Lucy
The poundingon the door awakened me. I groaned and rolled over. The shades were drawn, and for a second I wondered where I was. Then I glanced over at the blonde head buried under the covers.
Aralina. She was clingy when she was tipsy. But we had fun last night. Too much fun.
She stirred in bed, but all she did was change position and ignore the knock.
I heard Irina’s voice. It was muffled, but she appeared to be placating someone. Shit, I think I knew who it was. The knob jangled before the door swung open.
Kirill’s form darkened the entrance.
He stalked into the room, and since I was on the side of the bed closest to the door, he reached me first. I was his intended target, anyway.
He scowled at me. He was still in his clothes from last night. Since I married him, I’d hardly seen him, only finding out what he was up to in the tabloid that gossiped about the mafia. It was mind-boggling how the reporter hadn’t been whacked yet, but she focused on the scandalous relationships of the underworld, not really their business. Maybe the mob liked the diversion.
Kirill had been featured heavily in the past six weeks. Speculations abounded about our marriage, that I’d frozen him out after he rushed to Anya’s side on our wedding night. He’d been seen at gentlemen’s clubs, dance clubs, and restaurant openings while I maintained a low profile. He wanted to humiliate me in public, go ahead. I was surprised he was frequently pictured solo or with Maksim and business associates, not his shady ones. He was publicly keeping his distance from Anya, but I knew he’d been secretly meeting her.
Mr. Anonymous had been sending me updates.
Yes, that was the name I assigned my mysterious tormentor. I never responded.
Ever since that night Kirill abandoned me to go to his mistress on our wedding night, I decided the best way to live through this marriage and beat Kirill at his own game was indifference.
“Get up,” he growled.
“Good morning to you, husband.” I rolled out of bed, scooted past him to head to the bathroom because this girl gotta pee. He had the audacity to follow me, but I had the satisfaction of slamming the door in his face. As I took care of a quick morning routine, I heard his one-sided conversation with Aralina. Guess she had no choice but to wake up.
I decided to rescue her. When I emerged from the bathroom, Irina was arguing with Kirill.
“She’s almost twenty-two, and she rarely goes out at night to have fun. Besides, Lev is with her.”
“Lev is an idiot and allows Aralina to run circles around him.”
I could agree with that. He was no Sato for sure.
“What has your panties in a twist, Kirill?” I drawled.
He shoved a screen in my face. It was a photo of Aralina and me on the dance floor of one of the bratva’s clubs. The headline read: “Lucy and Aralina Zahkarova got some moves and admirers.”
“I see a picture of two women having fun,” I said dryly. “What’s wrong with that? It wasn’t as if the men were dry-humping us.”
Irina muttered something, and I looked past Kirill and grinned. “Sorry, Irina.”
I glanced at Aralina, who was silently laughing. She was sitting up in bed, her chest shaking, hand over her mouth, but her blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
“Are you trying to get my attention?” Kirill demanded.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or punch the arrogance off his face. “Far from it. Please tuck your ego away. Your sister needed a break.”
“Are you okay?” Kirill asked Aralina.
She grinned and signed. Crossed her hands over her chest and pointed at me. I wasn’t proficient with sign language yet, but it seemed she was telling Kirill she was okay now thanks to me. Aralina had boy problems. She went to NYU for graphic design, and the boy she was sort of seeing, who was also her classmate, abruptly quit and moved away. For two weeks, she was lost. I did my own digging and finally found information for her. He’d moved clear across the country to California and was alive and well. The bratva hadn’t gotten rid of him. That was when I suggested a night out.
But it didn’t seem to appease my husband, and he was still glaring at me.
“Why don’t we all have breakfast?” Irina suggested. “It’s Cook’s day off, so Ivan is making Syrniki.”
“Oh, I love those.” Syrniki are Russian cheese pancakes. I’d eaten them a couple of times since Kirill’s family had embraced me, especially after that headline that he abandoned me during our wedding night.
