Page 70 of The Lies Between Lovers

Because that was a good damn question.

How much did Igor hide for Vas?

“That actually doesn’t seem very complicated at all when it’s an easy yes or no answer,” she tried to argue although the exhaustion from the long morning was really catching up to her. “Either he is, or he isn’t. Either he’s dying, or—”

“Who said anything about dying?” Igor asked, stopping her from saying anything more.

His genuine confusion concerned her more than anything else did. Was it possible that the passing comments Vaslav made to her about his health were untrue—or did the man simply not offer the same information to other people in his life?

“Well—”

“Well, what?” Igor asked sharply.

Vera twisted her fingers to ease her nerves. “It feels like he’s hiding something—that’s all.”

Igor’s stare darted back to her, then, and he didn’t ask permission before grabbing hold of the waiting luggage. “Take that to him. I’m not interested in playing those games.”

At that, he headed for the villa leaving Vera alone on the side of the street. All she could think was what games? And when did someone plan on letting her in on the rules?

Clearly, she was losing.

20.

“There you are!”

The loud exclamation that Vera wasn’t expecting had her jumping in the kitchen chair, and she slammed a hand on the table making the pile of papers in front of her flutter as she yelped her shock. The resounding laughter that echoed into the quiet kitchen of her neighbor’s villa soon alerted her to exactly where the voice had come from.

A grinning face peeked in the window over the kitchen sink. Every window on Mr. Anatoly’s villa matched her own in the way they featured matching awnings made with sturdy metal arms. Good thing, too, because she didn’t think the window awnings would have been able to hold the weight of a young man standing on them like her uninvited guest currently was.

“Kiril?” Vera shrieked.

The boy—hadn’t he said he was eighteen on the plane?—couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself where he leaned in the window. He even reached for the dish rack where Vera had spent time washing the handful of dirty dishes that had been left in Mr. Anatoly’s sink.

“Do you know how many windows I had to check to find you?” he asked.

Vera glowered back. “What are you doing? Get off the awning!”

He waved one hand, and went ahead with awkwardly pouring himself a glass of water from the tap, still leaning in the window. “Ah, it’s fine. They’re stronger than they look. Hell, I just climbed up to the one at your bedroom window.”

She blanked.

But only for a second.

“My bedroom?”

“The window was locked,” Kiril replied dryly.

As if it should have been obvious.

Vera, horrified, didn’t know what to say or do.

“And I didn’t go inside,” he added quieter, “because Igor threatened to cut off my dick if I did. I like that where it is, you know?”

A blink answered that question.

“Igor?”

She didn’t get a reply to that—not that she really needed one because Vera had started to paint the picture all on her own. What were the chances that a young man who had sat beside her on a last-minute flight to Italy would be the same one who showed up at her neighbor’s villa and used Igor’s first name?