Page 4 of Hostage with Benefits'

“A little,” I replied in Russian, the words coming out clumsy. “Not very well.”

Their eyes lit up like I’d just performed a miracle.

“She speaks!” the older woman said in Russian, turning to her colleague. “And she’s pretty too, in that American way. Thin, but we can fix that.”

“Good bones,” the younger woman agreed in Russian. “And smart; you can tell from her eyes.”

“Um, I can understand you,” I said in English. “I might be rusty when speaking, but I understand you.”

They exchanged a look like I’d just passed some test I didn’t know I was taking.

“Good,” the older woman said, switching back to English. “I am Galina. This is Irina. That one—” she jerked her head toward the security guy “—is Dmitri. He does not talk much.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, because apparently my mother’s insistence on politeness had survived even kidnapping. “I’m Natalia.”

“We know,” Irina said while smiling, but her eyes were assessing me; I could tell. “Mr. Volkov told us.”

“Did he also tell youwhyI’m here?” I asked.

Another look between them.

“Yes. You are a guest,” Galina said firmly.

Before I could point out the absurdity of that statement, the door at the far end of the dining room opened, and Mikhail walked in. He stopped short when he saw the setup, his eyes narrowing.

“What is this?” he asked Galina in Russian.

“Dinner,” she replied calmly. “For you and the young lady.”

“I said to send food to her room.”

“It is not proper,” Galina said, unmoved by his glare. “You said she is a guest. Your father would never?—”

“My father is not here,” he cut her off sharply, but his stance softened. “This ismyhome.”

Galina simply stared at him until, with a barely audible sigh, he moved to the chair opposite mine and sat down.

“Leave us,” he told the staff.

Galina and Irina exchanged another one of those looks before departing, Dmitri following silently behind them. But the door to what I assumed was the kitchen remained conspicuously ajar.

“Your staff seems…interesting,” I said.

Mikhail’s jaw tightened. “Galina has been with my family since before I was born. She believes this gives her certain… liberties.”

“Like setting up dinners for hostages?”

Something that might have been amusement flickered in his eyes. “She does not approve of my methods.”

“So she’s trying to, what,civilizethe situation?”

“She is…” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “She is old-fashioned.”

Irina appeared with two bowls of soup, setting them down in front of us before disappearing again.

“Borscht,” Irina had said. “Galina makes the best back home in Moscow. Enjoy.”

I ate a spoonful. It was rich and earthy and better than anything I’d planned to microwave in my apartment.

---