When I get inside our bedroom, I place Sienna on the recliner by the balcony and wrap the blanket off the bed around her, then crouch at her feet and start removing her four-inch heels. They have little flowers on the toe part—a perfect choice for traipsing around the wet lawn and mud.
“Moya blesava mila.” Shaking my head, I rub her cold feet with my palms.
A few moments later the door behind me opens, and Jelena sets a tray with a big mug of tea and some cookies on the side table.
“Thank you. Now, leave,” I say without looking at her. My gaze is focused on Sienna’s face, which is absolutely expressionless. The only time I’ve seen her like this was at the club just before we met.
“Sienna?”
She blinks, pulls her feet out of my hands, and places them on the edge of the seat, wrappi
