Chapter 51: Barbeque night
Isabella woke up to the sound of soft, steady knocking on her bedroom door.
She opened her eyes to the same deep, familiar dark.
For a fleeting second, her mind scrambled to figure out where she was, until the faint smell of flowers and the plush feel of the heavy blanket settled her back into reality.
Aaron had carried her up here much earlier, she’d met Freya and then Aaron came to check in on her again.
Before he left the second time, he made sure she was in bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders, and tucked her in like she was a goddamn toddler.
She pushed herself up, rubbing her eyelids. "Come in?"
The heavy door opened, and energetic, light footsteps bounded into the room.
"Hey! You’re finally awake!" Finn’s bright voice bounced off the high ceiling. "Mishka said I wasn’t allowed to kick the door down, so I had to knock like a normal person. It’s almost seven. You slept for three hours."
Isabella blinked, her jaw dropping slightly. "Three hours? Wow... I really slept that long?"
"Yeah, you were out cold," Finn said cheerfully. She could hear him shifting his weight from foot to foot near the edge of the rug, practically vibrating with energy.
"Mishka sent me to get you. Dinner’s starting outside on the terrace. We’re having a barbecue!"
"A barbecue?" Isabella asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet sank into the thick rug. "Is it a special occasion?"
"Nope. We always do a huge grill night whenever Mishka gets back from a long trip,"
Finn explained proudly. He took a couple of quick steps closer, then stopped himself, remembering his manners.
"Uh, do you need help getting your coat? It gets a little chilly out by the trees when the sun goes down."
"Yes, please," Isabella said, pointing vaguely toward the armoire near the wall. "It should be in the closet."
Finn darted over, his shoes squeaking lightly on the floorboards. He pulled out a soft, oversized knit cardigan and brought it over to her.
He held it open so she could slide her arms into the sleeves, doing it with such careful, earnest concentration that Isabella couldn’t help but smile.
"There you go," Finn said softly. His voice suddenly got a little tight, and Isabella heard him clear his throat nervously.
"Um... if you want, you can hold my arm. The hallway has a couple of small steps near the terrace door."
Isabella smiled warmly, reaching her hand out into the space between them. "I’d appreciate that, Finn. Thank you."
Finn sniffed himself to make sure he wasn’t reeking of sweat before he gently took her hand, placing her fingers against the sleeve of his hoodie.
He was breathing a little fast, his young face flushing bright red, though Isabella couldn’t see it.
He guided her out into the corridor with the absolute utmost care, taking short, measured steps so she wouldn’t stumble.
"So," Isabella teased softly as they walked down the hall, enjoying the boy’s earnest effort. "Are you always this much of a gentleman, Finn?"
Finn let out a squeaky, embarrassed laugh, his grip on her sleeve twitching. "I try! I mean, Mishka said if I let you trip over anything, he’d make me scrub the dog kennels for a month."
Isabella chuckled, her heart warming at the boy’s golden-retriever energy. She thought about asking him more about how he and Freya came to live with Aaron, what their actual connection to the scary Russian boss was but she held her tongue.
It felt too heavy for a calm evening, and she didn’t want to make the poor boy uncomfortable when he was trying so hard to be a good host. ’The time will come,’ she told herself. ’I’ll ask when it feels right.’
They stepped out through a pair of wide glass doors and onto the covered stone terrace.
The air hit her face first, a cool, pleasant evening breeze carrying the rich scent of pine needles, damp earth, and the mouth-watering smell of sizzling meat and hickory smoke.
In the background, the soft rustle of leaves mixed with the gentle splash of a nearby stone fountain.
Someone had a radio playing low, soft acoustic music down near the garden path.
"We’re here!" Finn announced loudly, letting go of her arm to run ahead. "Mishka! Is the meat done yet? I’m starving!"
Isabella stood near the threshold, adjusting to the sudden change in temperature.
A few feet away, Pyotr’s raspy, tired voice called out over the sound of crackling coals.
"Calm down, kid. The man just laid the steaks on the grill five minutes ago."
Isabella listened, her mind trying to paint the picture.
Aaron was standing over a wide, custom-built brick grill built right into the terrace wall.
He had changed into a more casual outfit of a sweatshirt and sweatpants, rolling the sleeves of the sweatshirt up to his elbows, revealing thick, corded forearms dusted with blonde hair.
