"Hmm," she purrs in her most salacious tone.
"Have you ever heard the name Vera Volkov?"
The color rises up her face from her cheeks to her hairline as she scrambles to hide what she's feeling. I watch her blink several times, her arms tensing as she draws back slightly, then says, “No. Never heard it."
"You're certain?"
"I said no." She pushes back farther and then stands. "I think I need some air." Such a strange reaction to my simple question when I have someone with bonafide facts, telling me she's lying. Why would she lie about this? I'd like to press it, but Mila has watched this whole interaction and I find her response just as puzzling.
She seems furious. Hands balled into fists, lips pursed angrily, and her toe is tapping methodically too. A nervous tic?
I stand and button my jacket. "Well, then, let's all move to the study."
"Actually, I think I should go," Sofi says, turning away from me. "Thank you for dinner. The lamb was wonderful. Tell Sara." The abrupt 180 she's done almost makes me chuckle, but it appears that Mila is relieved now. The angry tension in her body dissolves as she stands.
"I will."
"And invite Sabine next time. She'll never forgive me if you don't." Sofi smooths the front of her dress with both hands and turns toward the door and doesn't wait for a response. She stomps off in a huff, holding up her skirt in front, but I'm more interested in how Mila's head is still down and her shoulders are slumped.
I can't read her thoughts, but if I had to guess, I'd say jealousy, maybe, or maybe she's just annoyed.
"My study, now, please," I tell her. Then I turn and walk out, leaving my untouched dinner. Sara will wonder why I've not touched it, and I will send her a pleasant note letting her know I had no appetite because I lost it the second Sofi started yammering on.
Mila follows me a few steps behind as I lead her to my study where I shut us in after waving Sorin off. She sets her tablet on my desk and crosses her arms over her chest as I pour a drink and sip it, turning to face her from a few strides away.
"Have you ever heard the name Vera Volkov?" I didn't catch her response to that exact question I asked Sofi because her head was down, and I was more interested in that exact moment to see what Sofi would say. Now, though, it's important that I find out just what Mila knows about her stepmother.
Her brow pulls in. The corner of her left eye twitches. "No. Should I have?"
"Your stepmother has had more names than I'd expected." I sip my drink and study her.
Her eyes narrow on me for a second, but I see no recognition there. Mila seems to know nothing about Vera before she met her father. Which means Anton probably knew nothing about Vera, either. This is getting interesting.
"If you're done with me for the evening," she mumbles, her voice catching. Then she clears it before she says, "I'd prefer to go to my room."
"Not yet," I tell her, walking over toward her. "You seemed upset during dinner."
"I wasn't upset."
"Well, you didn't seem to take many notes," I point out, setting my glass on the desk. "And you had a lot to say with your body language." My God, did I notice her body language. Any grown man with two brain cells would be watching that body.
"She had nothing interesting to take note of." Mila turns her face away from me and her chest puffs out. She's feeling defensive—so it is jealousy, not annoyance. Good to know.
"A woman I may consider wedding in my future and you've not taken one note of anything she said so that I can?—"
"Sofi is a child, and you sat there and poured her wine and smiled at her and talked to her with that voice." Mila's eyes go wide as she spits out the words, revealing how she truly feels. I bite back a grin while I master my own reaction to give nothing away.
"That voice?" I ask, furrowing my brow. Seeing her snap back like this is so adorable. My God, I could kiss her. I've never had a woman be jealous over me before. Maybe getting Ms. Radin to the altar won’t be so hard, after all.
"Don't."
"You're angry because I was pleasant to her, or because you wanted me to be pleasant to you?"
Her face goes from pink to red and she runs a hand through her hair, the stylus falling from behind her ear and clattering on the floor. She takes two steps toward the door and turns back.
"You're disgusting. She's barely an adult and half your age and?—"
"Well!" I say loudly, chuckling for a second. It halts her in her tracks and I continue, moving closer to her and making her spine straighten. "You're half my age and I've had you quite thoroughly, Mila…" I lift my hand, brush a strand of hair from her forehead, and curl it around her ear as a shudder runs through her body from head to toes.
