“Construction.” God, Melanie, leave it alone. Questions aren’t welcome around here.
I realize the alcohol has hit me hard when I trip over the hem of my fluffy gown. Dmitri takes an unexpected step back as I’m passing behind him. His heel pins my skirt, pulling me off-balance in my new high-heeled shoes. Having never worn them before, I’m thrown off-balance. Momentum carries me forward while my skirt pulls taut. I pitch forward with a sharp yelp.
Right into Rafail’s arms.
I register his beat of hesitation right before he grabs me.
“You must learn not to throw yourself at men,printsesa.” He holds me propped upright while I get my feet under me. “Have some self-respect.”
My cheeks burn. There’s no point in denying it. I did come over to him with the express purpose of flirting with him. Still, that was a shitty thing to say. Even if it did sound sexy in his accented, formal English.
He calls out something in Russian. Dmitri turns, follows the line of my skirt to his heel, and casts me a sheepish grin before removing his foot from the hem of my dress.
“I wanted to introduce you to my friend Melissa,” I hiccup. “Melanie. Sorry.” I cast her an apologetic glance. The dark one she shoots me in return is scathing. Whoops.
Rafail’s nose crinkles slightly as if he smelled something bad. I gaze at his face in fascination. All the boys at school still have baby fat and soft jawlines. Even the guys on the swim team, who are as ripped as action heroes, have a childish look about them compared to Rafail. His jaw is hard and unyielding, but his lips…
There are two reasons I want him to kiss me. Upper and lower.
Belatedly, I realize that he did not feel at all like a boy when I grabbed his arms to steady myself.
Now, I’m all flustered.
“Have you been drinking,printsesa?” he asks. His accent does exciting things to my insides.
“You must be smelling your own cologne.” I smile sweetly. Busted. I never can quite seem to keep a civil tongue in my head. Mom gets frustrated with my comebacks, but Rafail merely clicks his tongue sternly.
“I ought to turn you over my knee for lying.” One side of his perfectly sculpted mouth curls up in the barest hint of a smile. I’ve never seen him smile for real. “You aren’t old enough for that, little girl.”
“I’m too old, actually. I’m not a little kid.” I have only the vaguest idea of what he’s talking about. Spanking for sexual pleasure, I think. I’m mortified and offended that he threatened to spank me like a child in front of my friend from high school. I’m also…intrigued?
“Yes. I see how grown-up you are,” he says seriously. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like a compliment. The hint of amusement is gone.
“Mhm.”Very snappy comeback, Hailes. You can do better than that.
“It’s so great to meet Hailey’s stepbrother. I’ve heard so much about you,” Melanie interrupts, lying through her teeth. To me, she hisses, “You didn’t tell me he has an accent.” She sidles closer, playing with a strand of her long hair. Twirling it around her finger, down toward her exposed cleavage.
Damn. I didn’t know a teenager could flirt like that.
I’m torn between jealousy and self-consciousness. I feel like a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s fanciest clothes.
An overgrown cupcake.
The dress that made me feel so mature and sparkly a minute ago now seems gaudy and childishly naive. I lift one hand to my deep-brown curls that hang halfway down my back. The ends would touch the curve of my bottom if they weren’t pinned up in the back. It took hours and gallons of hair product to force my unruly waves into submission.
Weird thought. I shouldn’t have drank Melanie’s vodka. I definitely shouldn’t have tried to talk to Rafail. I’m a mess. Reacting to him with butterflies in my stomach. All I wanted was a kiss. Not whatever these dark thoughts are.
“You are the one who gave Hailey vodka?” Rafail’s amber eyes follow her hand and linger on the swell of her breasts. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m suddenly self-conscious about my own comparatively covered-up chest. Innocent and demure in comparison.
“Maybe,” she says coyly.
He strikes like a snake, grabbing her by the throat. Both of us gasp. Her eyes bulge. He says nothing. Just holds her there for a long minute.
“Stop it, you’re scaring her,” I plead. Who—what—is my stepbrother? He’s scaring me, too.
“Do not corrupt my stepsister,” he says, giving Melanie a little squeeze before relaxing his grip around her throat. “She is family now. Only we are allowed to defile her.”
She squeaks and all but runs away, leaving me alone with my stepbrother. Despite my racing pulse, I stand my ground.
