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“And what do you think?” I murmur, tucking a curl behind her ear. Her body is flush against mine and her slender fingers are stroking my shirt. Her lips are glossy and wet-looking. Fuck, I would give anything to kiss her right here in front of everyone, but that would be crossing one line too many for my brother.
“You wouldn’t let me be in any danger,” she replies.
“You’re right, I’d die first.”
Across the room, a boy I don’t recognize is staring at Zenya, and I presume this must be the young man Chessa wanted her to meet. He’s around eighteen and he’s got the sort of looks that teenage girls seem to fawn over, judging from the hundreds of pop music videos I’ve been assaulted with over the decades in this house.
A hot, prickling sensation stabs my flesh. Zenya’s only allowed to be devoted to me. If she marries, her husband is going to be my constant envy. I don’t know how I’ll keep my jealousy under control. I haven’t ruled out making his death look like an accident the night before the wedding.
Ifshe ever gets engaged. I haven’t decided whether I’ll let her because Zenya belongs to me. I shouldn’t have to share her with anyone else. The only reason Troian doesn’t get on my nerves is that he barely has time for his daughter. So most days she’s all mine.
The boy takes a step toward us. I loop my arm around Zenya’s waist and draw her toward the double doors. “Let’s go outside. It’s nearly midnight.”
Fireworks have been set up all along the river at the bottom of the lawn that sweeps down from the mansion. We walk around the garden together, looking at the flowers in the moonlight as the music and the laughter of the party recedes behind us.
“Do you think Dad’s looking well?”
I look at her sharply, my stomach in free fall that she’s about to tell me that Troian’s cancer is back. But no, he would have told me himself if that was the case. His prognosis is dire, but it’s not necessarily a death sentence. We just have to wait and hope that the worst doesn’t happen.
It would be terrible to lose my brother, but it would fucking destroy Zenya.
I get a flash of memory from her mother’s funeral. Ten-year-old Zenya clinging to a numb and silent Troian on one side and me on the other, crying pitifully all the way through the service. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. Ever since then, she’s anxious to protect her little brothers and sisters and has moments of being clingy with Troian and me.
Fuck, I like it when she’s clingy with me.
I like it a lot.
“He’s looking better than ever,” I assure her. “I’ll probably take him out to crush more skulls this weekend.”
“Where? Whose skulls?”
I give her a sidelong smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, I would! I want to know everything.”
I’m completely making it up, but my plan was to distract her from thinking about Troian’s cancer and it’s working. “Ah, sucks to be you, because I’m not telling.”
“Uncle Kristian, you tell me right now.” Zenya pokes me in the ribs and tugs on the T-shirt I’m wearing beneath my suit jacket, insisting I tell her everything. I let her do whatever she wants to me because it’s an excuse for me to touch her while pretending to fend her off. She smells warm and sweet in my arms, like tropical flowers, and I’m laughing for the first time all week.
She has a hand beneath my T-shirt on my bare stomach when the countdown begins. People have lined up on the terrace.
Zenya turns and glances over her shoulder. “Should we join everyone else?”
I stare at the outline of her hand beneath my clothing. “Let’s stay here.”
A moment later, fireworks burst overhead.
Zenya looks up with a gasp of delight, and a smile spreads over her face.
Nothing that’s happening up there could draw my attention away from the girl standing next to me. My eyes drop to her mouth. I gave myself a talking to earlier, that under no circumstances am I to kiss my niece on the mouth at midnight, no matter if we find ourselves alone or how pretty she looks with all the colored lights painting her face.
But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if she’ll kiss me. I’ve imagined that about a thousand times. How I’d laugh like I’m surprised and pretend that it hadn’t occurred to me in a million years that the two of us might ever kiss.
Oh, Zenya, you shouldn’t do that. I’m your uncle, remember?
Then, as she’s blushing and apologizing, I’d draw her beneath a tree out of her family's sight and kiss her again. Harder. Deeper.
And confirm myself to be the terrible person everyone thinks I am.
