23 | Burden of Lies

"SO ARE YOU GOING TO explain the reason behind all of this?" Grace asked from the passenger seat beside me.

We were almost at my family home, and she'd been unusually quiet the whole drive. It was nice to have some time to think uninterrupted by the flux of emotions she usually forced me to feel, but I could see she'd been biting her nails which meant she was probably nervous.

"Behind all of what?" I asked casually. Playing dumb seemed the best bet with Grace at the moment. The last thing I wanted was to terrify her any more than my father would tonight.

She rolled her eyes at me. "You know what."

Damn it.

"You're going to have to be specific."

There was a stretch of silence in which she stared down at her hands. "Forget it," she sighed.

Of course I couldn't fucking forget it now. This woman was driving me insane—literally insane. I never drove other people anywhere; I only ever drove myself. Now here she was only a few inches away from me in my car. Every time she moved even a tiny amount it registered with me. It was really starting to piss me off just how much I couldn't ignore her. I was constantly analysing her, trying to pick up what she was thinking or feeling.

"We're almost there," I said flatly. "Any questions you have you'd better ask them now."

That caught her attention. She glanced out of the window quickly and I felt a little bad that I'd made her panic. Still, she'd have to get used to it if she was going to survive tonight. It was going to be a long, long dinner.

"Your dad, um—"

"Viktor," I filled in for her.

"Right," she nodded, "Viktor randomly turned up to the restaurant where dad and I were eating at precisely the time we were leaving. Why?"

The real answer to this question was complicated, but then so were most things in my life. I wasn't sure of my father's true intentions with Grace. I knew he wasn't going to kill her—he couldn't with me around. As for hurting her, well he wouldn't get very far with that either. My best guess—and I hated guessing—was that he was hoping to scare her. Tell her the truth, or at least more than I'd revealed, and watch as she ran to the police. She'd never get that far, of course.

I settled for a veiled version of the truth, as I so often had to with Grace. I hated keeping things from her, but the duty I carried weighed heavier on my shoulders than the burden of my lies.

"He doesn't trust you," I explained. "My father is a very good judge of character. I suspect he believes that inviting you to our house will allow him to assess how...reliable you are."

Grace's big blue eyes widened slightly. "He thinks I'd tell your secret?"

It was so Grace to be offended by that, rather than worried about the consequences. It concerned me that her priorities were in all the wrong places, that she called it my secret as if what I did was of no importance. As if it didn't involve more crimes than I could count on both hands.

"Yes," I nodded.

"I would never..."

"I know." Again, I wasn't certain how true my reply was. I trusted Grace to an extent, but my trust was hard-earned and she hadn't even heard the half of what I was involved in. If—when—she finally found out, I didn't know how she'd react. She was good, pure, not built for a life like this. She saved people, she didn't kill them. So maybe my father was right to do this. At least then we'd know. And if she failed to keep quiet...

I couldn't save her. Not from myself or anyone else.

"Do you?" Grace prompted. "Do you really know?"

I kept my eyes fixed on the road. Silence would answer for me. "We're here."

Alexei | Grace

I tried not to let Alex's obvious silence worry me. I hadn't earned his trust, so why should he give it? Sure, I'd spent the better part of two years in silence, having not whispered a word of this to anyone. But why should that count for anything?

The Ivanovs' home was just as grand and traditional as I'd imagined. It stood tall and proud at the end of a long, gravel driveway, flanked on either side by pristinely mowed lawns. The grass was a brilliant shade of emerald green; freshly watered, it glistened under the evening sun as though studded with jewels. The ground-keeper (of no doubt there was one, if not several) also had a penchant for topiary; sculpted trees and shrubs stretched elegantly toward the bright sky.

But none of that—although it was grand—caught and held my attention. Instead, my eyes were swept up by the perfect symmetry of the building and its many windows, each immaculately clean and evenly spaced. The brickwork was light and sandy, so as to make the overall structure even more inviting, though it seemed impossibly huge.

I found it hard to believe anyone lived in such a place. I didn't know how big Alexei's family was—how many people those walls contained—but surely the number was not so high as to occupy the manor fully. That left a lot of room for empty space. Lonely space. Quiet space.

Somehow, although the beauty of the house struck me, I couldn't help but shudder as I stared up at it in awe.

"It's beautiful, in a lonely sort of way."

Alexei rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car, but I didn't fail to catch the faint smirk that played on his mouth as he opened my door for me.

"I can't believe your family actually lives here."

"Most of them don't," he said, guiding my shoulders as I stepped onto the gravel unsteadily. "Petrov and Natalia have their own house in Kensington, and Leo is at Uni more often than not."

"Right."

"Plus Viktor has at least a hundred beds he sleeps in on the regular."

I didn't miss the bitter implication of those words, though I chose not to question them. I simply nodded and pretended to know who all of those people were.

Although the sun was only just beginning to set, the blue of the sky had an inky, rich tone to it, and the air around us was coming in chill. I shivered lightly, looking up at the crescent moon hung silently above us.

