Liam tossed a soft towel at Volya as soon as they got into the suite and pointed to the walk-in closet. "Help yourself."

Volya slid aside the doors and stared into the cavernous maw of something akin to Aladdin's Cave of Wonders crossed with man's clothing boutique. The rows of clothes someone else had washed, pressed and hung, went on for miles. Most were likely brand new. Being rich was fun... In other breaking news, the sun rose daily.

While Volya gawked, a couple of trestle tables were whisked into Liam's room with the afternoon tea and a wood-board of meat cuts.

"Look, they have a bear's tongue!" Liam popped a roll of paper-thin ham into his mouth. "Ha! Eating like you do, I'll finally lose the stubborn baby fat."

Volya snorted. "Oh, yeah, and here I was mistaking you for Moby Dick all the time."

"One should never joke about blubber," Liam groaned, surveying the ripples of his stomach contoured by the wet fabric. "A pro-tip for you. It's not just pretty face that counts... And there is no shortage of competition in our line of work."

If his abs were any more defined, they'd cut through the cotton, but Volya kept that thought to himself.

"If you're fishing for a compliment, find another pond," he said. "And if you're serious, you need a shrink."

"Actually, I have three." Liam studied the last little bit of meat he was still holding, as if deciding if that sliver was too much food, then sighed and swallowed it. "Mmgh, it's good."

Then he trooped into the closet, grabbed a change of clothes without looking and disappeared in the en-suite bathroom. As in an actual room with a whirlpool in the middle and a basketball-court sized directional shower in the far-off corner....

Volya rolled his eyes at the opulence. The app on the phone that Liam had carelessly dumped on a table was still opened. The subtitles of their chat covered the screen. Yup, Liam did say he had three shrinks. Probably he was pulling Volya's leg... While he pondered the shrinks per person ratio in the upper echelons of musical industry, water started to splash in the shower.

Volya returned to the closet and viewed his choices. However, since the closet shared a wall with the bathroom, Liam was still with him. Or his voice was. It was unfairly perfect for someone singing in the effing shower. And this guy, the actual nightingale, called singing their business! As if!

Good thing Liam had freely admitted that he needed Volya for his genetic research project, because singing next to Liam would be an unmitigated disaster. Maybe if they made people pay for him to shut up...

Volya rummaged through the walk-in closet, purposefully avoiding the underwear. It was okay to walk around in wet tighty-whities a little longer. Plus, his body overheated so much from a certain Liam-related chain reaction, the result was practically as good as a commercial dryer.

He snatched a black t-shirt and a pair of matching jeans. He did have to roll the pant legs up about an inch, but Liam's t-shirt stretched over his wider shoulders, fitting just right. Familiar scents lingered on the clothes, seeping into his pores. Probably a softener or a detergent with the fresh ironing smell mixed in, as beautiful as everything that surrounded Liam.

After changing, Volya balled his wet clothes into a bundle and pushed it into a corner to pick up on his way out of the suite.

There, he was done, but Liam still sang and splashed in the shower.

Volya loitered, hands in his pockets, turning to whatever his instinct pointed him towards. It didn't take him long to spot the heart of Liam's entire existence. The guitar dominated the space by its surreal contour, dull metal accents, and black varnish with golden dusting under the polished surface.

Volya surreptitiously dried his fingers on the t-shirt before touching it—not for playing, God forbid, but to... he didn't quite know why. To make sure it was real, maybe.

Then he jerked his hands away, fighting a childish need to hide them behind his back, because Liam reappeared from the shower, just as dapper and gleaming as his instrument. If he noticed Volya's interest in the guitar, he didn't comment on it.

Instead, he came over to the table, woke up the phone with one swipe. The interpreter app went back to work.

"You didn't have to wait for me to eat. I can hear your stomach growling from here," Liam said.

"Sorry!" A pang of pride tugged at his gut. For the first time in his life, he'd forgotten to eat in the presence of food. It felt like a frigging accomplishment, though, granted, way, way below a Grammy.

He plopped onto a chair. His drying bangs hung into his eyes in a fluffy fringe—the stupid hair had to be useful for something—and set about devouring quarter-bite sized, meat-only meatballs on the delicate skewers. He'd just as well eaten slabs of rare beef, but when in Rome...

"This pretty food is growing on me," Volya said in a belated bid to remember his manners, then winced. "Shoot, I should have taken a picture for Baba Masha."

"Too late for that." Liam studied the devastated tray and pilfered a slice from the side with a delicate flick of his fingers. Sheesh, was the poor sod afraid that Volya would growl at him or something?

"Eat some more," Volya invited Liam to the feast. "Seriously, you look shredded."

"Nah, I'm good." Liam splayed in another chair, opposite from Volya, with his meager bounty. "Who or what is Baba Masha?"

"She... she is our cook. Ah, in the orphanage. She basically didn't let me die. Like, she took it upon herself to simmer bone broth day and night when I couldn't stomach the baby formula an... well, she fed me when nobody would."

