Looking back at the screen, I took a picture. It came out perfect. I leaned back against the seat and admired it for a second. Dmitri knew I had taken the photo, but he looked completely unbothered by it, as if being observed were just another ordinary part of his existence.
“Do you know how to take pictures?” I asked. He didn’t answer. I held my phone toward him, anyway. “Take one of me.”
Dmitri took the phone from my hand and lowered his gaze to the screen.
I fixed my hair and leaned back into the seat because this was a private jet, and not everyone looked expensive inside one. Dmitri still wasn’t taking the picture.
“You angle it up toward me,” I said, but he didn’t move the phone at all. I exhaled and took the phone back from him. “Why did I even ask?”
Turning across the aisle, I looked toward Akim, who sat focused on his laptop. “Akim, would you mind taking a picture of me?”
He looked up, and his expression suggested I’d asked him to perform minor surgery.
“What is wrong with you people?” I gestured between the two of them. “You drag me onto a private jet filled with nothing but men, and not one of you can take a simple picture? This isactually a human rights issue.”
Dmitri reached over and took the phone from my hand again.
I straightened immediately and smiled, adjusting myself into a pose because if he was finally cooperating, I intended to make the most of it.
I posed.
Adjusted.
Shifted my hair.
Meanwhile, Dmitri sat there, holding the phone up. Part of me suspected he wasn’t taking any pictures at all, but I trusted the process.
“Two is fine,” I said, trying another angle near the window. “I think that’s enough now.” I leaned over and took the phone back from him.
I looked down at the screen, and my smile faded instantly. He didn’t take a single picture.
The phone displayed an old photo of me sitting on the hammock back at the mansion. I was biting my finger while staring at the camera, eyes wide, with the neckline of my top doing exactly what deep V-necks were invented to do. It was a picture I should have deleted after taking it, and somehow never did.
Heat crawled up my neck. I looked at Dmitri, then back at the phone in my hand, aware of every inch of skin visible in that photo. Of course, that was the one he ended up staring at.
I cleared my throat and leaned back into the seat. “You were supposed to take a picture.” I locked the screen quickly. “Forget it.”
The rest of the flight passed with nothing dramatic happening. At some point, I fell asleep while Dmitri and Akim discussed something in Russian across the cabin.
By the time we landed in New York, excitement sat under my skin. Part of it came from finally meeting Dmitri’s family, andthe other part came from simply being back here. My teenage years weren’t spent in this exact part of New York, but it still counted.
The drive from the airport took us through a gated community that stretched on so long that it started feeling like a showoff. Mansion after mansion appeared beyond trees and iron gates, each one more aggressive about wealth than the last. We passed through a second gate and entered a property that made the earlier houses look desperate for attention.
The mansion stood beyond a wide curved driveway, its exterior built from dark wood and stone that looked expensive without trying to announce itself. Nothing about it felt decorative for its own sake. Every beam, frame, and line belonged exactly where it stood. Detailed hand-carved woodwork framed the entrance, giving the entire place a presence rooted in the land itself rather than sitting on top of it like a performance.
I stepped out of the car and paused for a moment, taking in the property properly. The place deserved appreciation. Money built it, but someone with actual taste shaped it afterward.
I followed Dmitri toward the entrance, where a guard opened the door before we even reached it. He bowed as we walked past. If this was another family property, then this had to be where Roman lived.
The inside carried the same language as the exterior. It appeared the art pieces along the walls had been curated. The entire house carried a calm that reminded me of nature more than of luxury. I liked it a lot.
We stepped into the sitting area, and I noticed two people already there. A woman sat on the couch holding a remote while a man stood near the window with a phone pressed to his ear. It wasn’t Roman.
The woman stood the second she saw us, her smile brightening her entire face, mostly her hazel eyes. Honestly, what was sheusing on that hair? It looked healthy. Seeing it made me miss my long hair for a second.
“Look who finally showed up,” she said to Dmitri after shaking his hand. “You really hate California, don’t you?”
Dmitri tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think you actually wish me to visit.”