"Here." Alex leaned into the car and retrieved a black cardigan which he draped around my bare shoulders. I was surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and he must have noticed it in my expression because he quickly explained, "Mama would castrate me herself if she thought I wasn't being a gentleman."

"So you're a mummy's boy?" I teased.

"We should get inside."

Alexei gently pulled my shoulders closer to his body as we closed the remaining distance to the house. It was a small gesture, hardly noticeable except for the fact that I couldn't not be aware of Alex. The way he kept his eyes trained on my feet, ready to steady me if I stumbled in my heels, the way he matched his steps to my own, all of it registered with me.

"Are you nervous?" We'd reached the huge oak front door but neither of us moved to open it.

"A little," I admitted. "Are you?"

Alex kept his eyes fixed ahead as he answered.

"Terrified."

I didn't have time to fix the lump in my throat before the front door was being opened by one of the most elegant women I'd ever set eyes on. I immediately recognised her as Alexei's mother, not by her eyes, surprisingly, but by her mouth. I'd only seen Alex's smile a handful of times, and I was sure I'd never forget it. Now I could see it echoed by his mother's fuchsia lips, emphasised by a parenthesis of laugh-lines.

"Alexei," the woman greeted in a soft but firm voice, drawing her son into her arms. I could tell that this embrace was the first the two had shared in a while; it was a little too tight, lasted a little too long. I could see Alex's mother's eyes fall closed with glee, her petite shoulders relaxed with relief.

Alexei himself looked as stiff as ever as the two pulled away at last. I got the impression personal gestures of affection were a struggle for him.

"Mama," he introduced with a smile that didn't quite touch his dark eyes, "this is—"

"Grace." She finished my name before Alex could, her ice blue gaze finally turning in my direction.

"Pleased to meet you," I smiled.

Alexei's arm snaked around my waist and I forced myself not to react under the scrutiny of his mother as she watched us quietly.

"Grace, this is my mother, Kristina."

Kristina was perhaps the most intimidating woman I'd ever encountered. Not because she scowled, or frowned, or was in any way unwelcoming. Instead, my fear stemmed from the complete composure she seemed to exude; I couldn't read one way or another what she was thinking.

She was petite in the extreme, a tiny frame accentuated by delicate clothing. She wore black cigarette trousers and a cream blouse with a fur cardigan draped across the elegant line of her shoulders. Her hair was light blonde—almost white—scraped back into a low bun at the nape of her thin neck. Everything about Kristina seemed fragile. And yet, in her eyes, I detected a hardness her body couldn't convey—I saw in her stance, her expression, heard in her voice, the sort of power I could only dream of portraying.

Then she drew me into a hug.

"I am so pleased to meet you, Grace." Kristina kissed each of my cheeks and then held me at arms length. Her hard eyes seemed to have softened, yielding a genuine and open expression on her face. "It has been so long since Alexei has shown any sort of interest in..."

"Mama."

Even I could hear the warning in Alex's tone. His fingers tightened around my waist involuntarily and I fought to suppress the sharp breath that almost left my lips.

"Yes, you're quite right, darling." Finally Kristina withdrew from her hold on me. "You've only just arrived, you must be starving. Come, meet our family before dinner is served."

"I can introduce her," Alex said pointedly.

Pausing as she walked away from us, Kristina turned suddenly and her icy eyes sharpened as her voice took on a harder edge. "See that you do."

With his mother gone, Alexei seemed to relax somewhat. His arm retracted from my waist and instead hovered loosely against my lower back, guiding me through the beautiful house.

"I like your mum," I commented as we ambled along.

Alex was probably irritated by my slow pace but I couldn't resist the urge to gawk at such a magnificent building. I'd already counted three crystal chandeliers, two classical painted ceilings depicting some sort of Biblical scene and three gold-framed canvasses of artwork probably by some famous master. The whole manor felt like a museum or art gallery; filled with priceless objects I should never be allowed to touch.

"Mama is a strong woman when she wants to be."

"I got that impression."

"But she's good. Kind. She isn't Viktor."

Part of me was desperately curious about the relationship Alexei and his father shared. A current of offensive bitterness underwrote everything said about or between the two men in relation to one another. It was the sort of pervasive bitterness that couldn't be ignored. Not forever—but perhaps for now.

The long corridor down which we walked seemed to stretch on endlessly; it spanned the length of the left wing of the house, with high, arched windows on the left overlooking the front lawns, and various closed doors along the opposite side. I was surprised to see that no family portraits graced the walls.

"Are there many other family members here?" I wondered.

We were slowing now as we drew closer to the end of the corridor. A large oak door stood ajar in the distance, with a hum of voices escaping through it. The nerves in my stomach began stirring as we approached.

Alexei seemed to notice my suddenly hesitant steps as he too slowed down, matching his pace to mine. "My brothers are here," he said, "and their partners. No extended family today."

"Okay," I breathed a lot more confidently than I felt.

He reached for the door, pressing his spare hand firmly to the small of my back as he leaned closer. "Don't worry. I'm right here."

