I bit my cheek. This wasn’t going to end well.
Daniil’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression turning thoughtful. When he spoke again, his accent was heavy. “Beth is a…” His right hand waved in the air. “…short name of Elizabeth, correct? Like Jon for Jonathan or Joe for Joseph?”
My mom stared for all of a heartbeat. Her expression unfroze, and her shoulders lowered, easing. Same as my aunt and cousin.
My God.
He was playing dumb with our language. I blinked, utterly astonished. Somehow, I was betting he very rarely played stupid for anyone. Carl, who was sitting next to him, even stared at him for a moment before grabbing his coffee and sipping at it. His gaze darted to me, thoughtful…then stunned…before quickly cooling to steel.
Well, Carl had figured it out.
Mom nodded. “Yes. It’s anickname. But Elizabeth doesn’t allow anyone to call her that. I imagine my daughter…” She glanced at me. I quickly looked down and started drying off my plate. “I imagine she was a little intimidated to inform you of this. I’m sure she would appreciate it if, from now on, you would call her Elizabeth instead of Beth.”
Setting my napkin down, I gradually peered up.
Daniil was staring at me, his eyebrows unfurling. He continued speaking with the heavy accent. “My apologies…Elizabeth. I did not realize this.”
I bit my lip. Hard.
Christ.
I wanted to laugh my ass off. I lowered my gaze so no one would see my expression since I evidently suck at keeping a blank face. “It’s all right. No harm done.”
He grunted deep in reply.
I almost lost it, kicking his leg under the table. If I started laughing, it would give it all away. He needed to cut it out. He was just being mean now.
Carl was choking on his coffee.
Anna rubbed his back, evaluating him with worry.
But Carl kept his gaze away from us.
Probably a good thing since I was close to busting up.
Artur took his seat next to his father, returning from the bathroom. He blinked from my mom to my aunt to me to my cousin. He stared only at our hair. “It comes in fours.”
I lost it then and chuckled loudly.
And…that’s when Mom honed in on him.
Poor Artur didn’t know what hit him. He stared at her in rising confusion and shock as she asked him who he was—his age, his profession, his hobbies, his views on politics…that was when Daniil cut in, saving his son from further inquisition, since Artur was utterly baffled and ready to bash his head against the table.
Mom no longer looked at Daniil with worry. In fact, she spoke slowly to him—making Artur even more muddled—when he asked her what she would recommend from the menu. She must have felt damn brave because she…she pulled out pamphlets from her purse.
“Mom!” I groaned. I didn’t have a problem with the statists of rising violence, but I was pretty sure this group was going to give me hell for this later. “Not now.”
She shook her head and passed them out while the waitress took our orders. “This is the perfect crowd for this, sweetie.”
“Not really,” I muttered, sinking back into my chair.
Katie nudged me and leaned over, whispering, “Mom tried to stop your parents from coming down here, but they were dead set on it. We decided to rescue you by tagging along.” She glanced at my dad and then came back to my ear. “Your dad made your mom drive here from Hemingway House because he wanted to get started on a list of possible men—from this group—that has to be responsible for your sudden downfall.” My eyes bulged. “He put them all in order from hair color and age since he didn’t know everyone’s names. You should see it. It’s fucking hilarious.”
I groaned, nodding. “Good to know.”
She grinned. “Uh-huh. I thought so.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring how everyone was either staring at my mother—or at the pamphlet in their hands—wide-eyed. “You’re enjoying this and you know it.”
