“Memory foam and Mongolian cashmere are what you’ll get.”
Her eyes trip over my face, pausing here and there, seconds before her fingers join the party. She maps my features, recording them for posterity, memorizing them.
“When you drink caravan tea?—”
“What?”
“Patience,” I admonish, earning myself a huff. “When you drink caravan tea, and it is bitter and harsh, then you addvarenye, it transforms it, no?”
“Yes.”
“You are thevarenyeof my life. It has been harsh. Bitter. Cold. A fight. You are sweetness. Softness. A part of me wants to covet and shield you with my dying breath but…” I grimace. “I know someone who led that kind of life and it isn’t something I’d wish on an enemy, never mind someone who has captivated me for a long time.
“When I first knew you, you were a child and a job. I told you before that I wasn’t attracted to you. That sort of thing is abhorrent to me, and after what you learned about Nikolai, you understand why.” Her hair dips into her face as she shields her expression. “But you were funny. Vibrant. All while choking under your father’s expectations. I saw it in you. Something died in you whenever you were around him and I hated him for it.
“Here was another useless father who was ruining his child. Here was someone who’d been gifted a family and who was too goddamn stupid to see what he wasted.”
“Then he died.”
Slaughtered. Like the pig he was. Camille never had to worry about me throwing her to the wolves. Vasov’s death had been far kinder than he deserved.
“And I turned into him. For a time.”
“A time?”
“Da. To my shame.”
“You coveted my name and position.”
I tip my head in agreement.
“Why didn’t you claim me when I was eighteen?”
“Because I didn’t want to marry a child.” I glance away from her. “And no matter what I did or said, I’d never have forced you into anything.”
“You waited for me though.”
“Of course.”
She clucks her tongue. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Maxim.”
“Maybe it’s a project that’s a lifetime in the making?”
She must hear the hope in my voice because she smirks. Devious. Wicked. Smart. Everything she is, encapsulated in that one twist of her lips. And it’sthatthat enchanted me. Her fire. Her spirit.
In our world, they’re not traits valued in women.
“I never wanted a drone.”
“Nor did I,” she declares, but before detangling herself from my arms and climbing off the bed, she bops my nose with her finger, busses my lips, then flounces over to the bathroom.
Slumping back on the mattress, I stare at the ceiling.
With her no longer there to distract me, my temper stirs once more, but Misha, the fucker, knows I find it hard to stay mad at him.
We’re all as bad as each other. Forgiving of sins because, in our hearts, we’re still those kids, scrounging to survive.
The sound of Victoria humming to “See You Later, Alligator” by Bill Haley & His Comets has me groaning as I pull the silk coverlet over my face.
