But it was just for show. Of course, it was.
Nicolai’s brother stuttered and then turned to me, his face suddenly composed into a blank slate of polite interest, his angry blush draining away so fast that by the time he walked two steps over to me, his right hand outstretched, the rising blood in his skin was gone. “A pleasure to meet you, Lexi.”
That was freaky. When I got really emotional, sometimes it took me hours to recover from the physical effects, especially this past week.
I shook his warm hand. “Likewise.”
Nicolai said, his voice still perfectly level, “Lexi, my love, this is my younger brother, Konstantin Romanov. Kostya is a junior at Harvard, studying international finance. Let’s go into the bedroom for the rest of this conversation.”
Nicolai held out his hand as if he were shepherding us in. When I walked past him toward the white-painted doorway, he laid his hand at the center of my back again.
I still wasn’t sure how I felt about his possessive, protective, intimate and yet weirdly formal, but somehow subtly sexual hand placement at the center of my waist, below my shoulder blades, just barely above my belt line.
I knew it made me lose my breath a little.
I glanced back.
Konstantin, Nicolai’s little brother, folded his hands behind his back as he followed us into the bedroom with unconcerned, languid strides.
Inside the bedroom,oneking-sized bed was covered in crisp white bedding and looked like it was out of a social media influencer’s photo spread. I didn’t even know howIknew the room looked like that, but girly instinct wanted to take pictures and make my friends jealous.
Not that I actually wanted to make anybody jealous of me. I’d been living in my car after my fiancé of six years had dumped me at the altar for another woman without a pause or backward glance. I was a little downtrodden.
Maybe I just liked being in a pretty room.
Konstantin pressed the door closed behind us and flipped around, the anger twisting his face once again. “Now spill it.What the fuck is going on, and who is she?”
A quick grimace crossed Nicolai’s face. “Kostya, let’s not be uncivilized.”
“I wake up this morning to find youplasteredall over social media and see that somewhorehas trapped you?—”
“Stop,”Nicolai said, his voice low, steely. “Lexi is mywife,and I won’t tolerate disrespect from you or anyone else.”
My legs backpedaled before I knew I was stumbling toward the wall.
Kostya’s returned scowl was deeper. “I don’t know anything about her, butChrist,Nico! Did this slut trap you?Blackmailyou?”
From my vantage point splayed on the wall, I watched Nicolai lift his head. His whole posture stiffened like he was being stretched.“Kostya!I don’t care if youaredrunk, and don’t deny it. I can smell it on your breath.” He stalked toward Konstantin, his anger dark but distant, a Nebraska tornado forming on the horizon and coming. “You willnotspeak aboutmywifelike that.”
I pressed myself into the wall beside the bed’s headboard like I’d been splatted onto the drywall and tried to hold still, to make myself unnoticeable. I could see both of their faces from this angle.
Was there a space underneath the bed? I could crawl under there if this came to violence, if they started fighting, if they started swinging at each other and punching and trying to kill each other.
This wasn’t safe.
I wasn’t safe.
Konstantin’s shoulders hunched, his fists clenched, and the ruddiness stained his skin again in an instant. “Thefuck,Nico? Some little gold-diggingwhorespreads her legs, and now you’ve fuckingmarriedher?”
Nicolai’s eyes were narrowed, and his voice was low with far-off thunder rolling in.“Apologize.”
“Apologize for what? For stating the obvious? You pick up some slut and fuck her and then marry her, andI’mthe bad guy for pointing it out?”
If I could have crawled up the plaster and clung to the ceiling to get away from the two men fighting, I would have, but my fingertips slipped on the sharp plaster of the wall as I tried to smush myself farther into it.
“Because she’s an escort, right? Jesus Christ, Nico. Escort culture is fine in Eastern Europe, butyou fuck them.You don’t bring them to the US orfucking marry them.”
“She’s not an escort, Kostya.”
