27
IVAN
We’re back at the mansion and things are going poorly.
Francia slams her hands on the dining room table hard enough that the empty glass next to her setting crashes sideways. One of the new maids jolts to get it, but Francia scares her away with a skin-melting glare.
“Leave the glass. Just bring out the food. Now.”
“There’s an appetizer first,” the maid says shakily. “A house salad and—”
“It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon and we still haven’t eaten. I don’t want a salad—I want lunch. Bring it.”
The maid’s mouth opens and closes. She glances at me for help.
The staff just found out twenty minutes ago that lunch at the restaurant was canceled and they needed to have a full lunch ready for us by the time we got back home. Francia doesn’t seem to grasp that roast duck isn’t the kind of thing you throw in the microwave on short notice.
“Skip a few courses and let’s get to the entree as quickly as you can,” I tell her. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The woman nods and hurries out of the dining room with Francia calling after her, “Now, you listen? That’s what I said!”
“I think it’s more about the way you said it.”
Her attention slides to me. “How did I say it?”
“Like a rabid dog,” I say flatly. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out if it’s going to upset you so much.”
She frowns. “I’m not upset about going out. I’m upset that we couldn’t go out.”
“I still don’t see why not.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t see why not? I suppose that makes sense. You apparently ‘didn’t see’ Cora today, either. Like I believe that.”
“I didn’t see Cora,” I reiterate. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t have made a huge scene the way you did.”
“I didn’t make a scene.”
I snort. “You screamed at the hostess and stormed out of the restaurant.”
After I left Cora in the bathroom, I snuck out through the back patio door and walked around to the front of the restaurant to meet Francia. She was all smiles, clinging to my arm and grinning at everyone on the street like she was in a fucking pageant.
Then we walked inside.
Mikhail sprang out of his chair the moment he saw me in the waiting area. I caught his trail across the dining room out of the corner of my eye. But based on the way Francia’s face tightened, I know she saw all of it.
We barely made it through the doors before she was stomping back out onto the sidewalk, looking a hell of a lot less pleased than she had when she’d gone in.
That was all fine with me. I’d already gotten exactly what I wanted from our lunch date. More than I ever could have bargained for, actually.
“I didn’t want to sit around while people whisper about you and your ex,” she hisses. “Our first outing together can’t be a double fucking date.”
“It would put to bed a lot of rumors swirling around right now.”
She unfolds her napkin with a quick flick of her wrists. “Putting anything to bed is what I’m worried about.”
The memory of Cora wrapped around my neck, her pussy quivering against my lips, roars to life in me. It’s the fight of my life to keep from grinning like a lunatic.
Francia is still staring at me when I hear the front door open.
“Who is that?” she asks.
I don’t say anything because I already know. There are only two people who barge into my house with any regularity—and Yasha doesn’t usually wear high heels that click across the entryway.
Francia starts to stand just as my sister appears in the doorway. When she sees who I’m sitting with, her smile curdles.
“Great timing, Anya.” I wave her in. “Join us. Sit down.”
“I’d hate to interrupt. Anyway, I was actually just dropping by for—There’s a dress upstairs in the guest room. I wanted to wear it.”
“It’s great that you’re here!” Francia crows. “I wanted to talk more about the wedding planning.”
Anya is still creeping around the edge of the dining room. As if she might be able to slip back into the shadows and escape. “I sent you an email. Did you get my email?”
Francia frowns. “No.”
“Oh. Maybe I forgot to send it.” She chuckles at herself. “I am so scattered. Very busy recently. I should leave and check and then I’ll send it and—”
“Or we can talk about it now.” Francia pulls out the chair between us. “Sit.”
Sensing she’s lost this battle, Anya reluctantly sits down. Under the table, she kicks my ankle. I just smile back at her over my ice water.
“Like I told you the other day, Francia, I’m not really great at the whole wedding planning thing. I don’t have the head for all of the details and the color schemes.”
“You planned your own wedding, didn’t you?” Francia asks. “I saw an article about it in the paper. It looked beautiful.”
“Years ago.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Which feels more like a lifetime ago. And it was kind of out of necessity.”
“Yeah, because you fired the wedding planner you originally hired,” I added. “You told me she couldn’t capture ‘your vision,’ so you’d have to do it yourself.”
I feel another hard, sharp kick under the table. My ankle will be bruised, but having Anya here as a buffer between me and Francia is worth it.
Francia arches a brow. “It sounds like you really know what you’re doing. And I know you are the one who organized Cora’s bachelorette party. And you arranged for her to try on wedding dresses here at the house.”
“Most of that was Ivan’s doing.” Anya turns to me. “Right, Ivan? You arranged most of that.”
I clap my sister on the back. “Don’t be modest, Anya. That was all you.”
“Great. Then you can help me, too.” Francia really is shameless. Most people would pick up on the very obvious hints Anya is dropping, but either Francia is clueless or she’s in deep, deep denial. “I’m imagining a garden party for the bachelorette. And I’d like Ivan to be there with me.”
“Not much of a bachelorette party if I’m there.”
“Then don’t call it a bachelorette party.” She reaches over and lays her hand on top of mine, her finger tracing my knuckles. It’s like trying to hold perfectly still as a tarantula crawls across your skin. “Call it a celebration of love.”
