Maxim buried himself in the engine, tightening a nut that was already tight. “My trust issues with women are not up for discussion. She is a Morozov. If she were a dog, I still wouldn’t turn my back on it.”
Kira walked in then with two plates. He watched her, and her gaze did not leave his. The hate and disgust that rolled in her features made him immensely proud. She could act, yes, but this was real, and he basked in it. At least she was learning that no matter what she wore, he was not going to give in to her whims. She was under new ownership, and she would have to adjust.
Kira slapped the plates down and bowed at the waist. Lazar softly chuckled, and Maxim threw the screwdriver at him.
Kira couldn’t look at herself in the mirror. She had made that bastard a sandwich, and now she felt like less than a woman. How could she let him win? But better yet, how could she get back at him?
She traded out her lovely dress for a pair of slacks and a crappy shirt to return to the garden where she began digging up another row of ugly bushes. Yanking them out became therapeutic after weeks of constant mending. She had never planted a single flower in their garden at her family home, and she was sure that if she instructed, any one of these servants would be more than happy to get on their knees and do it for her. But this new hobby of hers was now her favorite. She could see the miles of majestic gardens that could wrap around this house by the end of summer. She had done some research on which plants were best at this time of year, and though she was surely going to make mistakes, it was all part of a learning journey, one she didn’t mind taking.
Something that Yakov learned about her at a young age was her desire for knowledge. He brought in the best tutors and the most talented musicians to teach her at every hour of the day. She was surprisingly good at many things, but never the best. It was as if she would always hit a plateau, where she was just good enough but never truly great. She never applied forany competitions and therefore never won any awards. She was mediocre, like her appearance and personality. She was the last Morozov daughter, not because she was born last, but because her three sisters were better.
A chuckle from behind swung her head around. Lazar stood with his hands in his pockets, grinning. “So this is where you went.”
Brushing off her hands, Kira stood. She wasn’t certain if he stood exactly behind her to stare at her ass, but the position was questionable. “Did you need something?”
His smile faded to a softer style. “I wanted to apologize for my brother.”
Kira was surprised. She figured he would be proud of his brother, putting his ill-tempered wife ‘in her place.’
“He’s not normally like that. And I have chastised him for it.”
She chewed her lip. She doubted this was an appropriate conversation, but she literally had no one else to talk to. “Does he truly think I have anything to do with my father’s plans?”
“He does. How could he not? How can I not? You are intelligent. Certainly, you know your father better than anyone.”
“I do.” She still couldn’t say it out loud because it made her sound so pathetic. But when Maxim asked for her hand in marriage, she honestly thought he wanted her because he had found her to be the one with whom he could build a family. They had met once for dinner, and though it was chaperoned, the conversation was stimulating enough that by the end of it, she was high on excitement. He matched her wit. He had book recommendations and laughed when she revealed her favorite genre was vampires and werewolves. The connection had been real.
Or had it all been a lie? He thought she was lying to him, while he was lying to her. If anyone had the right to be angry about their situation, it was her because she was the one withhopes and dreams. She was the one who put everything on this marriage.
And he was the one to destroy it.
A tear dripped down her cheek, and she rubbed it away, leaving a smudge of dirt on her skin. “That doesn’t mean I’m aware when I am a chess piece.”
Lazar stepped up to her, closer than she was ready for, and she stepped back, but nearly fell into a hole. He grabbed a hold of her arm, pulling her into him while his hand touched her cheek, rubbing away the dirt. “We are all chess pieces.” Lazar leaned lightly back to look at her outfit. “Where is that stunning dress you had on earlier? You must wear it for me the next time I visit.” He took up her hand and kissed the back of it. The look in his light brown eyes would have set fire to her at any other time, but now it felt dangerous.
What kind of man hit on his brother’s wife?
Kira watched him travel back to the driveway, where the mustang was waiting. He fired it up, letting the engine roar loudly and echo across the vast expanse of their estate before he took off at a jerky neck speed.
When Lazar was gone, Kira shook her head. She must have misread that look. No one looked at her like that. No men who looked like him, at least. Kira had dealt with plenty of stalkers during her time in college, but no attractive man ever approached her, possibly because of the giant bodyguards that followed her everywhere.
Kira only had bad memories from school. Even though nearly sixty percent of the school’s students were children of millionaires and famous people, she was the oddity. Her family’s reputation tainted everyone’s opinion of her. So she kept her head down and pretended to always be happy studying, even on the weekends when she could hear a party going on downstairs.
Kira saw Maxim come out of the house. She hardened herself against him, even went back to digging in the dirt, if only to annoy him.
“Morozov!”
She clenched her teeth. Why couldn’t he use her name? Was it really that hard?
“Morozov!”
Could she ignore him? Yes, but would it do anything for her? No.
Kira buried her hand shovel in the dirt and got up, heading toward him as she wiped her hands off on her smock. She wished she looked as intimidating as he did, standing on the edge of the patio dressed in a charcoal gray suit and black shoes. Her breathing increased on its own will. It was cruel for him to look as attractive as he did and have such a nasty temper. She didn’t even try to fix her appearance. No matter what she did, she could never match his synergy.
“You said you speak Italian.” He looked away, clearing his throat. “I have a meeting tomorrow, and you will sit in on it. You will say nothing. At the end, you will report whether it was truthful.”
“You think you can trust a Morozov?”