Through the door was the Ivanovs' insanely large kitchen. In most homes family gatherings would be an impossibility in the kitchen, but the sheer size of the room meant it could easily have accommodated ten people.

Immediately I recognised Alexei's mother stirring a large pan at the other end of the kitchen, but the other two faces in the room—belonging to a man and a woman—were alien to me.

"Alexei turning up to a family dinner?" The unknown man said with a smirk.

I could tell as soon as he glanced up that he was Alex's brother. They shared the same dark eyes, cold and granite-like, and the same heavy brows that crinkled ever so slightly even when relaxed.

"Don't get used to it," Alex countered, dodging a playful shoulder-punch. Straightening up, he held an arm out gesturing for me to step further into the room. "Grace," he said, "this is my older brother—"

"—older and better—"

"—Petrov," Alexei finished. "Pet, this is my...newest employee...Grace."

Petrov took a confident step forward and held his hand out to me, "pleased to meet you, Grace." He shook my hand firmly and I could tell from his aura alone that he was the eldest sibling. His composed and collected demeanour even managed to surpass that of Alexei, somehow. "I hope my little brother has been treating you well."

"Pet," a chiding feminine voice broke into the conversation, "don't embarrass Alex."

Petrov's smirk turned into a genuine smile. "Grace, this is Natalia, my wife."

Surprise rose in my chest when he said wife but I managed to mask it behind a serene smile.

It wasn't until Natalia closed the fridge door—retrieving a bowl of tomatoes for Kristina—that I finally got a good look at her.

Petite in the extreme, she looked like she could be on the cover of a glossy magazine, with silky chestnut hair and sharp cheekbones decorated by a smattering of freckles. Her almond eyes were warm and kind, her lips plump yet poised. At a first glance, Natalia was exactly the sort of woman that other women often aspired to be.

But none of that was what drew my attention more keenly to her. Instead, it was her tiny, delicate hands and where they rested: folded neatly on top of a baby-bump.

The silky, accented tones of Natalia's voice recaptured my attention from her maternity. "It's wonderful to meet you," she said genuinely—although with a detectable hint of hesitance. For a moment it seemed as though she would say something more, but the shrill ring of a phone interrupted. "Please excuse me," Natalia apologised, bringing the device to her ear and swiftly exiting the kitchen speaking rapid Russian.

My eyes slid to Alex questioningly. "She's co-editor of Vogue Russia," he explained quietly.

When my jaw felt slack he shot me a glance as if to say I know.

"Where on earth is your brother?!" Kristina slammed a pan lid down on the counter with enough force to make me jump—although Alex and Petrov didn't flinch.

"Leo will be late, ma, just like he always is."

"No doubt with that girlfriend of his—"

Alex and Petrov shot a knowing glance at each other and barely managed to contain their smirks. I made a mental note to ask about their amusement later, when I would hopefully have Alexei to myself for a little while.

Petrov opened the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of Heineken. "Is Viktor home?" he asked.

Kristina's hand, which had been stirring a delicious smelling sauce, hesitated. "Not yet," she said.

Her voice had hardened with a note of tension.

Petrov took a second bottle out of the fridge and offered it to Alexei, who shook his head. His eyes were still fixed on Kristina. For some reason, he seemed on edge. "He will be joining us though, yes?"

"Yes."

Alex nodded and moved a little closer to me. I could see him watching me out of the corner of his eye every time someone spoke. If I hadn't known any better, I might have said he was concerned for me.

However, I did know better. I knew that my job was just a job, offered to me on the basis of necessity rather than preference. To Alex I was just an employee, and he just a boss to me. A boss who had allowed me to attend a family dinner...on his father's request.

Natalia entered the kitchen just as Petrov finished pouring out his beer. She breezed into the room like a model on a runway—albeit a heavily pregnant model—and slid into a chair. "The photographer for our front page piece this month has just pulled out," she explained almost without taking a breath, or moving her mouth. "Personal reasons—that's always the excuse—but everybody knows he's been having an affair with the PA to the editor of Glamour." Natalia rolled her beautiful, dark eyes as she poured herself a glass of water into a wine glass. "I'm going to have to fly out to Moscow tomorrow morning to fix a new photographer and model in time for Tuesday."

I fought the urge to make a snide comment about how hard her life must be.

Petrov, however, had adopted a concerned expression. "Nat," he began, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, hands resting atop the baby-bump, "you know what the doctor said about stress."

Natalia's nose crinkled with frustration. "I know," she said. "But this is really important, if I don't fix this mess then—"

"Nat."

"—my whole career could fall apart, everything I've worked for all this time—"

"Natalia, please, I can't go through the same thing as last time, I can't do that again..." Petrov's voice had become noticeably strained and I could see the pain written across both of their faces. I suddenly got the impression that I was observing an entirely private and personal conversation.

Alexei must have thought so too. "Let's go through to the dining room, Grace," he said. "Everyone will be here soon."

Everyone. Leonid, Bethany...

Viktor.

Head swimming with unanswered questions, I followed Alexei into what suddenly felt like the mouth of hell.

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