“You don’t have to be intimidated by anyone, kiska,” Kolya says, just before the manager of the store walks up to us.

“Oh, fucking hell,” I mutter again under my breath.

If the mannequin was a runway model, then this woman is an Amazon queen. She looks like she’s about nine feet tall with her legs making up eighty percent of that height, though I may or may not be slightly exaggerating. Dead-straight platinum blonde hair falls over her shoulders like a frozen waterfall and the skin-tight silver jumpsuit she’s wearing makes every curve in her body look like the greatest thing since sliced bread. She hasn’t even said a word and I’d already be perfectly content to let her spit in my face and ruin my life if that’s what she wanted to do.

“Mr. and Mrs. Uvarov, we’ve been expecting you,” she croons with a bright smile. For God’s sake, even her voice is sexy. Husky and raspy, like Janis Joplin drinking a dry martini.

Unrelated, I feel a shiver of excitement rush up my spine when she refers to me as Mrs. Uvarov. I probably should correct her, but I don’t.

And, I notice, neither does Kolya.

“I’m Delphine. If you would like to make your way through to our private rooms, I can have a selection of pieces brought to you.”

I turn to Kolya in surprise. “They bring the clothes to us?”

I know I must sound like a country bumpkin, but I honestly didn’t even know this was how the other half lived. I’ve been running around picking my own clothes off the rack at stores my whole life. What a peasant I am.

“We will do anything you like, madam,” says Delphine.

“I, uh… I’ll do it the old-fashioned way, I think,” I mumble awkwardly.

Delphine gives me another dazzling smile. “Of course. As you wish. I can have Marcel mark off all the clothes you want to try on.”

“Thank you.”

Kolya and I start walking, and the Marcel in question, another jaw-droppingly attractive employee, wearing a crisp charcoal suit and mahogany loafers the color of dried blood, springs to life and starts trailing behind us. He keeps a respectful distance—but still, it’s weird. All of it.

“Is he going to be following us the entire time?” I whisper to Kolya.

He smirks. “Well, we can’t have you carrying clothes over your arm now like a packhorse, can we?”

“Geez,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You rich people really are something else.”

I meander over to a long rack of clothes, dragging Kolya with me. I haven’t let go of his hand since we walked in.

“You know, I don’t really need new clothes, Kolya.”

“You’ve been wearing the same three things since we’ve been here.”

“Aren’t we going back home soon anyway?” I ask.

He gives me a suggestive smile. “Now, it’s ‘home,’ huh?”

I feel the blush coming on, so I turn immediately to the glittery blue halter top that’s next on the rack. “You know what I mean. Don’t be an ass.”