The Don and His Russian Bride

V

Folded clean clothes sat at the corner of my bed when I came out of the connected bathroom, brushing through my damp hair. I exchanged my fluffy white towel for the plain white tee and blue jeans. They fit as perfectly as my wedding dress had, making me wonder again who gave Luciano my measurements.

Once I finished getting dressed, I slowly peeked my head out into the hallway. My mind raced with thoughts of what to say to Luciano if I ran into him. I released a sigh of relief. He was nowhere to be seen.

Practically starving, I ventured into the hallway to begin my search for the kitchen. Though I had arrived last night, Luciano had taken me straight to the bedroom. This left me with no idea where all the rooms of the house were. It would be a blessing if I could even find my way to the front door.

As if the size of the mansion didn't make it hard enough to navigate, all of the hallways looked the same. Every wall had the same decorations of still life portraits and paintings of landscapes. There wasn't a single family photo to tell me about the man I married. It reminded me of the bare walls at my old house with my father. We weren't the family photo type. My mother died when she gave birth to me, and the only photo I owned of her was pocket sized. In the picture, her hands rested on her swollen belly and she faced the camera with a carefree smile.

Once I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I caught the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Unashamed, I lifted my nose to air, believing I could follow the scent to the kitchen like a bloodhound.

After a few wrong turns, I stepped into a room with black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. White cabinets styled the kitchen, giving it a crisp feeling of cleanliness. Over by the fridge, a curvy lady bent over to grab the orange juice.

"Excuse me."

The plastic bottle of orange juice slipped from her hands, landing on the ground with a thud. The woman straightened to meet my gaze. She wore a black chef's jacket and her dark caramel colored hair wound tightly in a neat bun. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you walk in." She bent down again to pick the bottle up from the floor. Examining it for a moment, she found there was a sizable dent in the side.

"It's ok. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. I'm Rina, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you, Katerina. My name is Carlotta. I'm the head chef for Don Luciano. He has told me to prepare whatever you'd like from now on. Do you want breakfast?"

"Please, don't use my full name. I prefer being called Rina," I told her.

"My apologies. What would you like to eat this morning, Rina?"

"Could I have French toast with a side of bacon and eggs?" I asked.

"Of course. You can have a seat in the dining room while you wait." She gestured her arm to a large doorway.

The dining room was even darker than the kitchen that was full of black and white hues. With curtains covering the French doors to outside, the only lighting came from an exquisite chandelier at the center of the room. Under it stood an oval table long enough to seat twenty people and made of rich, dark mahogany.

To further the grandeur of the room, a china cabinet as tall as the ceiling rested against the wall. Not only did the cabinet hold the most elaborate china and the finest glassware I had ever seen, it was a beautiful work of art in itself. If one were to look at it closely, they could see the intricate carvings etched into the wooden frame. I couldn't imagine Luciano being so passionate about dishes that he needed such a prominent display for them. Perhaps the pieces inside were family heirlooms; unless, it was only another way to showcase his affluence.