“This is a lot better than the staff room,” she said.
“The lighting is better,” I said.
“The snacks are better.”
“The men are slightly less disgusting.”
“Slightly?” Galina asked.
Tamar leaned around me to look at her. “I’m leaving room for improvement. It keeps families humble.”
Galina considered that. “Reasonable.”
Tamar grinned, then her smile shifted when she looked at me.
“You look happy,” she said.
I looked down at the ring on my hand, the silk over my stomach, the pale flowers filling a room guarded by men who answered to my husband.
“I’m happy.”
Tamar’s eyes shone. She blinked fast and glanced toward the dessert table as if the sugared pears had become emotionally demanding.
“I know I gave you that number,” she said quietly. “I still think about it.”
“You gave me a choice when I didn’t have one.”
“It didn’t feel like that.”
“I know.” I reached for her hand. “But I got here.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “You got yourself here.”
“Vadim might argue with that.”
“Vadim can argue with a wall and make the wall apologize.”
Galina nodded once. “This is true.”
I laughed again, and this time the sound moved through me without scraping against anything old.
A door opened near the private elevator.
Lev stepped in first, in a dark navy suit, his posture easy and his eyes doing their usual sweep of the penthouse. Petya followed him, carrying a long white box tied with a champagneribbon in both hands like he’d been trusted with a sleeping infant.
My brother had grown into his own face again.
The bruise was gone. The restless, cornered look hadn’t vanished completely, but it no longer sat in the front of his eyes. His hair was neatly cut. His suit fit him well enough to tell me Galina or Vadim had interfered. He still looked twenty, still proud, still too quick to take blame into his bones, but his shoulders were straighter now.
It wasn’t arrogant.
It was earned.
“Don’t drop it,” Lev said.
“I’m not going to drop it.”
“You said that about the account ledger.”
