Page 29 of The Bratva's Nanny
I had to add that it was a very impressive library, with tall and fully stacked bookshelves.
The lights were warm, the floor covered with soft black carpet that quietened my footsteps, and two loveseats were in the corner, positioned especially for reading.
The inside smelled of books, new and old. Unsurprisingly, it was dustless and arranged in alphabetical order under different sections. Special thanks to the boss and his OCD.
I walked through the aisle, letting my finger lightly trace the polished shelves as I passed. I’d never been a bookworm, except with the books featuring action. But I did love the feel of books in my hands.
I tilted my head back, glancing through. Corporate, philosophy, and history texts filled more sections than contemporary literature or anything I was used to. I yawned. In the space of a few seconds, my appetite had grown.
No need to go further.
I retraced my steps to the door, turned off the light, and continued my journey back to the kitchen.
The main living areas had an open layout. The living room and dining room were separated by a thick sheet of glass structured from the ceiling, like I only saw in the movies. In the living room, a wide flat-screen TV and quadruple rows of suede couches were arranged.
I gaped in awe.
Yesterday, I’d been too shaken to observe the surroundings, and before now, I could only dream of living in a house with a space fifty times the size of my apartment. And now, here I was, living in that very dream.
I strode into the kitchen, passed the island gleaming with stainless steel and black granite, and went straight to the fridge. I didn’t bother with the light switch.
My belly grumbled.
The fridge lit up, and a cool gust of air brushed my cheeks. I ducked my head lower, scanning for ingredients to prepare a quick meal.
The partial smile on my lips faded. Apples, milk, dried fruits, some other products, more apples…and the list went on.
The fridge, like the rest of the house, was lacking nothing. The pantry was fully stocked; there was more frozen chicken and yogurt than I’d ever seen in my life stored in one place.
But there were no leftovers. Whipping up a quick meal with the available ingredients would take more than a few minutes.
And it’s past midnight.
I eyed the milk carton and grabbed it from the diary compartment. Making a quick meal would have to wait till after dawn. A bowl of Cheerios suddenly didn’t sound so bad for an actual midnight snack.
The partial smile was back up, as I could already taste the rich milk on my tongue. I closed the fridge and turned around.
“Jesus!” I barely had a grasp on the carton when my hand flew to my chest, my breath coming out in ragged puffs. “Dear God. Shit, you scared me.”
His disinterest shouldn’t have surprised me. If “unfazed” was a person, it would be a six-feet-three Russian man with blue eyes and dark hair named Roman Varkov.
He stood there, one hip pressed against the marble counter and toned arms crossed over his chest as he stared me down with a guarded but thoughtful gaze.
“Why?”
Why?
Is he fucking kidding me?
“What do you mean why? You literally appeared out of nowhere.”
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
I wanted to smack that smug look off his face once and for all. My feet moved closer on their own will, and soon, I was standing chest-to-chest with the man I should have been awfully terrified of.
My eyes dipped, and I wished I could release a kick on his arm for giving my heart such a shock.
“No, you weren’t.”