I blame the small shrug that follows, the half-hearted attempt at covering her disappointment, for my next words. “Are you free tonight?”
Her eyes widen before she nods.
I nod too. “The Peninsula. Eight p.m.”
“Your work must pay well,” she comments. Her tone is careful, gaze alert and aware as she stares at me. Not a question, yet delivered like one.
I tense. If she searches for answers, my coming here was a fatal mistake. I’m not asking her out on a fucking date.
“If you show up, we will not be talking.” I deliver the statement bluntly, then hold her gaze, ensuring she understands.
It’s the clearest warning I can issue. Other women might talk and laugh loudly, but they know not to ask questions. Especially ones about my work.
“I figured,” she says, and I hope she’s telling the truth.
“The room will be under Levi Lincoln,” I tell her.
Her lips twitch. “Lincoln? Like the president?”
“Like the car.”
I stand and walk away, not looking back once.
NOTHING PERSONAL
Itilt my head back, staring at the blue sky overhead. Rough stone scrapes the back of my skull as I exhale a stream of gray vapor that dissipates after a few seconds.
“You will stink like smoke during the ceremony.”
I sigh before glancing at the familiar figure approaching.
Aleksandr favors Igor in appearance in addition to attitude. Maksim’s hair is lighter, but his face is a carbon copy of our mother’s. I’m a more even mix of our parents, with Igor’s dark hair and Elena’s proportional features.
“One more thing for Aleksandr to complain about.”
Lately, my brother has found fault with everything I’ve said or done. He opposed me on every aspect of the plan for Chicago, despite it being territory and distributors I’d overseen since I had been eighteen. Aleksandr hasn’t stepped foot in the city since then.
Strangely, Victoria delivering a son—his heir—seems to have put him in a worse temper than usual.
My mother halts beside me, adopting a similar pose—back to the church. Elena isn’t directly involved in business matters, butshe understands their implications as well as anyone we employ. “Aleksandr wants the best for his family.”
I tap the cigarette against the side of the church, watching ashes drift to the dirty street. “I’m his brother.”
“Perspectives change when you have a child,” my mother states. “You would know, if you’d married Victoria instead.”
I grimace. “Igor told you?”
My parents might lead very disconnected lives, but they speak when they’re in the same place. Mostly about their children.
“Aleksandr.”
Well, that explains his recent flare of animosity.
“Who told …”
The obvious answer occurs before I’ve completed the question. The person forced to deal with my brother’s moods most of the time.
“He missed the birth.”
