And at the head of the table sits Yuri Orlov, watching me with eyes the exact same ice-blue as his son’s. But where Alex’s gaze burns, Yuri’s freezes. Calculating. Assessing. Looking for weaknesses.
“Vincent,” he says, not rising from his chair. “How good of you to join us.”
His voice hasn’t changed—that same precise, slightly accented English that never rises above a conversational tone even when he’s threatening to destroy your life.
I cross the room, every step an effort not to show fear. When I reach him, he extends his hand. I take it, and his grip is crushing, a reminder of who holds the power here.
“Mr. Orlov,” I say, my voice thankfully steady. “Thank you for having me.”
He studies me for a long moment, then releases my hand. “You look well. Life has been treating you kindly, it seems.”
There’s a question in there, an invitation to volunteer information about where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to. I don’t take the bait.
“I can’t complain,” I say instead, the lie smooth on my tongue.
My mother guides me to my seat—three spaces down from Yuri, directly across from an empty chair that I assume is for Alex. Natalie sits to Yuri’s right, watching our exchange with sharp eyes that miss nothing.
“Vincent,” she says with a nod. “It’s been a long time.”
Natalie Orlova is all her father’s daughter. She’s beautiful in a severe way, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek knot and a gaze that dissects you where you stand. We were never close when I lived here. She was already in college, only home forholidays and occasional weekends.
“Natalie,” I reply, inclining my head. “You look well.”
“As do you. I hardly recognized you. You’ve… grown up.”
There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place. It sounds like assessment, and I can’t help but wonder what Alex has told her about seeing me again.
Conversation stutters and starts around me—pleasantries, meaningless small talk that skirts the elephant in the room. Where have I been? Why did I leave? Why am I back now? Questions no one asks directly but that hover in the air like smoke.
The doors swing open again, and my heart stops, then hammers double-time. Alex strides in, his presence filling the room in a way that makes it hard to breathe. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit that fits him like it was poured onto his body, his dark hair styled in that same undercut that makes his cheekbones look like they could cut glass.
But it’s not his entrance that makes my stomach drop. It’s the girl on his arm—petite, pretty in a sorority-sweetheart way, with chestnut hair falling in loose waves and a smile that shows too many teeth. I think I saw her at the frat party, hanging all over Alex that night. For a second, I’m afraid she’ll recognize me, too, but she seems oblivious. It’s probably not so easy to recognize me without the stage makeup and clothes.
Alex’s eyes find mine before his face settles into a neutral mask. “Sorry we’re late,” he says to the room at large, though his eyes stay fixed on me. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
Jess giggles, her hand sliding possessively up his arm. “Alex insisted on taking the scenic route. I told him we’d be late.”
Her voice grates on my nerves. I watch her lean into Alex’s side, and something hot and ugly twists in my gut.
“Alexander,” Yuri says, gesturing to the empty chairs. “Jessica. Please, join us. We were just about to begin.”
Alex pulls out Jess’s chair before taking his own seat directly across from me. His leg brushes mine under the table as he sits, and I jerk back like I’ve been burned.
Servers appear from a side door, bringing the first course—an arrangement of seafood that I barely register as it’s placed before me. My appetite has vanished, replaced by a knot of tension that makes it hard to swallow.
“So, Vincent,” Yuri says once everyone is served. “Tell us what you’ve been doing with yourself these past years.”
I take a sip of water, buying time. “A little bit of everything. Odd jobs mostly.”
“Hmm.” Yuri’s eyes narrow slightly. “And where are you living now?”
“I have an apartment downtown,” I say vaguely. “Nothing fancy.”
“Vincent was always independent,” my mother interjects, a note of pride in her voice. “Even as a child, he wanted to do everything himself.”
Yuri’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed.” He turns his attention to Alex. “Unlike Alexander, who understands the value of family business.”
Alex’s expression doesn’t change, but I see his fingers tighten around his fork. “I think it’s fine to make your own path. Not everyone wants to work in finance,” he says neutrally.
