Page 69 of Velvet Chains
I groan, burying my burning face in my hands. “I hate you both.”
“No, you don’t,” Ser sing-songs. She bounces Lucas on her knee, cooing, “Your god-ma Lu Lu loves us, doesn’t she? Yes, she does!”
“Yes, she does!” Lucas parrots, giggling. He makes grabby hands at me, his chubby little face split in a gummy smile.
Despite my embarrassment, I can’t help but melt a little. Scooping him up, I blow a raspberry on his cheek, making him squeal with laughter.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but I’m grinning as I settle him on my lap.
Ser just smirks, taking a sip of her wine. She looks out over the vineyard, her expression turning wistful. “Can’t believe this is really happening. Our little Lu, all grown up and married to a kinky oligarch. It’s like something out of a movie.”
I snort. “More like a horror flick.”
But even as I say it, my traitorous brain conjures up images of last night. The way Victor touched me, possessed me, made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. The ghost of his hands on my skin, his scent clinging to me like a brand…
I whip my head around, eyes darting for any sign of Victor.
Stop looking for him, Laur.
Suddenly, a loud growl shatters the memory. I freeze, my face flaming as I realize it came from my stomach.
“Hungry?” Ser asks innocently.
“Starving,” I mutter. “I could eat a horse. Hell, a whole herd of horses.”
As if on cue, Sergei appears, carrying a huge tray laden with food. The scent of coffee and bacon and something buttery and sweet wafts over to us, making my mouth water.
“Dobroe utro, Madam Morozova,” he greets me with a small bow. “I trust you slept well?”
I practically choke on my own spit. Madam Morozova? Jesus, that makes me sound like some kind of Russian mob wife. Which, I guess, technically, I am.
“Um, yes, thank you,” I stammer.
Sergei just nods, like this is all totally normal. He sets the tray down on the blanket, revealing a spread that wouldn’t look out of place in a gourmet magazine. There’s a carafe of coffee, a pitcher of orange juice, a basket of flaky pastries, and more breakfast meats than I can count.
“This looks amazing,” I breathe, my stomach giving another impatient gurgle. “Thank you so much, Sergei.”
He gives me a small smile. “Master Morozov wanted to ensure you had a proper meal before your journey.”
I freeze with a piece of bacon halfway to my mouth. “Journey?”
“Yes, he’s arranged for the helicopter to take you back to New York this afternoon. After tea, of course.”
Of course. Can’t forget the tea. I bet it’s served in gold-plated cups with little pinky extensions, too.
“Right,” I say faintly. “Silly me.”
Sergei’s smile turns understanding. “Master Morozov apologizes for not being here himself to see you off. Urgent business with Mr. Mikhailov, I’m afraid.”
“I bet,” Serena mutters. She gives me a significant look over the rim of her glass, her eyebrows waggling.
I pointedly ignore her, turning back to Sergei. “Um, that’s fine. I understand. Thanks for letting me know.”
He nods again. “Of course, madam. Please enjoy your breakfast. And let me know if you need anything else.” He gestures to the spread before us. “Master Morozov also requested I open a bottle of the Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru for you. An excellent vintage, one of our finest Pinot Noirs.”
I glance at the liquid in Ser’s glass, my stomach churning. The thought of drinking anything alcoholic right now makes me want to hurl.
“I think I’ll stick with juice for now, thanks,” I say weakly.
