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“I swear.”
“He can’t, can he?” I retorted, tone droll. “You swear; he wails.”
“True. But, anyway, I choose my people carefully and it’s hard to become one of them.”
I knew he said that on purpose.
“I don’t deserve to be in your inner circle.”
“I get to decide that. Not you. Anyway, it’s not like you’re arguing. You came to me last night.”
I had.
I didn’t immediately reply, just let his words percolate.
“Where did you pick up on that dialect?”
“The one Anton speaks?” At his hum, I looked down at his forearms. What was it about men’s forearms that were so sexy? Letting my eyes flutter to a close, I answered, “My nanny spoke it. I learned it from her. Have to think Mom picked her for a reason now.”
“What’s the dialect?”
“Chechen.”
“So, the Kuznetsovs don’t originate from Central Russia then. Interesting.”
I sniffed. “It’s an endangered dialect. He could have learned it just because so few people speak it.”
“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t the answer I expected.”
“Thought the CIA programmed it into my brain?”
“That’d have fewer familial repercussions if it were the truth.”
“There’s no denying that,” I admitted. “Do you believe in kismet?”
His hand and arm had started flexing again so, even with my eyes closed, I knew he was texting his family.
“Umm, not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because my brain’s too logical.”
“It’s not totally logical.”
“It is.”
“Is not.”
“It is!”
“It so isn’t. Otherwise, you’d never have let your da control you,” I grumbled.
He stilled a touch. “That made sense, and you know why.”
“I know it was to keep your brothers safe, but that’s also not logical. They’re grown men. They can care for themselves.”
“No, they think they can. They’ve never had to do shit without me around and that makes all the difference.”