Anya snorts so hard she almost chokes.
Francia snaps her attention to her. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry, but… love?” Anya laughs again and looks between us. “You two aren’t in love. You’re just… you’re not. You have to know that, Francia.”
“The only thing I know,” she spits, “is that I’m not going to sit here and be disrespected in my own house.”
Anya’s mouth falls open. “This isn’t your house! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Out.” Francia stands up, finger pointed towards the door. “If you can’t respect me, then—”
“If that is your bar for who is allowed in your house, it’s going to be a long, lonely life.”
Francia exhales sharply. She makes me think of a bull before it charges. “Get out right now.”
“Are you trying to throw me out? You can’t throw me out. This is my brother’s house.”
Francia lifts her chin. “This is our house and you’re not welcome here.”
Anya stares at her for a few seconds, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Then she shakes her head. “You’re actually deranged. Full-on unhinged. Like, have you considered seeing a specialist? Books could be written about how absolutely, banana-pants crazy you are.”
Francia takes a step towards my sister, her eyes narrowed to slits like the snake she is. “Get out of my house before I—”
I’m on my feet and standing between her and Anya before she can even get the words out.
“It’s my house. I choose who stays and who goes.”
She stumbles back and glares up at me. “You’ll let her talk to your wife like that?”
“You aren’t my wife.”
“Yet,” she adds with a sneer.
Ever, I think with a scowl.
Instead, I just shake my head, too tired to even fight about this. “Anya stays as long as she likes.”
Anya cackles and then flops back down in her chair and kicks her feet up on the table. “Amazing. Suddenly, I’m overjoyed to be here. Maybe I’ll stay for dinner, too.”
Francia starts to argue, but I push past her towards the balcony.
“Where are you going?” she hisses at my back.
I don’t answer. I just walk onto the patio, letting the doors close behind me.
Silence. Blissful silence. The sun is sinking lower in the sky. It’s well past lunch and dipping into mid-afternoon now. There’s a breeze rustling the plants in the garden beds and whirling under the overhang.
But I don’t feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
Numbness has been seeping into me bit by bit, piece by piece, for days. Every second Cora is away from me, it spreads further.
Is this what I felt like before I met her?
Now, I’m back here—back with Francia—and I can’t even bring myself to care that she and Anya are yelling at each other in the other room. I don’t care that she thinks she lives in my house. She can have the house. I’ll give it all to her.
I just need Cora.
I had her in my arms only a few hours ago. I held her and tasted her. Now, it’s hard to convince myself any of it was real. It’s hard to convince myself that I’ll ever get her back.
I close my eyes and blow out a long, deep breath.
Fuck that.
I stare out at the lawn until the tightness in my chest eases. I don’t know how long it takes, but by the time I’m done, the shouting inside has stopped. Either Francia and Anya have solved all of their problems or one of them is dead. I should probably go see which it is.
I head back into the dining room, expecting there to be bloodshed. Instead, Francia and Anya are sitting perfectly politely at the table. It takes me a second to see why.
My father is standing in the doorway.
“This is becoming a real family affair,” I say with a grimace. “Will you be joining us for lunch, too? Or do you—”
He cuts me off. “I should have figured. You’ve turned us into a laughingstock, but you’re having brunch. Typical.” He throws a crumpled-up piece of parchment at me. “Konstantin Sokolov just sent me his son’s engagement announcement.”
I knew it would be coming out sooner or later. After our almost-run-in this afternoon, I’m not surprised. Mikhail was shaken and wants to stake his claim.
If he’d seen what Cora and I got up to in the bathroom, he wouldn’t have bothered.
She’s mine.
Otets turns back to me. “You put that little bitch on my payroll. You tied her to our family name. And then you let her go? You fucking let her humiliate us. You let her make an embarrassment of you.”
Francia stands up. “Hello, Mr. Pushkin. My name is Francia. I’m Ivan’s fiancée.”
Any sane person would see the vein throbbing in my father’s forehead and stand down. But it’s already well-documented that Francia is not a sane person.
My father looks her up and down. His lip twists into a sneer. “Another one?”
Francia frowns. “I’m sorry. Another what?”
He ignores her. “Ivan, are you fucking kidding me? This isn’t a brothel. You don’t get a harem. Pick one woman and be done with it.”
He wants to get a rise out of me, but he has no clue the favor he is doing me. I’d love nothing more than for Francia to be kicked down a peg. He’s saving me the effort of doing it myself.
“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet yet,” Francia continues obliviously, “but I’m excited to join your family. I hope that we can get to know each other and you’ll see—”
“Don’t tell me what I’ll see,” he barks. “I know what I see. Another useless leech.”
“My parents are lawyers.” Francia’s voice is shaking, making her argument sound even weaker. “I’m not—I can bring value to—”
“If you want to bring something, bring me a drink,” he barks. “The men are talking.”
Anya is trying so hard not to laugh I’m worried she might give herself a hernia. I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve ever been glad to have my dad turn up unexpectedly.
Francia looks distinctly less happy about it.
She snaps her mouth closed, but I can tell by the set of her jaw that she’ll have plenty to say about this later.