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“Lose?” Dahlia repeated, frowning in confusion.
“You heard our leaders,” Vadisk continued. “Once this mission is completed, the three of us will be left to choose where we live. That basically leaves two votes for the Trinity Masters in America, one for the Masters’ Admiralty in Hungary—my territory, not the country. I’m being forced to give up my career, my home.”
“Vadisk,” Dahlia started.
“Am I wrong?” he interjected.
“Yes,” she replied simply.
Montana had been concerned about the first impression he’d made, but Vadisk’s had been even worse. “You’ve made a lot of assumptions about us, Vadisk, without even taking the time to get to know us.”
Vadisk’s arms were crossed, drawing Montana’s attention to the man’s unbelievably large frame. There wasbuilt, and then there wasVadiskwith his broad shoulders and thick biceps. The man could give the Incredible Hulk a run for his money, while Montana was probably better suited to play the part of Ant-Man, at least in comparison. At six feeoot, he was one inch under the height cutoff to serve on a submarine, but he’d felt like a giant within the confines of the highly classified nuclear sub.
Fortunately, Montana wasn’t the type of man who was easily intimidated by big guys or who felt the need to engage in a dick-measuring contest. The first trait had been passed on to him by his Major General Marine of a father, who taught him how to stand up for himself no matter how big the threat. The second was courtesy of his mother, who’d instilled in him the ability to be comfortable in his own skin, to love himself for who he was.
“Are you saying you’d want to move to Ukraine?” Vadisk asked.
“I’m saying I’m open to a discussion about that when the time comes,” Montana clarified. “However, the elephant I was referring to wasn’t the living situation. It was the marriage itself. Our marriage was arranged and announced with just a phone call, and then we were shipped off to Crimea without ever having a chance to say more than hello.”
Dahlia reached out, placing her hand on top of Montana’s. “You’re right. We’re strangers in a strange land.”
He grinned at her reference to the title of that old Heinlein novel. Was she into science fiction? He wondered if he could convince the two of them to do aDr. Whobinge with him once this was all over.
She turned to Vadisk. “Can we take some time to get to know each other better before we tackle the bigger issues?”
Vadisk, who’d been sitting stiffly, seemed to deflate a bit, his ever-present scowl less intense. Rather than respond, he merely nodded once.
“Good.” Dahlia pulled her feet from the pool, rising, and crossing to a teak table near the recliners. Montana noticed an open bottle of wine, a glass tinted pink by residual liquid.
She lifted the bottle. “Clearly, I already started. Would you care for some wine?”
Montana nodded, rising as well. “Sure.” He sat at one of the chairs around the table, then gave Vadisk a pointed look.
Vadisk sighed, then followed him to the table, claiming the spot at the far end. Dahlia slipped into the villa, returning a moment later with two more glasses. She poured them both a glass before topping hers up.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Dahlia started once she was settled. “Montana-Reginald with a hyphen?”
Montana groaned. He was used to questions about his unusual name, and while he could laugh about it now—mostly—he wasn’t sure this was the first bit of knowledge he wanted to drop on his future spouses. Mainly because it was ridiculously silly.
“I’m a legacy,” Montana started, glancing over at Vadisk.
Vadisk toyed with the stem of his wine glass but didn’t take a drink. Montana suspected the other man had no plans to indulge in the wine, too intent on remaining alert in case of danger. Montana had already told himself he would only have one glass. Considering the bottle was more than two-thirds empty, it looked as if Dahlia had more than started without them.
“We have legacies too,” Vadisk said, responding to Montana’s unspoken question. “I am not one.”
“I am,” Dahlia added with a wave.
“My parents’ trinity is an interesting one,” Montana continued. “On more than one occasion, my dad has wondered aloud if the Grand Master at the time was drunk when he arranged a marriage between my Marine father, hippie mother, and a Naval Academy professor, Robin.”
Dahlia covered her mouth, obviously intent on not laughing, but in the end she failed. “That sounds like an interesting match.”
“My dad and Robin present themselves to the public as a married couple. They’re both still active in the military. Meanwhile, my mother is a social activist, focused on poverty and food security in America. She’s also a pacifist.”
“So what I’m hearing is, Thanksgiving at your house is a lot of fun,” Dahlia joked.
Montana closed his eyes, rubbing them wearily. “You couldn’t believe the debates those three have waged. They last for days and I’m always shocked when no blood has been shed. The crazy part is they genuinely love each other…from a distance. Mom travels a lot, while Dad and Robin have a home on the Severn River in Annapolis, Maryland.”
“And where did you grow up? In Annapolis?” Dahlia asked.
