Theory froze, the conversation stopping abruptly as all eyes landed on her.
“Maxim,” I started.
“I haven’t agreed to that,” she told him, her tone cool as she rested her knife and fork on her plate.
Maxim shrugged. “You will,” he said simply, then looked at me. “You will make sure of it.”
Theory’s face iced over. There was no other way to describe it. I shook my head. This nigga was not helping.
I scowled at him. “Don’t try to speak for her, Maxim. You got me f?—”
“It’s not his job to make sure of anything. I’m a grown ass woman with a mind of my own,” she retorted.
“Which is admirable, but it matters little in this situation. I see that you have yet to get her under control, Targen,” he smirked.
“Bruh, shut the fuck up,” I growled.
His little smile dissolved into a frown. He stood suddenly; I rose, too. “The disrespect?—”
“You keep trying me, Maxim, and?—”
He moved abruptly, and so did I. Sergei lunged to grab him while Juvie braced his arm against my chest.
“Chill, OG,” he mumbled.
“Y’all stop this nonsense, immediately.” My mother’s voice rang out, stilling my movements.
Theory slid her chair back and placed her napkin on the table. Rising, she plastered a small smile on her face.
“My compliments to your chef. Ms. Joia, Mr. Sergei, it was nice meeting you,” she said, quietly but deliberately snubbing my brother. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me.”
She left the dining room, back straight, chin up. Before I followed her, I shot Maxim another angry look.
“You out, nigga,” I promised, before I left to try to fix what he had fucked up.
I thoughtTargen Jones-Sidorov was arrogant, but his crazy ass brother had a full-on God complex. I paced the length of the borrowed bedroom furiously, wishing I had something to smack Maxim Sidorov, and more importantly, his younger brother with for bringing me into this mess. The door opened, and I glanced up to see said younger brother eyeing me.
“Take me home before I blow this mothafucka up,” I hissed.
He walked closer, the apology written all over his face. I wasn’t in the mood to hear it, though. His apologies meant nothing when no change followed. I wanted to go home… or wherever home would be until I fixed my place back up.
“Milaya—”
I held up a hand. “Uh-uh! Don’t youmilayaormalyshkame, Negro! Who the fuck does he think he is? Just cuz y’all bow down to his ass?—”
His eyes flashed silver, mouth tightening ominously. He moved closer to me. I hoped he didn’t think I was backing down. Not on this.
“Watch that little fly mouth, Theory. I don’t bow to no mothafucka that bleeds,” he gritted out, bringing his face down to within an inch of mine.
“Ugh,” I exclaimed my disgust with the whole situation. I whirled away from him, only to feel his grasp on my upper arm, moving me gently.
I wondered again about how this man knew how to grab me to get his point across. Not tight enough to hurt or scare me, but enough to let me know he was serious andwouldbe heard.
“Milaya,” he started again, cupping my face. “I’on want you upset about our upcoming nuptials, but I’m okay if you are.”
My mouth fell open in shock. This is where the writer in me would use the phrase “unmitigated gall,” because the Sidorovs? Yeah, they had it.
“You’re okay if I’m angry about being forced to marry you? You’re all a bunch of delusional jackasses who think your word is law! How can you lie like you care about me and then say you’re okay making me do something I don’t want to do, something so serious? Make it make sense, Targen!”
