The photo is like all the others. The same grainy filter. The skinny trees, the lakeside vacation vibes.
Young Yelena is smiling, but now I understand why I thought it came across as shy. Next to her stands a man. The features, the dark hair, the tattoo curving up his wrist that he doesn’t bother to hide.
A timer goes off.
“The oven!” Russet hands me the photo album, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even offer you anything when you first came in. I’ll grab snacks!”
The smell of sugar rises in the air. The oven bangs shut, and she opens another cabinet.
I sit completely still, staring down at the photo.
“What the actual fuck?” I ask Photo Yelena.
Her husband clearly didn’t go through these albums, and if he did. . . I’m willing to bet he has no idea who his wife used to cozy up to back in the day.
Cutlery clatters as Russet remains out of sight in the kitchen. As quietly as I can, and with a shaking hand, I struggle with the plastic film. The photo and the album have almost morphed into one thing, they’ve remained untouched for so long.
I finish sticking the photo in my pocket when Russet comes out with a tray of treats.
“I’m trying a new recipe, and I’m not sure that they’requite ready,” she says of the baked goods in the oven. “I might be a little bit back and forth in the kitchen, sorry.”
“No, it’s all good.” I set the album back on the table and pick up another one. Some of the pages have blank spots, so I’m praying the missing picture blends in. “I guess you’ll need to buy some photo frames.”
CHAPTER 14
Isolde
Russet sent me home with a shit ton of baked goods. Cookies, cupcakes, some sort of sweet bread. It’s been the best twenty-four hours of my life, having the ability to walk into my kitchen and find whatever sweet I want.
“Luis will drive you tonight.” Tristan’s voice surprises me. “He’ll stay downstairs until you’re ready.”
I’ve got a spoonful of cream cheese frosting in my mouth when I turn.
Fuck me.
He fixes his shirtsleeve, buttoning the cuff of his immaculate suit.
I eat another glob of frosting, turning back to the fridge. New kink unlocked—fine-ass men fucking me in tailored suits.
I do my best to ignore how my insides squirm. His skin is golden thanks to the afternoon sun streaming in. He’s leaving early, making sure his clients are given every whim that they need or want.
“He’ll be alerted if you use the panic button. So ifsomething happens or someone tries to come into the apartment?—”
“Either I or Adeline will shoot them,” I say around the frosting-covered spoon.
A wary expression takes over his face. I see it about five times a day. As one can imagine, it doesn’t dim his handsome features in the slightest.
“You’ve got frosting on your chin.”
I slap a hand to my face.
Tristan messes with his collar. He’s wearing a bow tie. It’s that fancy of a gig.
“You look good,” I compliment, hoping my voice sounds neutral.
“Tell him you’d like to lick his abs like you’re licking that spoon,”Sammie’s ghost goads.
I ignore my sister’s ghost. She’s been around all day, and I’m not lost as to why.
