"I have a brother," I tell her, and she shrugs.
"Same thing." She grins, and a piece of bread sticks to her bottom lip before she catches it with her tongue. "Timur, right? Mama told me about him. She said he's the quiet one."
"He is." I sigh and sit back in my seat. I haven't touched my food, which Ms. Koval has yet to notice, and I couldn’t care less about this annoying chatter. It makes me wonder if Vera tried to coach her at all. A dinner like this is supposed to be about talking compatibility and strategy, not nonsense surface level conversation no one cares about. It's obvious Sofi has no clue that her mother is using her as a pawn, and I have to wonder why Vera sent her at all. To insult me?
"And you're the loud one?"
"I wouldn't say loud." I twist my glass and start to wonder how quickly I can get this over with and maybe get Mila alone. I've been toying with the idea of wearing down her walls, stripping away the layers of her defenses until she bares her soul to me and then moving in to have my way with her again. One time wasn’t enough. I want more.
"No, you wouldn't." Sofi picks up her wine and takes another drink, her eyes moving across the table to the empty chairs between me and Mila. "You'd say forceful, or commanding." I pick up a hint of resentment in Sofi's expression toward Mila before she shoves another bite of food in her mouth, though Mila's head is down. Probably wise of her. She has more tact in her left pinky than Sofi will ever have.
Sorin, who's been hovering across the room, refills her glass without being asked, and Sofi thanks her with a wave of herfingers, still chewing. She turns in her chair and looks down the table at Mila.
"Is Mila joining us or is she going to sit over there all night writing on that tablet?" The accusatory way she speaks makes it clear she has no interest in Mila actually joining us. She's disgusted and annoyed.
Mila's shoulders stiffen and I watch her jaw work for a second. "She's taking notes for me," I say.
"Notes about what?"
"About you."
Sofi snickers and leans back in her chair. "Well, write this down, Mila. I'm having a wonderful time." It makes Mila squirm in her seat, but her hands stay relaxed as she types something into the tablet.
I wonder if the tables were turned if Sofi would have as much self-control as to keep her comments to herself. Mila is doing a great job, though much like the man in my fight club office with the weapon gave off several signals that his mind was on other things, Mila is too. I bet she hates that her stepsister is here and wants her gone.
Sofi continues to prattle on and my phone buzzes, so I slide it out and hold it low where none of the three women in this room can see me swipe to unlock it and find out who is texting me.
Timur: 7:42 PM: Got a sec? I have some questions.
My brother is working now on digging up some information for me, and now feels like the perfect time. If I have questions or need verification, I think Ms. Koval and her flapping jaw may be the best person to ask.
Roman: 7:42 PM: Go…
I set it face down on my leg and pick up my water glass.
"Your mother married Anton eleven years ago, yes?"
"Eleven in March." Sofi reaches for her wine again with absolutely no trace of grief or remorse, just like Vera when I bring this topic up. "Why?"
"Just curious…" I take a drink of my wine and savor it as I watch her. For now she seems very interested, still eager to have my full attention. "Where did the three of you live before Perm?"
"Kazan. We had a flat near the university." She pushes a slice of cucumber around her plate with her fork. "I was young, so I don't remember much about it. Sabine says she remembers a park we used to go to, but I think she's making it up. She was little too."
"Sabine's younger?" At thirteen, I'd have thought these girls would remember far more. If Sofi says she has few memories at that age, I wonder what sort of stressful environment or trauma was involved to cause that.
"By two years. She acts older, though." Sofi eats the cucumber and picks up another one. "Year older than Mila." When the cucumber crunches and juice dribbles on her chin, she mops it up with a napkin and grins at me as she continues chewing.
My phone vibrates again and I pull it out to see Timur's response.
Timur: 7:44 PM: I'm doing some digging and it's not pulling up much. Are there other aliases?
Roman: 7:44 PM: Working on it. She's talking.
"How did your mother meet Anton?"
"Through a friend, I think." Her voice drops and she glances toward the doorway where Sorin stands with a fresh bottle. "Mama doesn't talk about it. I was maybe eleven, so I didn't pay attention."
"She doesn't talk about her life before Anton?"
