(Jenna's POV)

"Oh..." I say dumbly, not knowing what else to say or really think at this moment.

I mean, first we have spiders, then poisonous plants, and now wolves.

What's next, zombies?!

I shake my head as we continue our tour through the conservatory.

"This area is what I'm proudest of," he smiles as he points towards a sandy, rocky section with all different kinds of cactuses.

I would've never guessed him to be the cactus type. Then again, I would've never seen him as the plant or flower type either.

Although the poisonous flowers seem to fit him somehow...

That thought brings a slight grimace to my face which he misinterprets.

"I take it you're not a fan of cacti," he chuckles.

"No, it's not...I mean, I like them okay, I guess," I slightly shrug. "I just never really thought about it before. Where I'm from, in Indiana, you don't see very many of them," I tell him.

"Ah...the same here is true, but that's not why I like them," he says, looking over them in contemplation. "I suppose I understand them in a way."

"How so?" I ask, finding his statement a bit odd.

"Well...in my opinion, cacti are the most misunderstood plants," he begins. "Most people look at them and find them plain, or ugly, or even dangerous when in actuality, they are easily the best plants there are. They require very little care and water, but produce some of the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruits," he explains fondly. "And some, like these succulents, have wonderful healing properties and are beneficial to your health," he points to what I think is an aloe plant.

"I suppose, but those thorns sure do look lethal," I chuckle.

"True," he hums, "but the spines are only there to protect what's on the inside," he gently corrects.

"Are you telling me that cacti have a heart or that their spines are worse than their bite?" I laugh.

"Something like that," he smiles slyly as we walk on. "But it's also a case of not judging a book by its cover," he looks at me peripherally.

Right...

The grand tour continues on to a billiards room, a gigantic sitting room, and several other large, pointless rooms that I can't remember the names of, before heading up floor after floor, seeing more enormous bedrooms than I can count...except for Mr. Rykov's or his mother's rooms. Those were off limits.

"I saved this for last, since it seemed to appeal the most to you," he says before we head down a dark, spiral staircase...that beautiful staircase that I fell in love with in the grand hall or whatever it was called.

He's pretty observant...

We enter a massive room with its walls covered with shelves of books, floor to ceiling – the library.

It takes my breath away...

It's far bigger than any public library I've ever been in, and it has that wonderful scent of old paper and books...a bit of leather and dust mixed with a slight mustiness.

The books look ancient but seem to be in great shape. I want to touch one, but I'm too afraid because I'm sure they are some kind of priceless first editions or something.

Besides, very few appear to be in English anyway, so I'll keep my hands to myself.

As I look around the room, I notice yet another large, old portrait painting. However, this one is of a man, hanging over the equally large fireplace, and I seem drawn to it.

I stop to look up at it for a moment.

His resemblance to Mr. Rykov is uncanny, despite his medieval looking royal clothing and hairstyle, but that's not what gets me. It's his expression – there's a sad, heavy look about him, as if he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders, heading to the gallows, but there's also resolve there...resignation.

It's fascinating and haunting all at the same time.

"That is my father," he says in a quiet, melancholy tone from behind me, startling me once again.

His father...did I hear him right?

Surely he meant great, great, great, great grandfather...

I turn to ask him how that could possibly be his father, but he cuts me off before I can utter a word.

"Do feel welcome to come and read in here anytime you like," he invites as he shuffles me towards the door.

He probably realizes his mistake and feels embarrassed, so I drop it. Lord knows I've made several today myself.

Our last stop is his study, which is basically an extension of the library and what an interesting room it is...to say the least.

His desk is large, ornate, and old like everything else around here, but it's the carved wood chairs that creeps me out, made to look as if they have the legs of a spider.

I stop and look at some old, framed, black and white photos here and there, and to my surprise, I see a photo of what looks like the limo I rode here in, parked in front of the gatehouse, looking as pristine as it still does now.

I continue on, looking upon the walls that are covered with all sorts of art and ancient looking artifacts, as well as framed spider specimens and webs that give me the shivers.

"So, uh...I see that spiders seem to be a running theme around here," I comment in an uneasy tone.

"Everything that my family has been and still is today, including myself, is all thanks to spiders," he says and I grimace. That statement alone makes my skin crawl somehow.

"Really?" I ask doubtfully, trying to understand him.

"Silk has always been a prized commodity throughout the ages and thanks to the spiders, my family has always been at the forefront of that industry," he begins. "If it were not for the spiders and their unlimited quantities of high quality silk, all that is before you would've never survived, let alone thrived," he says in a mildly chiding tone while waving his hands around.

The confusion on my face must be showing as he directs me towards his desk. "Please, have a seat," he tells me as I reluctantly sit down on one of those creepy ass spider chairs...that are surprisingly comfortable.

He takes a seat opposite of me, resting his elbows upon the desk. He leans forward a bit in contemplation and steeples those long fingers of his.

"I must apologize once again, for failing to tell you the nature of my business," he begins. "Silk fabric was believed to have been invented in Ancient China around the year 2696 BC, and it was supposedly kept secret until 522 AD when two monks hid silk moth eggs inside their walking sticks and smuggled them to Europe," he pauses, making sure I'm following. "But before that, the Han Dynasty in China officially opened trade with the West in 130 BC, establishing what was known as the Silk Road routes, which remained in use until 1453 AD, when the Ottoman Empire boycotted trade with China and closed them."

"In between that time, the highest quality and most desired silk came from spiders...though no one knew it, as it truly was the best kept secret, hidden in the midst of the Silk Road," he grins slyly. "The method that China and Europe have always used, by utilizing silkworms, is not only inferior, but extremely difficult. In order to harvest silk from silkworms, their cocoons are boiled in order to make them easier to unravel, but the heat kills the silkworms and their larva. The whole process can be rather cruel."

