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I smile at both of them. “Thanks. I guess my problem isn’t so much not being in love as it is tryingnotto fall in love.”
Saying it out loud sounds even crazier than it did in my head. Before I can explain myself, however, Noel walks through the door. “Mrs. Paige, I’m sorry to bother you, but you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” I ask. “We never have visitors. Who is it?”
“Ms. Nikita.”
“Nikita?” I say, repeating the name. “Why does that name sound so—oh my God. Misha’s sister is here?”
“The very one,” a light, quippy voice says as an effortlessly chic woman steps into the room.
The woman standing at the threshold is a few inches shorter than me, but she has the kind of presence that makes her seem so much taller. She’s impeccably dressed in a jade green skirt and a cream silk blouse. Her dark hair is tied back behind her head, highlighting the sharpness of her features. She’s every bit as beautiful as Misha.
And every bit as terrifying.
“And who, may I ask, are you?” she asks pointedly.
I feel like a frumpy old housewife in comparison. For one, I’m in a freaking bathrobe. That’s not to mention the sheet mask on my face, the essential oils in my hair, and the canape flakes stuck between my teeth.
Talk about a first impression.
I stammer through a terrible introduction. “I… I’m… Paige.”
Nikita looks me up and down. She makes no secret of her scrutiny. “Paige,” she says, floating gracefully into the center of the living room. “Do you have a last name, Paige?”
“Um. Masters,” I say at the same time Rada says, “Orlov.”
I shoot Rada a glare, and she looks down at the floor with a blush.
Nikita watches the whole thing with one raised eyebrow and an expression that reminds me so much of her brother. It’s the smooth, glassy surface of deep water before a sea monster bursts from below and consumes you whole.
“Paige Orlov.” Her eyes flicker down to my left hand.
My first instinct is to hide the offending finger, but it’s too late for that. Where the hell is Misha? Or Konstantin? I’d take either one at the moment.
“My brother gave you that ring?” she asks.
Misha never told me what to do in this situation. So I decide on the truth. “Yes. Yes, he did.”
Her calm façade never cracks. Not even for a moment. “I assume, then, that you’re already married?”
“Yes,” I swallow.
“How long?”
I feel a little bit like I’m in an interrogation room. An interrogation room with a massage table and scented candles. “It’s been almost a month now.”
“No wonder my brother has been so quiet lately,” she says, almost to herself.
She meanders toward me and, for one insane second, I think she’s going to lunge forward and wring my throat. “I guess there’s nothing else to say but… welcome to the family, Paige.”
Her face breaks out in a huge smile. I’m shell-shocked. I mumble out a weak “Thank you” that sounds like a hamster squeak.
“I would love to get to know you.”
“I want nothing more,” I admit. “I would love to get to know you and your mother.”
“Perhaps we should have dinner then?” she suggests.
