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"Thanks very much,lisichka. And since you asked, the issue is time-sensitive. Part of the Russian tradition of," he affects a stronger accent, "notya."
"And that means…?"
"It means notya concern. So keep your pretty little nose out." He grins at my irritation. "Relax. You'll be Morgana Georgevna Kisleva before the week is out. The advantages will make up for my character defects, I promise."
7
Morgana
Inside, the house is like nothing I've ever seen.
We enter a foyer with a polished wood floor and a red-carpeted staircase. Silk Damask furniture lines a viewing area that leads into a snug den, just visible through the half-open sliding doors. To the right is a grand piano, as shiny as obsidian.
"Do you play?"
Vlad shakes his head. "It belongs to my sister." He leads me upstairs. "There's an elevator," he says, "but I'd better walk you through the house at least once."
Each room is more sumptuous than the last. Nooks and dens and bedrooms and bathrooms. A library. A theater. Several studies. The roof terrace is large enough to seat a hundred people, and Vlad tells me that's where we'll hold our wedding reception.
"How many bedrooms?"
"Eight. My father lives on the fifth floor with my uncle, and the rest of my family has rooms too. The third floor is for us."
"So, who am I gonna meet?"
Vlad stops outside a door. "I have two brothers and a sister, all younger than me. My father also adopted the son of a murdered ally, so he's practically family now." He lowers his voice. "My father is sick. He wants this marriage to happen, so there's no time to waste. You'd better act crazy about me and be thrilled to become my wife. That's what I expect and what you'll give me. Understood?"
I've never wished more fervently for superpowers. What I wouldn't give to set this asshole on fire with my eyes.
"Whatever," I say, giving him the bitchiest glare I can muster.
Vlad pushes open the door. Three men stand, but one does not.
A pale, thin old man sits on a chaise longue, an IV bag on a stand beside him. A tube is attached to his arm with a cannula.
"Ah, so this is my daughter-in-law!" he says as we enter. “Dobryy vecher, sweet girl. I am Sergey Kislev."
"Papa," Vlad says, his tone sharp. "This is Morgana."
I take Sergey's hand. It's cold and slightly moist, his grip almost non-existent.
"I'm pleased to meet you." I try to keep my voice light. "You have a beautiful home."
"I know."
Sergey smiles, showing his small yellowing teeth. His contempt for Vlad and me is apparent, and he does not try to hide it.
"Don't be smug, Papa," another man says, approaching me. "It's not as though you chose any of the fittings."
He takes my hand and shakes it firmly. He's not as tall as Vlad but just as muscular, his shoulders and arms straining the fabric of his black t-shirt. His eyes are bluer than Vlad's, and as he grins broadly at me, I'm surprised to see a ring through his lip. His dark hair is long enough on top to be tied in a scruffy knot, but the sides are shaved short, complimenting his neat beard. Apart from his face, every inch of visible skin is covered in tattoos.
So this is the bad boy of the family.
"I'm Alexandr, but no one calls me that, so I wouldn't think to answer to it. You can call me Sasha."
"Thanks, I will." I smile at him, and Vlad takes my hand, squeezing it hard.
Is he jealous?Jesus.I'm saying hello. Should I spit in his brother's eye just to make a point?
