34
NATASHA
I’d falleninto Lachlan’s orbit again. This time, I would never come down. I remained focused, though. As his biggest cheerleader, I attended most Dodgers’ games. Most, because he played for almost the whole week, and I had to work.
Today, I signed a contract with the art gallery in Long Beach and provided the curator with a larger selection of photos. My favorite gallery owner and artist, Essence Travers, mounted photos on her walls that I thought would be hidden forever. I was too self-critical.
With an empty leather portfolio in hand, I started out the passenger side of my AMG and into the hot July air.
“Allow me.” Borya came around and reached for my portfolio.
“Relax, Borya. You aren’t my personal butler.” I danced away from his attempt to grab it. “Ha, ha!”
Borya grumbled, approached the towering doors, and unlocked them. At the sight of my father strolling through the foyer, he reached for the portfolio again. I swatted his hand.
Pop didn’t offer us a cursory glance. He was on the phone speaking low and angrily in Russian.
Borya took the portfolio just as my phone rang.
“Hey, Pop?” I greeted him.
He turned around, his harsh expression washed away. “Help your mom with dinner, please.”
I flicked my brow at the flecks of powder on his chiseled jaw. Momma and her games. Usually, dough-covered my parents from head to toe. Vassilievich and I’d raced to escape the kitchen while they kissed and cooked. “Pot pies?”
“Figure it out,” he said, retreating toward his study.
I watched him go. Borya tracked upstairs to leave my portfolio at the door to my room.
“Hello?” came from my phone.
Oh. I’d answered. As usual, sight unseen. I lifted the phone, a picture of Jordyn in her wedding dress on the screen. “Sorry, Jordy.”
She sniffed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing … I butt-dialed you.”
Smelled like a lie. She had secured the nosy big sister angle when we became reacquainted.Okay, two can play that game.“Mm-hmm. Be honest. Nobody butt-dials anyone anymore. You been crying?”
“It’s nothing.” Her growl was commendable.
“I’m hosting our Taco Tuesday at The Red Door. My treat since I’m not going to Scotland tomorrow.”Yep. Lachlan’s orbit. He wasn’t going, so I wasn’t, but were we really at the family vacation stage, though?
“Not sure I’ll come, Cutie Pie.” She hung up. Cryptic. I was nosy, but my heart was also set up to support my friend. Her voicemail picked up the second I called her back.
“Huh. This is payback for the times I pissed off Boobie.” My mouth twisted to the side. I should drive down to San Diegothis weekend, check on my brother. With a crammed summer session, he didn’t return home much.
I stopped dead as I reached the kitchen, head tilted, eyes closed, and sighed. “Chicken and dumplings.”Wait. Pop should be hap?—
I dodged dough that flew in my direction. Laughing, Momma swayed over—I wondered if she ever walked. Everything she did reminded me of a monarch. Black royalty. “Y’know,”—I took the towel she handed me to wipe up the mess— “Pop treats you too well. You’re like a kid.”
She took the towel and swatted my arm. “Help me cook. If you want to eat.”
“I do.” I approached the bright red stove with gold fixtures. One pot sat on the eight-range. “Looks like you don’t need help.”
She took my shoulders and spun me around.
