I groan.
“You don’t watch movies.”
“Victoria says I need to get a hobby.”
“And watching a movie about a hooker was that?”
“I was just grateful she didn’t start withGoodfellas.”
He snorts. “Should I expect you to take up painting next? How about archery?”
“That’d at least improve my aim,” I quip. “Better to shoot you with,brat moy.”
“Jiu-Jitsu?”
“Doesn’t count, she says.”
Misha scoffs. “Picky women.”
“Isn’t it terrible being cared for?” I say pointedly, earning myself a grumble.
“She sleeps like she’s dead, huh?”
I punch his shoulder. “This is creepy, Misha. What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?”
“You’re the one who won’t answer my texts,” is his curt reply. “What was I supposed to do?”
Victoria moans. “Not barge into our bedroom?” She peeps at us through one eye then tugs on my arm, yanks me back against the mattress, and flops onto my chest. “Go away. I was sleeping, Misha, and Maxim’s too comfortable and too warm for me to let him leave.”
“Maxim wasn’t sleeping.”
“Well, he’s my bed. I need him.” She squints at him one-eyed. “It’s Thanksgiving. This is illegal. Everyone gets today off.”
“I’m here as family, not for work.”
“Even more reason to let us sleep. This is a crime against the fourth Thursday of November.”
“First, it’s 1 PM. Second, Maxim and I don’t sleep well.”
I feel her sudden stillness but barge in, “Jesus, it’s one?”
“Marriage has made you lazy,” he taunts, but he’s smirking.
The fucker.
She turns her head to stare at him. “Why don’t you sleep well?”
“Doesn’t she know about us living on the streets?”
It’s a testament to our knowledge of her father and his parenting skills that he doesn’t bring up the fact that not all of us were pampered as kids.
She wasn’t.
Not until she became an O’Donnelly.
“If this is your way of apologizing, it’s failing.”
“Don’t speak in Latgalian. That drives me crazy. What did you just say?”
