Page 81 of Beauty and the Assassin
With a small sigh, Tolyan hands me the towel. It smells of fresh detergent. I dry myself and wrap it around my body. “Um. You don’t happen to know where Lyosha is, do you?”
“My guess is he’s watching TV or checking his phone.” He puts a finger under my chin and tilts it up. “Don’t let the boy disrespect you. He’s my son, not our boss.”
Easy for him to say because it’s his son, and it’s obvious Tolyan’s in charge. I’m in a sort of weird position because I’m here under his protection and now we’re sleeping together, but does that officially make me his girlfriend? We didn’t get a chance to talk about anything, and now Lyosha’s here. Still, I give Tolyan a small smile, since that’s what he’s expecting right now, and I don’t want to have the “where are we going from here?” conversation with his son waiting outside. “Okay.”
“Good.”
Tolyan steps into the stall. I dash out, then look for my clothes. Tolyan’s bedroom’s huge and painted in a pale sage green. The wooden floor is spotless, except for our clothes flung all over. I put on my bra, then the rest of my clothes minus the panties. I shove them into my pocket, then pick up his clothes and lay them over the back of an armchair in front of the gas fireplace. Not that I noticed last night, but this room doesn’t have anything personal, either. No photos. Just one large contemporary painting with a vast white background and a small splatter of bright scarlet in the upper-left corner that reminds me of blood. The bed’s a four-poster, carved out of dark cherry, and the sheets are the color of the Caribbean in a sunny summer.
I don’t see anything that looks like a hiding place for weapons. But of course a hiding place wouldn’t be obvious. This room probably has its own separate armory or something.
I look at the damp towel. Normally I’d put it back, but Tolyan’s in the shower. I don’t want to leave it on the floor, but I don’t want to put it on upholstery.
Just take it to your room and put it in the laundry.
The second I step outside, Stravinsky comes over and whines, his gaze absolutely forlorn. I run my hand over his smooth head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“He’s begging for a treat.”
I almost jump. Lyosha’s watching me, left shoulder against the wall and a hand on his right hip. The posture says he’s too cool for any school.
His eyebrows quirk. He knows he startled me, and from the small smile curving his lips, he’s enjoying having me off balance.
So much for him watching TV or checking his phone.
“Don’t give him anything,” he says. “I already gave him two biscuits.”
“How about Mussorgsky and Tchaikovsky?”
Surprise flickers in his gaze. “Dad introduced you to the pack, huh?” It’s more of a statement than a question. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about them.”
I nod, still uncertain how to treat him. Tolyan said he was forty, and Lyosha’s a freshman. I’m closer to Lyosha’s age than Tolyan’s.
Awkward.
I wish I could go back to my room and change into something else. But Lyosha isn’t moving.
Instead, he looks me over with a thoroughness that reminds me of Tolyan. “So. When did you move in?”
“Um…” I blink. Lyosha isn?
?t hostile, but he doesn’t exactly seem friendly, either. It’s like he’s trying to figure out how to react to my presence and what I’m really doing here. He might’ve decided I’m too young for his dad. Or that I’m trying to score myself a sugar daddy.
Since I can’t tell him the whole truth, including the fact that I’m pretty certain his dad murdered somebody even though everyone thinks it was a suicide, I keep my mouth shut.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t. Nobody just visits in pants like that.” He jerks his chin at my lounging pants.
Guess I should stick to the truth as much as possible and hope for the best. Now I wished Tolyan hadn’t limited himself to giving me pointers on what to do in case of a home invasion. What’s the protocol when I’m facing his son? “Yeah. Um, like five, six weeks ago.”
Lyosha frowns a little. “And he didn’t say a word…”
“Well… You’re his son, not his boss.” I echo what Tolyan told me earlier.
His frown only deepens. “So? I’m one of the Four.”
“The four what?”
