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He snaps the lighter shut. “You will be present, and you will behave.”
I stare at him, my fingernails biting into the fabric of my pockets. “Do I really need to be there? Alya is the one you’re parading around for him. Let her play hostess. I have things to do.”
“You have nothing to do,” my father cuts in. “You are the Solovyov heir. When a syndicate of that stature sits in this house, you sit beside me and you show them we are unified.”
I hold his gaze until the pressure behind my eyes feels like hot needles.
“Understood, Father.”
“Good. Get changed.”
A few hours later, I sit on the right side of the table, my back straight, wearing a black dress shirt that feels entirely too tight around my ribs. Alya sits across from me, looking immaculate in emerald silk, her posture flawless and her lips painted crimson.
And sitting right beside her, directly across the white expanse of linen, is Kento.
I haven’t looked at him directly since he sat down.
If I look at him, my face will do something treasonous. So I keep my eyes glued strictly to my porcelain plate, cutting my meat.
My father sits at the head of the table, entirely in his element. He raises his glass toward Kento. “It is a rare privilege to host you, Kento,” my father says smoothly, his Russian accented with that annoying cadence he uses for business. “Kenji must place immense trust in your capabilities to let you oversee the eastern docks so independently.”
Kento takes a sip of his red wine. “My father values efficiency, Vladimir,” Kento replies. “He knows I don’t leave room for mistakes.”
“Precisely what I like to hear,” my father chuckles, cutting into his meal. “Stability is profitable for everyone.”
“Provided certain boundaries remain respected,” Alya chimes in sweetly from Kento’s left. She tilts her head, resting her chin on her manicured hand. “Though I hear the Kazuma family has a habit of taking whatever catches their eye, regardless of the boundary lines.”
Kento sets his glass down and turns his head slightly toward my sister. “Only when what catches our eye is worth the trouble of taking.” Alya is good at chiming in whenever the conversation turns to business. She handles a decent amount of our father’s affairs, not nearly as much as she could, though. Father still clings to the ancient fucking belief that women have no place in his world.
My father chuckles again, clearly enjoying the dynamic, before his gaze sweeps down the table and lands squarely on me.
“Ah, by the way, Mason mentioned something rather curious earlier today. He said there was an absurd pile of flowers being hauled out.”
My father looks directly at Kento with an amused, knowing smirk. “Quite the elaborate display. I assumed perhaps you had sent them ahead of your visit tonight, Kento? A gesture for Alya?”
My skin feels searing hot, the phantom scent of scorched white petals flashing violently in the back of my nose.
Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it.
Before Kento can even part his lips to answer, Alya lets out a soft, awkward laugh.
“Oh no. Those weren’t for me. They were burned because they belonged to Ilya.”
She takes a delicate sip of her water. “A secret admirer, apparently. Left them all over his bedroom. Isn’t that romantic?”
I let out a ragged exhale through my nose, my teeth grinding together.
I refuse to look across the table. I don’t know what Kento’s face looks like right now. Is he furious? Is he amused? Is he calculating exactly how many people in this house he needs to butcher for throwing his gifts into an incinerator?
I can’t tell. All I can feel is the gravity of his presence on the other side of the linen.
My father scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as if swatting away a fly. “An admirer for Ilya? Ridiculous.”
The conversation drifts after that. My father talks, and Alya interjects with clever remarks.
After a while, finally, my father pushes his plate away and dabs his mouth with his napkin. “Alya, be a dear and walk our guest out to his car. Show him the courtyard gardens on the way.”
Alya smiles, preparing to stand. “Of course, Pa—”
