I blink at Sofia. “Who?”
“Stig.”
“Yeah, Maxim, don’t know who he is?” There’s laughter in Misha’s voice as he slouches into the chair next to Aspen. He grabs her hand, turns her knuckles toward him, and kisses them.
Whata sap.
Still, not to be beaten, before I leave Victoria, I bend down, kiss her shoulder, then retreat to the head of the table.
When I take a seat, I realize I’m in danger.
Not because I’m surrounded by assholes who call themselves my siblings, but because I didn’t realize what Victoria’s dress would do. How it would… behave.
Loose straps sit comfortably around her biceps that connect to her neckline.
That means it’s low.
Very low.
My hands turn into fists, but Victoria, unaware of the perils of her choice of outfit—or entirely aware and wishing to taunt me—demands, “Who’s Stig of the Dump?”
“A caveman that lives in a dump.”
Victoria chokes on a sip of water. “So, I’m the trash?”
“Technically, Maxim is the caveman.” Sofia wafts her hand. “It’s a children’s classic.”
“I’m glad I haven’t read it,” I snipe.
Aspen’s lips twitch. “Sofia’s always coming out with stuff like that. Don’t get her started on Voltaire. My mom had a dog called that. I thought she was talking about him at first.”
“And like I said to you at the time, how would I know you had a dog called Voltaire?”
“People know a lot of random shit about my family,” Aspen says dryly. “Perks of having a rock star for a father. And a brother, I guess. Camden’s bigger than Dad now. Not that Dad will admit it.”
“I prefer Camden,” Sofia confesses. “I did not know either of them until recently, but that song, “Laissez-faire,” it’s… What do you call it, Dmitri?”
“An earworm.”
“That’s right! I like this imagery.” She takes a sip of her own drink and turns to me. “You should have invited us to dinner without Misha having to do so. You are rude, Maxim.”
“I’m newly married. I intended on feasting on my wife today, not eating with a bunch of miscreants.”
“Lies. Misha says you have a job for me,” Dima chides.
I glare at my brother. “For some reason, we both trust you. What that says about us is beyond me.”
“Kirill’s job, right?” he asks, dismissing the shade.
“Yes.”
“I met this Kirill. Weak man. Sweet, but weak. Dmitri is annoying but clever. I’m not sure which traits are better for this job.”
Snorting, Victoria feeds Charlie prime rib from her hand after Miroslava brings it out in a small dish for him. “Sofia, you should join us at the library sometime.”
“You sit with too many young people. I’m old now. I have no patience.”
“Old,” Misha scoffs.
