Page 20 of Hostage with Benefits'

The matter-of-fact way she said it, as if adopting a hostage was perfectly normal.

“I never can have children,” Galina continued. “You can be my daughter, I help you.”

I blinked rapidly, fighting the ridiculous urge to cry. “That’s… very kind of you. But it’s not how that works.”

“Who says? Now tell me what foods your mother made for you. I will cook them for you. Make you feel better.”

“Actually, my mom was a terrible cook,” I admitted.

Galina recoiled in horror. “This explains everything! No mother’s cooking, no husband. I fix both problems now.”

“I don’t think those things are related?—”

“Of course they are! A man wants a woman who knows how to cook good food. It’s biological.”

“I’m pretty sure Mikhail didn’t kidnap me for my cooking.”

After lunch, Irina came into the kitchen and offered to show me around parts of the house I hadn't seen yet. Whether this was part of the matchmaking campaign Mikhail’s staff were all a part of or just boredom on her part, I wasn't sure, but I welcomed the distraction.

The mansion was even larger than I'd realized, with wings and rooms that seemed to go on forever. We passed a library filled with books in both Russian and English, a music room with a grand piano, and what appeared to be a small home theater.

“Mr. Volkov loves films,” Irina explained as we peeked inside.

“Really? He doesn't seem like the type.”

“Many things about him would surprise you.”

Then we ended up in a room filled with security monitors showing feeds from cameras throughout the property. I spotted the entrance gate, the perimeter fence, various hallways, and rooms, including my bedroom.

Heat rushed to my face as I realized the implications. “You mean everyone has been watching?—”

“No, no!” she assured me quickly. “Only Mr. Volkov has the password for recordings. No one watches here all the time. But…” She shrugged. “The walls are not so thick. The security team makes bets.”

“Bets on what?” I asked, though I was afraid I already knew.

“How many times he makes you—” She made a crude gesture.

I was contemplating the logistics of drowning myself in the nearest toilet when a commotion from the front of the house interrupted my mortification.

Irina and I exchanged glances before hurrying toward the entrance hall. Mikhail stood just inside the door, looking annoyed as Dmitri and another security guard hovered around him. Blood stained the left sleeve of his white shirt.

“It’s nothing,” Mikhail was saying as we approached. “A scratch.”

“You need a doctor,” Galina declared, appearing from the kitchen with a first aid kit the size of a small suitcase.

“I need everyone to stop fussing,” Mikhail snapped, though he winced when Dmitri accidentally brushed against his arm.

His gaze landed on me, taking in my concerned expression. For a moment, everyone else in the room seemed to fade away.

Then Galina stepped between us, breaking the moment. “Miss Petrova will help. Everyone else, out.”

“I will?” I asked.

“Boss will behave better for you,” she said with absolute certainty. “Men are always brave for pretty women.”

Before I could protest, the staff had dispersed, leaving me alone with Mikhail and the first aid kit.

“Need something, boss?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

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