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“Not today.”
He nods. “That’s good. The two of you were getting a little too—”
“I’m meeting your sister.”
Misha sighs and slumps against the doorway. In moments when he thinks I’m not paying attention, I catch this bone-deep look of exhaustion in his eyes, in the slope of his shoulders. Like gravity itself is his biggest enemy. Either that or the past.
“You don’t need to try so hard.”
“Spending time with them isn’t the chore you make it out to be,” I retort. “Besides, your family is obviously close. I would like for us all to get along.”
“Why? They’re not your family.”
I wince at the insinuation tucked between his words. I thought things would be better after the night we spent together. But here we are. Right back in the same place we’ve always been.
“Of course,” I drawl, backing away from him. “I keep forgetting. I’m not really a part of the family, am I? I’m just an add-on. An unexpected, unwelcome addition. Think of me like a benign tumor.”
He seems to realize what he said all at once. He swears under his breath, but makes no attempt to stop me as I walk out of the room.
Why would he? Misha told me what he was capable of offering me before this arranged marriage started.
It wasn’t love.
Maybe one day, I’ll stop hoping he’ll change his mind.
64
PAIGE
“Pinot grigio, please,” Nikita orders, giving the waiter a dazzling smile that sends the poor man stumbling backward like she shoved him. He knocks into the table behind him, but only briefly wrenches his eyes away from Nikita to apologize to the other diners before scurrying away.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll kill a man one of these days.”
She arches a brow in question.
“That smile,” I explain, reaching for my boring water with lemon. “It’s a superpower. Not that I’ve seen it much.”
Nikita doesn’t smile a second time, but I can tell she’s amused at my bluntness. I’ll admit, her brother has put me in a weird mood. I don’t feel as compelled to win Nikita over now that Misha has reminded me we’re not actually family.
“I only smile when there’s a good reason,” she says.
“Your brother getting married and having a baby isn’t a good enough reason, but white wine is. Noted.”
She looks intrigued now. As though this blatantly honest conversation is the last thing she was expecting. “I don’t need to ask your permission to have my reservations about this arrangement.”
“I’m not what you think I am,” I tell her.
“And you don’t know me well enough to know what I think.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I admit. “But I’ll take a stab at it anyway. You think I’m some white trash gold digger looking for a rich husband to give me a cushy life.”
Her expression doesn’t change. Just a spark lighting up in her eyes. “Do you deny it?”
I set my water aside and lean forward, elbows planted on the ironwork table. “If you’re determined to hate me, then I can’t change that. I’m not going to force a friendship on you. But I don’t want us to be enemies, either.”
“You haven’t denied anything yet,” she points out.
“I told you I’m not what you think I am.”
