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If it hadn’t been for the shoes, it would’ve been the heavy Russian accent that gave her away.
My inner rebel sung some choice words in my head, but I ignored her, just as I kept ignoring Svetlana. Childish? Maybe, but she’d started it, after all.
I grabbed the book and put it on the coffee table across the room from the desk. Then I looked for a dark fantasy novel that had been on my to-read list for ages.
“I’m talking to you, girl!”
I turned to face her. “Oh my, so now you decide to speak to me?”
Her eyes turned frosty. “You are insolent.”
Look who’s talking. “It’s a free country. I’m whatever I want to be. And in case you didn’t get the memo yet, the days of the Russian Empire are over so you can quit pretending like you’re some aristocrat and I’m merely a lowly peasant.”
Her mouth pursed. Then her blood-red painted lips turned up into an evil smile. Okay, so maybe not evil, but there was something about it that made the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“You arethatgirl.”
I didn’t ask her to elaborate. Kristoff adamantly kept me away from Bratva business. I’d never met anyone I’d seen at that fateful gathering ever again. It didn’t surprise me, however, that people in his world knew about me. Information was power after all, no matter how significant of a role I played in his life.
Svetlana slowly rose from the chair. If there was an award for doing this with the most amount of elegance, she’d have won, no questions asked. With a strut to her gait, she walked over to me.
Feeling cornered, though I didn’t know why as this was my house, I felt the need to say, “Yes, I suppose I’mthatgirl.”
“For now,” she agreed. “I’m sure Kristoff will find a new place for you when we get married.”
A punch to the stomach would have hurt less. My eyes flew to her ring finger. It was bare. It didn’t surprise me one bit that she’d divorced that monster Mikhail.
My inner rebel shook her head.Divorced? Think again.
I swallowed when I remembered one of the things I’d overheard through the years. There was no such thing as a Bratva divorce. Which meant that Svetlana must be a widow. The joy that her husband had bitten the dust quickly got overshadowed when I realized she was now free to be with Kristoff.
I felt sick and a fool for even contemplating that there had been heat between us. It had all been a pipe dream. The silly dream of a silly girl who just couldn’t let go of her first crush.
I collected my books. “Well, guess I’ll see you next time then,” I said, as I had no words about Kristoff’s plans to kick me out.
There was that annoying smile again. “I doubt we will see each other next year.”
I shrugged. “I appreciate your honesty. I wasn’t really looking forward to it myself.”
Her smile faltered. Obviously, she wasn’t used to people telling her like it was. Well, there was more where that came from. There was no becoming friends with her. She would toss me out the second she had Kristoff’s ring on her finger.
I left with a smile on my face and a swagger in my step. I kept up the ruse all the way to my room, where I got my bag.
I swore to myself that I would forget him. I would wipe his scent and the way he made my heart flutter from my memory. I’d beaten cancer, and had been orphaned on my birthday. Surviving the loss of Kristoff was just another hurdle. It seemed like I would have no other choice.
***
I hurried to the garage, hoping to beat Yuri there. I wasn’t ever supposed to enter the separate building which housed over forty one-of-a-kind cars—all of which I would be cleaning soon—on my own. Sadly, Yuri was already there, so I missed the opportunity to search for places where the car keys might be hidden. I hadn’t been able to spot them yet in three years. No amount of baking or other forms of culinary bribery had gotten me anywhere close to the elusive keys of the black Bugatti Veyron I had my eye on.
“Yuriska,” I said, making big eyes at him. “Can I please drive?” I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, but Viking had secretly given me a lesson or two.
He snorted as he opened the car door for me. “I don’t think so.”
I dropped into the passenger seat. “You know you’re like the older brother I never wanted, right?” I joked.
“I know you love me,” he said and we drove out of the gate. “Why the face?”
The mansion got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “I hate that he’s sending me away again. It’s been three years since the incident with Boris and his asshole friend Mikhail. An asshole who apparently is dead, judging by his freshly widowed wife.” Why had no one bothered to tell me?