He had an apron tied around his waist that read, "Once you put my meat in your mouth, you’re going to want more," and he was holding a pair of heavy-duty metal tongs in one hand.
The flickering orange light from the hot coals cast long shadows across his hard jaw and sharp cheekbones.
He looked nothing like a cold merciless killer right now, instead he looked like an remarkably handsome, incredibly broad man hosting a quiet backyard cookout. The strange contrast was almost dizzying.
Hearing Finn’s announcement, Aaron turned around. His eyes found Isabella immediately. He laid the tongs down on a side tray, wiped his hands on a towel, and walked across the terrace toward her.
"Finn," Aaron said, his voice a low, warning rumble. "Don’t yell at her the moment she steps outside."
"I wasn’t yelling!" Finn protested, though his voice instantly dropped three volume levels as he crept closer to the grill to peek at the sausages.
Aaron took Isabella’s hand, his fingers warm and rough against her palm, and guided her toward a wide, comfortable outdoor armchair cushioned with thick velvet pads. "Sit here."
Isabella sat down, smoothing her skirt. "You’re actually cooking?"
"Of course I am," Aaron said, stepping back toward the grill. "The staff prepped the marinade, but no one touches the fire except me."
"He takes it very seriously," a raspy voice interjected from the lounge sofa nearby.
Isabella turned her head toward the sound.
Pyotr was leaning back with a glass of dark amber liquor in his hand, a half-burnt cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He gave Isabella a lazy, crooked smile. "I’m Pyotr, by the way. I’m Aaron’s full-time nanny. I make sure he doesn’t forget to eat his crusts."
Aaron shot Pyotr a look so cold it could have frozen the hot coals, but Pyotr simply took a slow sip of his drink, completely unfazed.
Isabella laughed softly. "It’s nice to meet you, Pyotr."
"The pleasure is mine, Miss," Pyotr said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
He looked over at Finn, who was currently drooling over a tray of grilled chicken wings. "See? I told you she looks much better in person than on camera."
"I know, right?" Finn agreed instantly, his cheeks flushing pink again as he looked back at Isabella. "She’s super pretty!"
Isabella felt a warm blush creep up her own neck at the sudden wall of compliments. "Oh... thank you, both of you."
Near the grill, two young maids in crisp aprons were quietly setting out large ceramic bowls filled with roasted potatoes, grilled corn, and fresh garden salads.
They moved with extreme care, glancing nervously at Aaron every time they placed a dish down.
Aaron was standing over the fire, turning the heavy cuts of meat with sharp, quick movements.
But his face looked noticeably annoyed. His brows were pulled low, his eyes darting sideways every few seconds to watch the way Pyotr and Finn were hovering around Isabella’s chair.
He was stuck handling the smoke and heat while everyone else got to sit next to her and make her laugh.
The maids, noticing his dark, brooding mood, assumed he was angry about the food preparation and moved even faster, practically trembling as they backed away from the grill.
A soft, heavy body suddenly bumped against Isabella’s knees.
Boyar, the massive dog nudged his giant black nose right into her lap, letting out a long, contented sigh before flopping his front paws straight over her ankles.
"Boyar, move," Aaron commanded from the grill, his tone tight. "She doesn’t want seventy pounds of fur on her feet."
"No, it’s fine!" Isabella said quickly, reaching down to stroke the dog’s thick, soft head. Boyar let out a happy, low grumble, licking her wrist with his giant, wet tongue. "I don’t mind at all. He’s sweet."
Finn immediately seized the opportunity to slide onto the wooden bench right next to her chair. "So, Isabella! What’s America like? Do people really eat burgers for breakfast every day? Is it super loud?"
"Finn," Aaron warned, tossing a charred sausage back onto the rack. "Give her room to breathe."
"I’m just asking questions!" Finn whined playfully. He leaned a little closer to Isabella, looking at her dark, glossy hair hanging over her shoulder. "Hey... can I touch your hair? It looks really soft."
’SLAP.’
Aaron’s hand moved like lightning, his tongs smacking the back of Finn’s reaching fingers before the boy could even get close.
"Ow!" Finn yelped, pulling his hand back and rubbing his knuckles. "Mishka, come on!"
"Keep your hands to yourself," Aaron said flatly, pointing a greasy pair of tongs at the teenager. "Or you’ll be eating plain boiled cabbage for the rest of the week."