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The whisper of her breath.

The softness of her body.

The scent of flour.

The perfect Cupid’s bow of her slightly parted lips.

Then Niko walks into the kitchen.

He takes one uncooked pirozhok from the tray.

“I saw nothing,” he says, “which is heroic considering how much there was to see.”

Lilah snatches the dish towel and throws it at his head.

Niko ducks, grinning, and escapes with the pastry.

“He cannot eat that raw,” she warns as the tension of the moment bleeds away.

“I assure you, he’s put much worse things in his mouth and lived to tell the tale.”

Niko sticks his head back in. “I heard that,” he says acidly. Then he smiles. “By the way, it’s family photo time. I was sent to make sure you two didn’t miss it.”

I look at Lilah and smirk. “I’ll give you a moment to clean up.”

Then I casually walk out, leaving her flushed and still breathing hard behind me.

I want to be pissed at my brother. But it’s probably for the best that he came in when he did.

If he hadn’t, then by the time I was finished with Liilah, there’s no way that those pirozhki would have been sanitary to eat.

Niko is directing traffic as I emerge. “Crotch goblins in the front, old fogies in the back!” he calls out, which earns him several middle fingers from both the older and younger members of the party.

Little by little, we all crowd into place. I take the center chair, as tradition demands, but my eyes scan the crowd again and again.

Until, finally, she arrives.

Lilah enters last after washing the flour from her hands. She scans the group, calculates, and begins edging toward an open spot in the back row.

She expects to disappear behind someone.

I expected that.

“Lilah,” I say. It’s quiet, but my voice carries. “Come here.”

“There’s nowhere to sit,” she says.

I pat my thigh.

Forty people wait to see what she’ll do.

Every conversation in the room dies.

Lilah stares at my thigh. “No way.”

I nod.

“Kane, there are children present.”