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“You too. I’m always surprised when someone likes my brother,” she said, giving him a smirk. He grabbed her in a hug and kissed her roughly on the cheek. She pulled away and made a show of wiping her face, but I could tell she loved it, she was grinning from ear-to-ear.
“And I’m Nikita, but everyone calls me Nikki,” a teenager who liked like an older carbon copy of young Tia, with the blonde hair and blue eyes, said.
“Nikita,” I repeated her name. “Such beautiful names – Anastasia, Nikita and Natalia.”
“Beautiful Russian names,” The Russian’s mother agreed. “Since we moved to America before the girls were born, we compromised by giving them Russian names to keep a little of my history alive. They were names of women in my family.” She gave her husband an affectionate look.
“And Alex, is that Russian?” I asked, frowning.
“Alexei,” Lana said, looking at her son.
I turned my eyes to him and grinned. And thus, I worked out how The Russian once got his nickname.
“Alexei, that’s beautiful,” I said.
The Russian winced. “Yeah, I’m starving,” he said, in a bad attempt to change the subject. His mother laughed.
“Come on then, let’s eat. Nikki, can you help me with the salads please? James, will you serve the stroganoff, Ana please top up our glasses, Tia if you can turn that music off and Brodie eat your dinner,” she said, directing the dog. “Alex, you make Carla feel at home.”
“Can I help at all?” I asked, following everyone into the large open plan kitchen and dining area.
“Yes please, Carla,” Lana said, “you can keep Alex away while we serve, so he doesn’t pick.”
“I’m always ganged up on here,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“Come then, you can walk me through the photos and I’ll make sure you stay away from the plates.”
“This dinner was a bad idea,” he mumbled, following me back over to the wall of framed photos, not far from all the activity at the kitchen bench. He pulled me away from the photos of him and started at the end with the older family photos. The Russian photos from Lana’s side were severe – somber subjects looking into the camera, looking less than happy.
“Russia and its people have not had a happy history,” The Russian explained as he pointed out Lana’s parents.
“Is Lana a Russian name too? It doesn’t sound Russian?” I asked.
“It’s short for Svetlana,” he said. “And here’s Dad’s parents and grandparents.”
I looked at the subjects all suited up and the women with their hats and dresses covering every inch of their body.
The Russian pointed out a great shot of his parents on the crumbling Berlin Wall.
“That’s where my parents met. Mom was traveling around Europe, Dad was there working as an engineer.”
I loved watching The Russian as he told me about his family. His deep voice warming me, his strong presence beside me sending sparks through my whole body.
The Russian’s father piped in from the open plan kitchen. “I had only been qualified a few years, but the company I was working for won a contract to do a project in Berlin,” he said. “The moment I saw Lana on the wall, waving her banner, it was love at first sight. I wasn’t going back to the States without her, and luckily she was so charmed by me that she agreed.”
Lana blushed and shook her head at him. Yep, like father like son.
“Did you love him at first sight too, Mom?” Tia asked.
“Of course, you know that story,” she said, shutting the discussion down. Clearly Lana wasn’t one for expressing emotions out loud.
“Did you love Alex at first sight Carla?” Tia said, turning to me.
“Tia!” Her mother shook her head.
“Of course she did, she’s smitten,” The Russian said to Tia. His two other sisters Ana and Nikki groaned, and I laughed.
“He is handsome,” Tia said, smiling up at her big brother with a look of adoration.
