We always arrived separately at family parties. He had never sought me out like he did today. And when we crossed paths, he’d give me a cold peck on the cheek and that was that. He would mostly ignore me over dinner other than to remind me of an event we needed to attend. His family continued to be sympathetic to the scorned me, and boy did I eat that up to use against Kirill.
His plan to humiliate me backfired. He’d definitely cottoned on that his presence was the one ruining my day.
I was at a loss of what to do next.
He lowered his head and whispered, “Smile,sweetheart.”
Oh, that “sweetheart” dripped with vinegar.
I tilted up my chin to smile at him and snarled through my teeth. “Like this?”
He seemed amused. “Just like that.”
There were more bratva than our usual family dinner. The chatter at least was a welcome diversion that prevented any meaningful conversation with my husband. The focus was on Kolya, anyway. And boy, every time the bratva’s enforcer stared at me, it gave me chills.
“I need to supervise dinner,” I told Kirill in an attempt to leave his side.
“By supervise you mean taste the food?” he replied dryly.
My neck heated. “Of course, I have to make sure it meets standards.”
Kirill grinned at me. I didn’t trust that grin. He searched the crowd and called out, “Mama.”
Irina glanced at us questioningly.
“Do you need Lucy’s help?”
She shook her head. “Of course not! I've got this handled. You two catch up.”
Catch up? She made it sound like we hadn’t seen each other for years.
“See?” Kirill mocked me triumphantly. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
When I glared, he added, “Cheer up, Lusenka, I might even let you stab me at dinner.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I snapped.
He had the audacity to laugh. It was brief, but it was unusual enough that it caught a few guests off guard. They smiled at us indulgently, looking at me like I was Kirill’s salvation.
The only one who didn’t buy our act was Aralina. She was frowning at her brother and was looking at me as if trying to figure out a way to rescue me.
There were too many guests to do a sit-down, so the food was set up for a buffet. Again. Kirill stuck to my side and led us to a cozy corner after we filled up our plates. Unfortunately, I was too annoyed to have an appetite, so I picked at my food, but I welcomed the red wine.
Meanwhile, he was chowing down enthusiastically. My hand tightened around the stem of my wineglass.
“Not hungry?” My husband stated the obvious question.
“I lost my appetite,” I said.
He smirked, lowered his eyes to his plate, and rounded up a forkful of cheesy chicken. “This is particularly good. You should taste it.”
I glanced fleetingly at the gooeyness on his fork. “Pass.”
“Come on, Lusenka.” He held it closer to my mouth. “Have a bite.”
“Get your fork away from my face before I throw this wine in yours.”
I didn’t even notice the teasing in his eyes until it vanished.
