“Eduard,” Mother warned and both Nik and I had to hide our muted laughter at his scolding.
“Or even his sixth or seventh choice,” Nik mumbled, and I nodded in agreement.
“Or eighth or ninth,” I added under my breath and we shared a look of amusement.
“He’s happy,” Father continued, “and I can look forward to grandchildren soon, no doubt.”
Alexander was taking a sip of champagne and he choked at Father’s words, coughing and spluttering, a look of abject fear on his face. Nikolai and I laughed loudly.
“Jesus, Father, she’s not pregnant,” Alexander said, looking up at him as Marisha stared on in horror. “We’ve not even talked about children yet.” Obviously the pair wanted a little more honeymoon talk and a little less baby planning. I enjoyed their torture though. Let them feel the full weight of what they’d done to me and Nik, simply by falling in love.
We’d have to get married and move forward, and they’d have to welcome a pack of brats and all the things that went with that. Diapers. Midnight feedings. Decreased libido.
“She will be soon enough. The Vasiliev men have good sperm, Son,” he said raising his glass. “To Alexander and Marisha.”
Everyone raised their glasses to cheer and I continued to laugh despite my mother's warning looks, and Alexander’s pleads to stop.
The first course was delivered to our tables, crab soup, and I tucked in, starved after only my alcoholic diet so far today. I glanced over at Nikolai who had gone quiet since the speeches. He was staring down into his bowl of soup, a dark expression on his face.
“You’ll turn your food sour if you keep staring at it like that,” I sniped, sipping at mine. It was good. Really good, and my stomach gurgled in agreement. “What’s wrong with you? Eat.”
Nikolai raised an eyebrow at me, his dark expression quickly hidden behind a smirk. “I was just deciding what the chances were that you had already fucked the kitchen staff,” he said, his words discreet enough that no one else could hear.
I grinned. “Very likely.”
He put down his spoon. “That’s what I thought. Guess I have to go hunting, seeing as I don’t relish the thought of your sloppy seconds.”
“You should be so lucky,” I winked before finishing off my soup. “You might want to reconsider though. The chef was particularly pleasing. Very sizeable. And a few of the waitresses.” I chef-kissed my fingers and winked. “Delectable.”
It was easy to tell when I’d gotten under his skin--his gaze narrowing and his frown deepening.
Nik pushed his chair out and stood up, dropping his napkin to the table, and speaking louder to address the room at large. “If you’ll excuse me, I have plans for the evening.”
Father smiled and nodded, one too many vodkas in his system already and mother was deep in talks with Marisha, getting to know her soon to be daughter-in-law no doubt. Alexander glanced up and began scooting his chair out ready to join Nik and then he must have remembered that he wouldn’t be going, and he picked up his glass and took a sip instead of standing.
“Where are you off too?” he asked. “We’ve not even been served the main course yet, Nik.”
“I’m heading to that little beach dive we found last year, the one that did the flaming sambucas across the bar,” Nikolai said, “can I tempt you? Just a short boat ride, and all your wet dreams come true.”
Alexander smiled and shook his head, but his eyes were filled with longing. “No thank you,” he glanced at Marisha, a new kind of unfiltered desire in his eyes, “I’m more than happy right here, but have fun, make sure to have a drink or two for me, Brother.”
Nikolai’s shoulders stiffened and he nodded once. “I will do just that,Brother.” the word ‘brother’ soured on Nik’s lips, though I think only I noticed it.
He turned and started to leave, and I realized with bitterness that I would be sat here at the end of the table all on my own. It was humiliating. Alexander and Marisha’s happiness was ruining this stupid vacation.
I stood up and placed my napkin on the table. “I’m going too.”
“Katya,” mother looked up from her conversation, “sit down and eat please.”
I watched Nikolai leaving, his shoulders hunched low, his hands deep in his pockets and his head bowed.
“I think he needs cheering up, Mother. I’m just trying to help.”
Father looked up then and smiled. “Aaah, there’s my beautiful daughter,” he cooed, “we have meetings with some suitors later in the week. Don’t worry, you won’t be left on the shelf,” he barked out a laugh, his drunkenness making him unaware, or uncaring of how rude he was being.
I squeaked out a gasp of horror.
Me, left on the shelf.