"However, spider silk can't be farmed in large quantities because they are cannibals and will eat one another in close quarters, but my family...revolutionized the process," he smirks. "Not only that, but spider silk is five times stronger than steel as opposed to the fragile silk of the silkworm," he pauses. "I said all of that to give you a bit of history and insight as to what I do – I own silk mills...spider silk mills, that's been in my family since ancient times," he arches his brow.

Ahh...it all makes sense now, although that doesn't make it any less creepy...

"Which brings me to the reason I brought you here," he eyes me dubiously, causing me to wring my hands together in my lap nervously.

"Aren't I to cook, clean, or do seamstress work?" I ask confusedly.

"Heavens no...I have all of the domestic help that I could ever need in that capacity," he answers very matter-of-factly. "I am, however, in dire need of a personal assistant-slash-secretary at my mills," he smiles.

Shit...

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be qualified for that," I frown and look down at the floor with a sad sigh, hoping I don't cry.

Working as his personal assistant sounds pretty risqué, making me think of that naughty older movie The Secretary with Maggie Gyllenhaal.

Oh God...surely he doesn't want or expect anything like that from me...

Not only that, but I know nothing about being a secretary...or a sex goddess. And just the thought of working in a mill around spiders gives me the shivers.

"Of course you are," he says incredulously. "You obviously know all about fabrics and sewing, and there's nothing to secretary work. A little typing here and there...easy stuff like that," he waves his hand in the air.

"I haven't worked with silk much though," I grimace, feeling completely out of my element here.

"There's nothing to it. It's lightweight and has a slightly crisp feel, but breathes easily," he explains and I nod.

"I don't know about working with or around...spiders," I swallow, frightened as I eye the various spider trinkets and décor.

"They're harmless, I assure you," he grins devilishly. "Besides...I'll always be with you...protecting you."

"Yeah..." I drawl uneasily. "I'll try."

What choice do I have? I have no home, if I leave here, no job...nothing.

"That's all I can ask," he smiles sweetly. "How about we head outdoors now?" he suggests as he stands before walking around the desk to offer me his arm once more.

We walk around the lush, manicured grounds as the sun shines down while he tells me bits of history here and there.

If my phone were fully charged and there was service here, I'd love to take some pictures to send to Aimee, but I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunities in the future.

"There are a little over 10,000 hectares (25,000 acres) that comprises the estate here," he says as he points around the property. "However, I must ask that you don't stray too far into the woods as there are things here that may...bite."

What???

I feel the blood drain from my face, wondering what the fuck could be in those woods that bite.

Probably those wolves he was talking about.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he says apologetically as he places his hand over mine soothingly. "I want you to feel at home here, but at the same time, I want you to be safe. With property of this size, it's hard to monitor it at all times."

"I understand," I reply to his kindness with a small smile. "Out of curiosity, what types of wild animals do you have here in Moldova?"

"Well, we have the Eurasian lynx, wild boar, brown bears, wildcats, and...Arctic wolves that can be very aggressive," he answers as his mouth forms into a grim line.

Arctic wolves...that must be what the poison flowers are for.

We walk down near the river, but don't get too close because it's muddy near the bank, but beautiful nonetheless.

He pulls his pocket watch out and I get a good look at it. It's very old and of course, has a spider on it.

"It's nearly noon. Let us go in and take our lunch," he smiles as he tucks his watch back into his vest's pocket.

And here we are...seated back in the enormous dining room, waiting for our lunch to be served.

I can't help but surreptitiously stare at his long fingers as we wait in silence, but unfortunately, he catches me.

"They make you feel uncomfortable, no?" he asks quietly...vulnerably, before sliding them down onto his lap, underneath the table.

"Oh God...no...not at all," I plead sincerely, feeling like a complete asshole.

"Don't worry about it. I'm quite used to it," he sighs. "I have a rare condition that runs in my family called Arachnodactyly (spider fingers), better known as achromachia, in which the fingers and toes are abnormally long and slender," he explains.

His toes too?!

"Wow..." I say idiotically. "It's not a bad thing...just uh...very unique to have umm...long things, I mean fingers," I splutter. Fuck!

"That's why I was...umm...staring," I smile, albeit embarrassedly, trying to assure him that I don't find them repulsive or anything.

"So...you like long fingers?" he asks cutely with his silky voice as he places his hands with said long fingers back onto the table.

Oh my God...not again. Foot in mouth disease is rampant with me today...

I feel my face instantly flush with heat as I look away, trying to gain my composure.

"Why do you paint your nails?" I ask once I look back his way, trying to change the subject...flip things around on him and take the heat off of me.

"Paint my nails..." he trails off before laughing heartily.

"What?" I ask bewildered before giggling myself at his infectious laughter.

"I assure you that I have never painted my nails, nor would I ever paint my nails," he says with faux offense between chuckles. "It's part of my...condition," he says once his laughter dies down, wiggling his fingernails in the air.

"Well...I don't think a woman would ever complain about having it because they'd never have to paint their nails again," I giggle.

"I suppose so," he says a bit bewildered while chuckling. "I'll have to ask mother what she thinks of not ever having to paint her nails."

Oh God...

A/N : Poor Jenna! She just can't seem to get anything right around Nikolai. 😂 What do you think, so far? PLEASE let me hear from you! It truly makes my day! ❤️

🕷BE SURE TO VOTE & COMMENT!!!🕷

FYI : Arachnodactyly (spider fingers) is a real condition, minus having black nails. Lol

The Secretary, with Maggie Gyllenhaal, is a real movie, and in my opinion, was the first real 50 Shades, especially since the main male character's last name is Grey. Lol If you haven't seen it and like Indie films, check it out. It's a bit out there, but good. Lol