“For fuck’s sake, Kostya!” Kirill curses as he burns his hand on the tea kettle.
“Hey, you just keep doing whatever you’re doing while I catch up with your girlfriend here.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kirill says.
“I’m not his girlfriend.” I say in unison with him.
“Ohhh, I see. You guys don’t do labels. Cute.” Kostya shrugs as if he’s cracked some kind of code. “So, am I the only one who knows you two are banging, or is that secret out yet?”
“We… um… we’re not banging,” I say, shifting back into my seat, feeling self-conscious for the first time in forever. And I’mneverself-conscious.
“Huh.” One of his brows lifts all the way to his hairline. “You know what? That actually explains a lot.”
“Klyanus’ Bogom, Kostya, yesli ty seychas zhe ne uydesh’, ya tebya ub’yu.”
Whatever threat Kirill just proclaimed to his brother, it falls on deaf ears.
“Wait,” he says, looking confused all of a sudden, “if you guys aren’t banging, what the hellareyou doing?”
“We’re… getting to know each other,” I reply, using Kirill’s words against him.
“What kind of pussy ass shit is that?” Kostya belts, looking stunned.
“Ask your brother,” I retort, pressing down on my lips to hide my smile.
To my sudden delight, that’s exactly what Kostya does, throwing his head over his shoulder so he can interrogate his brother. “What kind of pussy are you? I mean, look at her?! She’s fucking hot!”
Kirill doesn’t reply. His nostrils flare as he yanks open drawer after drawer, slamming them shut—with so much force I’m surprised they don’t break—when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.
Seeing he’s not going to get a real explanation from his brother, Kostya turns his attention back to me, leaning forward just enough to grab my hand and stare into my eyes.
“Since he’s pussying out, you can always take me on a test drive,” he coos, wiggling his brows suggestively, before pressing his lips on my knuckles.
A heartbeat later, a butcher knife whistles through the air and buries itself in the center of the table with a violent thud, forcing Kostya to jerk back and peel his mouth from my hand.
“Hands off, Kostya. Or next time I won’t miss,” Kirill says, standing behind the kitchen island, his black-eyed stare winding tight in my gut.
“Ohhh, aren’t we jealous?” Kostya laughs, completely unfazed by the butcher knife now jabbed into the table between us. “Don’t worry, bro. I know she’s yours. And now, so does she.” Kostya gets up from his seat, throws me a wink, and struts out of the kitchen.
A few seconds later, Kirill slides a hot cup of tea into my hands and settles into Kostya’s seat across from me.
“You’re right. Brothers are a pain in the ass,” he groans.
“Told you,” I giggle, blowing on my tea before taking a sip.
“I just hope dinner goes better than whatever that was,” he adds, worry lines etched across his forehead, suggesting that maybe the rest of his family won’t be as charming or funny as Kostya.
Hmm. Maybe I should be worried, too.
Still, when his eyes meet mine, warm and uncertain, I know one thing for sure—whatever is in store for us at this dinner, I’m walking into it with him, and that might be the scariest part of all.
Chapter 16
Stella
Once I’ve neatly arranged the clothes Kirill bought me on the bed, I take a step back and evaluate each piece like evidence from a crime scene. My thumb drifts to my lips, teeth grazing the pad as I debate what exactly a ‘family dinner’ at the Petrov estate requires. Do I show up in the black cocktail dress he bought, or play it safe with jeans and a top?
Ugh.
