10
Chloe
A few minutes before the official lunchtime of twelve-thirty, Lyudmila comes to take Slava downstairs.
“Nikolai come with food soon,” she says in her thickly accented English, correctly surmising that the growling sounds from my stomach indicate hunger. I smile at her bashfully, but she’s already hustling Slava out the door while speaking to him in rapid-fire Russian.
Sure enough, Nikolai appears with a tray at twelve-thirty on the dot.
“What’s with the military-style adherence to specific meal times?” I ask as he sits next to me and places the tray on the nightstand before uncovering the delicious-smelling dishes.
It’s something I’ve been wondering about for days but haven’t had a chance to ask—and I figure this question is a lot easier to answer than the other ones I have
