“I liked those boots too, but these Louboutins you bought me aren’t too shabby either.”
“It’s the red soles that cinched the deal for me. They reminded me of you.”
“Shoes reminded you of me? Is there anything less romantic than that?”
“Are you saying you’re open to romance?” he asks, and I definitely don’t miss the way his dark eyes spark back to life.
“Not if I’m going to be compared to shoes, I’m not,” I tease, fighting the butterflies that are threatening to take flight in my stomach.
Kirill settles his hands on my hips again, leaning in so close that the faint, spicy scent of clove still clings to him, probably from the cigarette he must have smoked before coming to see me.
“The reason they made me think of you,” he begins, his voice dropping an octave into something deep and sinful, “is because they looked sleek and sexy without trying too hard. Because they screamed confidence and class. And the red soles… Well, they were the cherry on top. Anything that can summon images of your hair is a win to me. Is that better?”
Kirill’s chest brushes against mine, and I know he can feel how my heartbeat just spiked at his words.
“Oh… so sorry. I didn’t mean to… um… interrupt. I thought you might need help finding the dining room,” Frankie says suddenly, announcing her presence.
Kirill steps back immediately, his expression softening as he turns to his niece. “That’s very thoughtful of you,plemyannitsa, but I think I’ve got this covered.”
Frankie looks at us, her blue eyes sparkling with far too much amusement for my liking.
“Okay then. I’ll see you downstairs.” She waves and dashes off, probably straight into Lucky’s arms to tell him exactly what she just walked in on.
No. Frankie’s a girl’s girl. She won’t rat me out.
“Is there anything you need before we go down?” Kirill asks once he’s sure Frankie won’t come back.
“I don’t think so,” I mumble, looking at the large mirror inside the wardrobe door. “Do you think anything is missing?”
Kirill licks his lips before shaking his head. “Shall we then?” he asks, offering me his arm.
With no further word from me, I loop my arm through his and take a steadying breath. Not just because Kirill is testing my resolve, but because I’m finally about to meet the rest of the Petrov family. Considering I’m my father’s daughter and inherited my mother’s stubborn temper, I’m not entirely sure how this dinner is going to go.
But hey… Lucky hasn’t been killed yet, and he’s been to a few of these dinners, so how bad could it possibly be?
Bad. It can go really, fucking, extraordinarily bad.
From the moment I sat down at the dinner table, I’ve gotten nothing but penetrating glances thrown my way, and not always the good kind.
Aleksandr—or Sasha, as his brothers call him—has been giving me the evil eye all night. If looks could kill, that manwould’ve flayed the skin off my bones and hung it to dry before dessert. Kostya keeps throwing little conspiring winks my way, as if he knows something I don’t, while Mikhail is too captivated by the conversation he’s having with Frankie at his side to pay attention to anyone else. Anyone except his wife, that is. Mikhail’s hand never leaves Elena’s, thumb brushing gently over her wrist as they both listen to Frankie talk about her foster brother, Darius.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Elena says excitedly, in her heavy Russian accent. “Any family of yours is our family too.” Mikhail looks at his wife with nothing but tender affection in his eyes.
“That’s going to be pretty hard,” Lucky cuts in, sounding like a jealous boyfriend. “Darius lives in Chicago. So does Frankie. I don’t see how he’d be able to come here for a visit.”
“Lucky,” Frankie scolds, already annoyed with his rudeness.
“It’s quite alright, Kira. Young Romano isn’t wrong in his assessment,” Mikhail says calmly, not one bit flustered with my brother’s input on the matter. “It will be challenging for Darius to come to Russia, but I think I might be able to pull a string or two to make it happen.”
Mikhail winks at his niece, and Lucky fumes even harder when Frankie practically jumps out of her seat in excitement.
I swear, if I could crawl across this table and slap some sense into my brother, I would. This is Frankie’s family. He shouldn’t be jealous of people who love and cherish her just as much as he does. And from the little I’ve seen tonight, it’s obvious every last Petrov in this room loves Frankie. Or Kira. Or whatever name she’s going by these days.
Actually, why not find out now what she wants us to call her? No time like the present, I always say.
“Frankie, have you given any thought to keeping your name? I mean… Frankie O’Malley doesn’t exactly screamBratvaprincess.”
Her cheeks turn pink, but the shine in her eyes tells me she’s proud of this newfound family.