"This Baba Masha sounds epic." Liam examined his meat with a critical eye of an art expert examining an antique, before nibbling a corner off. His features remained indifferent to the explosion of umami. Inconceivable!

Volya tore his eyes away from Liam's lips. "Oh, yes, she was. I would never have survived without her and the offal she brought from her husband's butcher shop."

"Ouch." Liam wrinkled his nose, then leaned over and patted Volya's hand. "Sorry, first world problems."

"Not really. One time she chased the health inspector away with a ladle yelling that until they started sending her prime rib to feed that measly tapeworm, she'd very well use what she has, and if it were against the rules, the guy's job was to rewrite his damn rules, not loiter in her kitchen."

Liam gave him a one-over. "A measly tape-worm?"

"I grew up some," Volya replied with a chuckle, that might have been a sniffle.

"I'd say."

Liam grinned so warmly, that Volya recalled another anecdote about Baba Masha, then his memories jumped to Toshka, then went back to Baba Masha, and Toshka again, and his old rivalries and spats...

Liam nodded along and smiled in all the right places after the pauses created by the interpretation, but somehow even that didn't ruin their cozy afternoon. Marina did. She knocked on the doors of Liam's suite as the darkness started falling beyond the window.

The moment she spotted the opened interpretation app, her brows collided.

"Liam, if you truly wish to help Volya acclimatize, you should only speak English to him," she said sternly and shut the app down before it was even done with her words. "We're leaving Moscow the day after tomorrow."

She repeated the last sentence in Russian for Volya's benefit.

"We are?" Volya stammered. "Going to America? Already?"

Marina nodded absently, indifferent to his apprehension at, you know, leaving his homeland for the first frigging time. Her stormy eyes speared Liam.

"To hear is to obey," was all Liam said with a good-natured chuckle.

Volya felt far sullener than that. "That's just stupid. I understand some of what he says, but I can't really speak. Plus, what's the difference between the app and you?"

Marina explained in two languages, ticking off items as she went. "I'll interpret less and less, only what you can't get from the context. I'll watch for when you get confused and correct you. It's like training wheels."

"Gee, glad I've asked!"

"Also," she finished evenly, tilting her head toward the phone. "I don't spout auto-translated nonsense to create misunderstandings."

Maybe Volya should write to the UN. They should ask Marina about achieving everlasting world peace. She had answers for everything.

Volya opened his mouth to tell her that, but she cut him off. "Speaking of getting things from the context or even getting them at all—"

Her level gaze honed in on Volya's iPad. It spoke volumes in the international language of meaningful glances.

"Yes, Marina... ah..." Volya still didn't have her patronymic name. So, he finished awkwardly, "Ma'am."

With a sigh, he picked the damnable thing up and scrolled to the bookmarked dialogue. Then he looked straight into Liam's twinkling eyes and read, as loud and clear as he could manage.

"Can you tell me how to get to the British Museum, Mr. Anders?"

"From here?" Liam put his arms wide to the sides. "No clue, Mr. Wolkov, not a frigging clue."

This clowning around was almost worth Marina's intrusion, but one could only do it for so long.

Volya struggled to string the strange-sounding words together. "I'll... go and study... I'll study some more."

He was rewarded with a nod and good luck from Liam. Their first sensible exchange in English! A direct exchange! Okay, that was cool, no matter how trite it was.

Marina nodded her approval and spirited Volya away. He went, clutching a bundle of his wet clothes under one arm. It wouldn't hurt him to cram... and maybe give Liam a break from entertaining him, and... yeah, he needed to study.

Volya marched into his room thinking only of charging Unit 5—and froze on the threshold. The two golden-wrapped truffles sat in the middle of his fluffed-up pillow.

This time, there was no note.

Volya slid the drawer of his nightstand open and studied its contents in the light of the bedside lamp. Sure enough, it had pamphlets and promo materials, but no Evening Bells he'd put in there earlier. In all likelihood, the over-zealous cleaning staff found the candy and restored it to his pillow... God knows why. Well, people did weird things around celebs.

He huffed, stuffed the truffles deeper into the nightstand drawer, intending to give them to Marina tomorrow, because women loved chocolate.

Then he attacked his English lesson. His reward was that he'd figured out what Liam had said earlier, about his name meaning Freedom of the Wolves.

Liam had said: How fitting.

Once the excitement of the discovery wore off, Volya rubbed his forehead. Fitting? Why?

What did the wolves and their freedom have to do with him? Why would Liam say that? And was he just humoring him by pronouncing his name the other way just now?

Volya dropped his head on the table next to the iPad. And yawned. He should peel off the clothes and turn in for the night, but damn it, he loved the soft fabrics and Liam's lingering scent.

It was pointless to stay up if he wasn't doing anything. He collapsed on his back on the bed and lifted the iPad over his scratchy eyes. The text swam. He had to sleep.

The dumb thing beeped, throwing Volya up in the air. Who was it now? His fatigue evaporated when he saw the name on the alert.

Oh, crap!