Page 38 of Arranged for the Russian Pakhan

“Then why the hell do you look like you’re trying not to laugh at me?” I demand, teeth clenched.

For the second time today, he gives me that suspiciously fond look. I don’t know what the hell to do with it. It doesn’t help much once he answers, “Because I surprised you by knowing your birthday, and you lingered on that fact for approximately point-five seconds before you got pissed I’m not taking you on business. It’s—and I’m sure you’ll try to kill me with a look for this—fucking adorable.”

He isn’t wrong.

Adorable? The plan to weaken him with poison over a period of time is looking more and more attractive by the second. “I only accept acknowledgment of my birthday with cake and/or presents,” I snap, stomping past him into the plane.

I angle my face, careful not to allow him a glimpse of the preposterous, helpless grin that takes my mouth hostage.

***

I’ve only been to Viktor Zakharov’s penthouse in New York City once before. Considering he’s been my sister’s husband for a year now, that’s an egregious oversight. That said, at least my sister gets to call home a place that’s distinctly her grungy, industrial-leaning taste.

It bothers me that I don’t know whether that’s because their tastes are so well aligned or he made the concession for her sake.

But it’s hard for that weight on my chest to last past the elevator ride. All it takes is being spit out of the vestibule, and a silver-hair blur is launching itself at me with a high-pitched squeal, and the familiar smell of my baby sister’s perfume floods my senses.

“Fuck yes,” she howls into the top of my head, her gangly limbs roping me to her bony body. “Look at you, in your boss bitch ‘fit!”

Not even my eyes watering, overwhelmed by this sensation of coming home, can keep them from rolling at my sister’s limited vernacular. “You’re so uncouth,” I grouse, and hug her back just as hard, until we’re swaying in place together. “I missed you so much.”

“Didn’t they see each other yesterday?” The son of a bitch my sister has chosen for my brother-in-law fails to adequately whisper.

“Eat my ass, baby,” Nadya says, taking a hand off me, presumably to flip her husband off.

Still uncouth, but I approve of the sentiment enough not to chastise her for it. I give her another squeeze.

And I do not let Viktor Zakharov ruin the moment by his leering at my baby sister and saying, “Later.”

It pleases me more than I’ll admit to find Anton shooting him with warning daggers before I can do it. “Knock it off,” he growls and harshly gestures to him to the side. “Leave them alone. You have your wife all the time. We’re only here for forty-eight hours. Let them bond.”

I’ve got zero interest in the involuntary look that must splay itself on my face. I forcibly shake it off as soon as I feel my sister looking at me. “Yeah, this is my birthday present, apparently. Quality time with my baby sister.”

“Yeah!” Nadya cheers. “Let’s doll up and go out. Or, like, I’ll doll up, because you’re all sexy and shit already. As your treat, I’ll even let you pick my outfit. Come on, Medusa. Please don’t turn my eternal slampiece into stone.”

Oh my God. I really need to stop encouraging her by laughing at the awful things she says.

***

What about me strikes my sister as “dressed for a nightclub”, I can’t say. But I’ve never been able to entirely understand this person I’ve loved since she was born. This unpredictable person, whom I always forget, drives me insane and tries to talk me into making horrible choices, like a very cute cartoon devil on my shoulder, until we spend a prolonged period of time together.

This time, it’s been long enough apart that I don’t put up enough of a fight when Nadya drags me over to the bar and plies me with cocktails. At least not until the drinks really start hitting me.

But I’m grateful to have the sugary liquor in my system—less so to have it in my mouth to choke on, but I digress—when Nadya casually asks, “So, are you getting railed within an inch of your life by Daddy Zakharov?”

“Nadya!” I shriek, horrified, my entire face searing red. I must be past tipsy, though, because I burst into high-pitched giggles right after. “Oh my Gooood!”

“Holy fucking shit,” she gasps back, her eyes going so wide I worry they’ll bug right out of her head. “You did! You so, so totally did, didn’t you?”

I have to bury my face in my hands. That’s the only way I can admit, “A little bit.”

“He was staring at your ass when we were hugging,” she points out. “Did you fuck on the plane on the way here?”

I drop my hands to frown at her. “It was a forty-five-minute flight, Nadya. And he’s my mortal enemy, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Hate sex,” she posits. “Also, okay, you freak—who needs more than forty-five minutes to get off?”

I huff, cheeks puffing out with air. “We are not discussing this.”