having so much trouble with the cufflink. His hands were shaking.
Yesterday she would have asked him why. Today she gave him her best smile. ‘No one will notice lipstick on your hand, and if they do—’ her smile faltered only a little ‘—you can tell them it’s just a token of affection from your mistress.’
He didn’t correct her.
CHAPTER TEN
MAISY had felt overdressed as she was sped towards the yacht. Now, amidst so much luxury and Alexei’s guests, she was glad of her clothes and hair and insubstantial sandals. Some of these women were utterly breathtaking. The men were all cool and sharp and controlled. She recognised the type. She had been living with a prince of the blood for several weeks.
She desperately wanted to cling on to Alexei’s hand when she came out into the sunshine on his arm, but she knew deep down any sign of vulnerability would bring her closer to the edge of their relationship. She really didn’t want to fall today. Not in front of all these people.
Yet her fragility threatened to undermine her with every step. The heels on her sandals clicked on the teak decking, the silken underskirt of her dress flowed over her hips and thighs like cool water, yet her skin felt hot and tight and her throat ached from everything she was holding inside her.
Alexei had completely metamorphosed into a cool stranger and she was out of her depth. They were back to where they had been at midnight on that strange night weeks ago in London. It was as if all that had happened between them had been a feverish dream and at any moment he was going to look down at her and demand to know who in the hell she was.
It shocked her when he suddenly sped up, let go of her hand, and crashed into a bear hug with another man. It was genuine. As was his greeting to another equally imposing man. The women with them flashed smiles and a lot of jewellery, and kissed him joyfully in the European fashion.
Maisy tried not to gape. They all spoke in Russian at once, and as the seconds ticked by she felt more and more excluded, although they were all darting looks at her, waiting for Alexei to introduce her. If she had felt more confident she would have enjoyed his clear enthusiasm in the moment, but instead it only underlined how differently he was treating her.
‘Hello,’ she said abruptly to the woman standing closest to her. ‘I’m Maisy.’
‘Stefania,’ said the girl, beaming at her, then darting a look at Alexei.
‘Maisy, this is Valery and Ivanka Abramov, and Stiva and Stefania Lieven. Maisy Edmonds.’
‘Alexei has told us absolutely nothing about you,’ said Stiva, giving Alexei a curious look.
‘Well, I’m sure we can get to know her now,’ interposed the brunette Ivanka.
She gave Maisy a wink, and instantly some of the tension in Maisy’s shoulders eased.
‘Your dress is gorgeous,’ Stefania joined in. ‘Who designed it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Maisy said, darting a nervous look towards Alexei. ‘Sorry.’
She could have kicked herself. She sounded like a complete moron. But the other girls were chattering on about designers, and the two men, although speaking to Alexei, kept glancing her way with reassuring smiles, helping her feel welcomed to their inner circle.
She appreciated their effort, but everything about these two couples screamed ‘married’ and it only made her feel more isolated. Not to mention the fact Stefania kept being roped back into Stiva’s arms, giggling and blushing. Anyone with eyes in their head could see they were in love. And, whilst Ivanka was more circumspect, there was an easy quality between her and Valery. All she and Alexei had was this wall, and she couldn’t see over it, had no idea how to begin scaling it, and doubted it was ever going to come down.
After half an hour Ivanka drifted away to make a phone call regarding her children and Alexei moved Maisy on, although she could see he was reluctant. These were clearly his friends, and the people he had spoken of who would be staying at the house. The rest were the crowd. Yet he made his way dutifully through them and Maisy trailed him. Whenever he smiled at her or touched her it was for public consumption.
He detached himself from her after several introductions, making sure she had a glass of mineral water in her hand, brushing her fingertips with his lips—once more for show, she realised sadly. Fortunately she managed to drift and be drawn into one group or another. Everyone wanted to speak to her. Was she enjoying the Amalfi Coast? Alexei had gone unusually AWOL, and now everyone knew why. And who could blame him? This was a theme with few variations. It embarrassed her and she didn’t know what to say. She was offered champagne and took it. As she was propelled from one knot of people to another there was always another glass.
Then at last she was sitting down by herself, protected from the hot sun by an awning. She felt fuzzy from the champagne she had consumed for Dutch courage. Was it three glasses? Four? She’d lost count. Her glass had never seemed to be empty and she’d just kept sipping. Her shoes pinched and her face hurt from smiling.
‘You must be Maisy.’ A tall, slender woman in an almost transparent white shift was standing over her. Her black hair fell in a faultless waterfall to her shoulders. She was vaguely familiar. ‘We haven’t been introduced. Tara Mills.’
Maisy accepted the hand that was offered.
‘We have Alexei in common,’ she said, sitting down, crossing impossibly long and elegant tanned bare legs. Maisy drew her pale ones in under
her. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
Perhaps another woman would have thrown the contents of her drink in Tara’s perfect face, but Maisy was feeling distinctly generous. So this was the former mistress.
‘I need another drink,’ she replied instead, looking around.
Tara merely lifted a hand and a waiter arrived with a tray of them. In any other circumstances it would have been funny. Tara and Alexei were perfectly matched. A snap of her fingers and the world came to a halt and then turned on its axis for Tara Mills.
Tara held out her glass and clinked Maisy’s. ‘To our mutual friend.’
‘He may be your friend but he’s not mine,’ she said without thinking.
‘Trouble in paradise?’ Tara placed a slender hand on Maisy’s bare knee, drawing Maisy’s attention to its round curve in comparison to Tara’s bony leg.
‘No.’ Maisy felt driven to deny it and took a deep swallow. The alcohol buzzed through her system and she knew without a doubt the day was going to end badly.
‘You’re to do with the Kulikov baby, aren’t you?’ Tara set down her untouched glass. ‘He was obsessed with rescuing the little thing.’
‘Rescuing?’ Maisy echoed, letting down her guard.
‘Oh, you know what they’re like, the hyped-up brotherhood. As soon as news of Leo’s accident came in they were all lining up to adopt the boy. Alexei won. Alexei always wins, doesn’t he?’
Maisy tried to process this jigsaw of information. Alexei was Kostya’s godfather, but what on earth was the brotherhood?
‘What I’m dying to know—and you’re going to tell me, Maisy—is where you come into the picture. A little bird tells me you were the nanny, but that can’t be right. Alexei’s got too much class to sleep with the nanny.’
‘I don’t know,’ Maisy said fuzzily. ‘He slept with you. His standards must be pretty low.’
Tara didn’t blink. ‘Oh, Maisy, you’re a funny little thing.
Make sure he puts your goodbye package into shares—they’ll last longer.’
Suddenly Maisy was so very glad he had never given her any jewellery. All of that stuff she’d worn she considered on loan. Tara was wearing a single sapphire pendant that hung low between her small high breasts, but all Maisy could see was the diamonds she had seen in the magazine photograph. He had bought Tara. Just as he’d bought this luxury yacht.