But he shook his head. “Maybe by birth, but that’s not who I am now. You gave me a different name,” he reminded her.
Poison’s jaw tightened. “I gave you a lot more than my name. You convinced me to give you my heart, my trust. I don’t give a damn if it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie. Theone thingyou swore to me you’d never do.”
Kitty did not cower, did not look away. “I have never hidden who I was. I did not give you a name, but I told you things. I told you enough that if you wanted to look, you could have figured it out.”
“Don’t put this on me. Don’t make this out to be like you left me breadcrumbs and I was just too dumb to follow.”
Kitty straightened off the bike. Approaching her swiftly, he took her chin in his hand. “Don’t you fucking call yourself dumb, and don’t you fucking accusemeof calling you so. You are the smartest person I know—because you fell in love with me,” he added, because he couldn’t resist.
Poison’s lips twitched. It was so minimal that Kitty barely felt it, but he sure as hell saw it. “Who are you?” she asked pointblank.
“You asked me that once before,” Kitty said, dropping his hand. “Here, actually,” he indicated the clubhouse. “Do you remember?”
She nodded. “You told me your father was murdered because of who he was, that your name could get you killed. Did you lie about that, too?”
Kitty shook his head. “I wish I had. I wish I was nothing morethan just some random stranger who learned a very useful set of skills when I was younger and decided to turn it into a less-than-honorable career.”
“Tell me,” Poison ordered. “Tell me the secret that was worth risking my heart for.”
Kitty took a deep breath. “My name is Rurik Mikhailovich Romanov. If the Russian Imperial House had not been abolished in 1917, I would be the heir to the throne.”
Poison stared at him.
And stared at him.
And continued staring at him.
Kitty waited, knowing the secret was a lot to handle. He’d barely been able to handle it as a preteen when he’d finally learned the truth.
Then she laughed. It started as a short sound of sheer disbelief that slowly built until she threw her head back in near hysterical laughter that echoed off surrounding rooftops and vehicles. He didn’t move. In all honesty, he expected this. Because it reallydidsound ridiculous, like the opening of a very bad joke.
“Okay, okay. That was good. You nearly had me,” Poison giggled, still smiling. She wiped the corner of her eye. “I did not realize how much I needed that, you cocky bastard. I hate it that you know me so well.” She chuckled again, one last time. “Okay, I’m ready. Who are you really?”
He didn’t repeat it. He just stared down at her, waiting for her to accept the truth he’d laid out before her.
Poison snickered again, but her smile was more forced this time. “I’m serious. Stop joking around. If you’re a Romanov then I’m Catherine the Great.”
Kitty did not look away from her, silently begging for her to understand. To believe.
Her smile faltered, and Poison looked at him more carefully. “You… You can’t be serious.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, and certainly not about this.”
She studied his face for a long moment with assessing eyes that had always been able to read him better than anyone. She was looking for the tell, the punchline. She would not find one.
Her eyebrows drew down, and her frown deepened. She took a tiny step back as her eyes roamed from his head to his shoes and back. Was she expecting to see his Order of St. Andrew Sash if she looked hard enough?
Poison rolled back on her other heel. “I think you need to tell me everything, and history was never my best subject so talk to me like I’m five. Okay?”
Kitty cracked a smile at that. “My great-great-great grandfather was Alexander II, Tsar of All the Russias. He had two sons, one of which, Nicholas, I know you are familiar with—or at least his famous daughter, Anastasia. But what’s less commonly known is that Alexander had a second son named George. History believes that he died unmarried and childless in 1899 at the age of twenty-eight, but of course, they’d be wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.
“Prior to his death, George had a quiet but legal marriage to a woman named Ilona. To my family’s knowledge, he died before he knew about her pregnancy to his son and heir, Yuri. Shortly before the Russian Revolution that claimed the lives of Nicholas, his wife, and five children, Ilona and Yuri were smuggled out with a fortune sewn into the lining of a coat. They were both given new names at Ellis Island. Now American, Yuri would go on to father a son and so on until my father Mikhail was born. Despite the care that my ancestors and their protectors took to safeguard my bloodline, there are still those out there who believe or suspect. Men who want the Romanov name restored to a throne that no longer exists, and when I was young, they finally managed to track down my father. He got my mother, my sister, and me out, but was unable to escape with his own life.”
Kitty paused a moment, memories of that horrid night stabbing at his soul like jagged claws. “My father paid the price forthe blood that runs through his veins, Poison. I refuse to allow you to pay the same.”
Poison held very still, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. But at least she was no longer looking for the punchline.
“Your name is Rurik Romanov,” she said slowly, butchering the correct pronunciation.
