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“Dedushka.”
Grandpa.
I understood that one, at least, and their resemblance suddenly made sense.
“Good seeing you here. Was starting to think you weren’t going to make it. I bet five hundred with Ulyan that you weren’t going to show up.”
Egor’s lips crooked to the side. “Sad to know that you have little faith in your own blood. You seem to be spending more and more time with Ulyan. Wait, isn’t Ulyan the ho? Ulyan, your maid?”
I found it weird that Egor had that much information about his grandfather’s private life. But then again, the Yezhovs were not exactly the best example of an ideal family.
His grandfather’s response was sharp and cautious. He scratched his brow. “Don’t stick your nose in your old man’s business, kid.”
Egor didn’t bother with a comment. The true meaning hung in the air like an inflated balloon. It was Ulyan the hoandthe maid.
“When have I ever not kept to my words? I told you I was going to be here. It’s not like I had a choice.
“With the greatkorol, there’s always a choice. You get to do whatever the fuck you want, with or without proper caution.”
I might have concurred with a nod if it wouldn’t have gotten me into trouble.
Ride on, Grandpa.
He spoke facts. The great asshole was his own authority, and as much as I didn’t want to acknowledge it, I saw the admiration and respect he had for his grandfather, despite how gruffly they interacted with each other. It was my first time seeing him with family, even if, frankly, I hadn’t thought his grandfather was alive. No one at the department had. Whatever the man did to maintain a low profile worked. However, it was strange to see the almighty and powerful having someone he could answer to.
His grandfather was still speaking, and their conversation took an interesting turn: marriage.
My ears perked up.
While they talked, I took sips from my glass to calm my nerves, and judging from his body language, the topic obviously didn’t sit well with my captor. He looked like he was about to commit another round of murder.
“Forty-one is only nine years away from fifty, kid. You can’t keep this up till then. What do I have to do to get you to make a move? Darya’s here; did I tell you? She’s a doll. She’s—”
Egor interrupted him with a brief, throaty cough, and that was when the older man looked at me.
He took a step back, and his hand went into one of his pockets. He adjusted the jacket on his body with a quick swipe and glanced back and forth between us. “Who’s the pretty girl?”
Egor faced me, and, with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights, I stuck the toothpick with the olive into my mouth.
His eyes were on me when he answered his grandfather. “This is Freya Fox—my girlfriendwhom I have every intention of marrying. Freya, meet my grandfather, Kir Yezhov.”
Girlfriend?
Freya Fox?
Wait, that was me.
Shit.
The olive went down the wrong hole, and I choked, sputtered, and gasped for air while dropping the emptied glass on a random tray.
I thought I saw a stretch of worry on the king’s face when he held me close and rubbed my back. “What happened, love?”
Was he joking? He called me his girlfriend, whom he was planning tomarry, and had the guts to ask what happened. Where the heck did that narrative come from?
I wiped a tear from my eyelid, careful not to ruin the make-up, before dragging my eyes to his, and was astonished to know that I hadn’t imagined seeing the worry on his face. It was there, alright.
And didn’t he just call melove?
