Misha grins. “Of course I do. One day, you’ll learn that I’m always right. So how was he?”
Flashes of our night play through my head. I could spend half the day talking about it, but I don’t have the time. Good thing Misha knows exactly what I mean when I say…
“He was a very good boy.”
Chapter 22
“I’m not ahuge fan of surprises, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, and Ipromisewe could be doing more…stimulating activities right now.”
Thatcher finally pauses from leading me excitedly down a corridor of the house I haven’t spent much time in, and the heat in his eyes thrills me that I’ve succeeded in distracting him from his surprise plan. It’s short-lived, though, and whatever he’s planned must beveryspecial to him, since it hasn’t taken more than a passing glance lately to have him naked and on his knees for me.
“I know you aren’t a fan of surprises, so I’m going to tell you what’s behind that door before we go in,but!”
My glare speeds up his explanation of what’s behind the door, although based on the raucous cheers, it’s becoming clearer by the second. “You planned a party.”
“Yes. No. Well, it’s not really a party. The purpose isn’t to party. It’s game night. Uh, for the guys. And some of them who have wives and kids brought them as well. The vibes should be super chill, except for the number of people here. But the ballroom is huge, and—”
“Ballroom?”
“Yeah, you didn’t see it on the plans?”
“No. And I feel pretty damn certain that a room labeled ‘ballroom’ would have caught my eye.”
“Well, it wasn’t labeled as a ballroom on the plans Ivan gave you. I think it said ‘music room,’ since that’s what it was mainly being used for whenever that set of blueprints was drawn up. You had to notice how big the dimensions were, though, right? Most of the big country houses built around the same time as this one had ballrooms, even if they functioned in different roles throughout the years. My parents’ Hamptons house has one, though I caused quite a bit of structural damage by turning it into an ice-skating rink one summer. The cooling units failed during a heat wave, and since it was on the third floor, everything below it flooded…”
“I’m both impressed by your knowledge of architecture and terrified that I now have to worry about you destroying property with fireandice.” He has the decency to look sheepish for a moment. “I suppose when I was reviewing the plans, I had, and still have, more pressing concerns than how big my ballroom is. Or the fact that I have a ballroom. Or a music room. Or an ice rink.”
Thatcher’s eyes sparkle, and I can see why he’s never gotten into too much trouble, regardless of how much damage he’scaused. It’s highly unlikely that I’ll fare much better disciplining him than his parents, teachers, or coaches ever did.
“No! No ice rinks on the third floor.” Another huge cheer brings us back to the matter at hand, which is apparently hundreds of people here for…game night. “So tell me about game night.”
He’s excited enough about game night to forget to be sad about the ice rink, launching into what must be a practiced elevator pitch for getting me through those doors.
“Long story short, as I got to know these guys during my penetration into their ranks.”
“Nowhere near a good enough reason to say penetration, and you know it.”
“It became clear they needed a chance to get to know each other in a lower-stakes environment,” he continues with a wink. “The gym is fine, but it’s a lot of masculine ego, trying to lift heavier or run faster than each other. Movie night in the bunk wing is fun, but they fight over the movie, and inevitably, someone just wants to watch R-rated shit, and it devolves from there. Same problems with going out to the range.”
“So you brought in some women and children, and what I’m assuming is a variety of games, to encourage healthy competition and deeper camaraderie.”
“You fight harder for the man at your side if you’ve met his little girl.”
Thatsounds like something my father would say, and Thatcher shrugs at my raised eyebrow. “One of the older guys told me that. I don’t remember who.”
My eyes roll so far back into my head that I can see my brainstem. “Yes, yes, Misha is very wise. So why were you so nervous to tell me what’s going on in there? It didn’t have to be a big secret.”
“Well, you’re not the most extroverted person around, you know. And honestly, it’s been so hard to keep you off my co—”
“There you are! We’ve been waiting on you to cut the cake, and the kids are getting antsy as fuck in here.” Misha saves Thatcher’s life with his interruption, and we’re shuffled into abject chaos that lasts ten seconds before I’m perceived. The respectful quiet rolls throughout the crowd like a wave, and once the far corners of the room have also ceased their chatter, Kirill waves at me from beside a frankly ridiculously large, tiered cake.
“Pakhan, we saved the first slice for you!” Instead of a knife, he has a fuckingsaberin his hand for me to cut the cake with, which is silly enough to make me laugh. I take note of the few unsmiling faces in the crowd, some men who aren’t around often and a couple of their women, and a brief turn in Thatcher’s direction proves he’s seen them too. With a tilt of his head, he lets Misha know who he has his eye on, then winks at me.
“Who is that, Papochka?” a dark-haired sprite of a little girl near the front asks her father, one of the men who were already here when we took over.
“Shh, Polina. That’s our Pakhan. She’s going to cut the cake, then we’re all going to play games.”
“She’s Pakhan? But she’s a girl.” The little girl’s confusion is entirely understandable, and as I take the saber from Kirill, her father’s answer makes me want to mount a charger and ride into battle.
