She frowned. “I guess I should have said I’ve been excommunicated from all the studios.”
“Oh . . .”
After a short pause, we both laughed again.
Gianna radiated warmth, and I already felt lighter, but any chance of a better mood crashed and burned when a familiar sultry voice entered the equation.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything.”
Slowly, I slid my gaze to the doorway to see Nadia in the flesh. Her black hair was clipped to one side in a sleek wave that reached her waist. Dark red lips. Kohled eyes. She wore a nude wrap dress beneath a long mink coat. I wondered if Ronan had bought it for her. The idea wrenched my stomach, threatening to expel the single grape inside.
The opera singer was gorgeous, exuding sex from every pore. She was the kind of woman all women compared themselves to. A look at her made one feel lacking on impact. Why would Ronan spare me a glance when this woman was around? I rejected the thought just as fast as my new family rejected me.
Je suis parfaite comme je suis. Tu es parfaite comme tu es. Nous sommes parfaites comme nous sommes. I am perfect as I am. You are perfect as you are. We are perfect as we are.
Feeling the French work its magic, I pulled my gaze to Gianna just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Of course not, Nadia. It seems you’ve been cordially invited in anyway.”
Noticing the sarcasm in her voice, I finally spotted Pavel standing behind Nadia. He shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, Nadia wasn’t supposed to be here, but it seemed he didn’t know how to remove her. He was taller than her even though she wore five-inch stilettos, so, clearly, his turmoil was an emotional battle and not a physical one.
“Oh, good,” Nadia said with a charming Russian accent, waltzing toward us. “I do not know how I forget how long the drive here is every time.” She pursed her lips. “Though usually, I am not alone, and I do think they say time flies when you are having fun.”
I was going to vomit.
Literally.
I wouldn’t compare myself to her, but I still couldn’t stomach the thought of her hands on Ronan. Or his on her. The idea dropped a boulder on my chest. The urge to get up and walk out seared my every nerve, but doing so would only let Nadia win, so I forced myself to remain.
Nadia pulled off her extravagant fur coat, set it on the back of the chair next to mine, and sat, crossing her legs like a queen. A small gift box fell out of her coat to the floor.
Gianna raised a brow. “Have I missed someone’s birthday?”
Nadia laughed. “No. I saw something at the store and thought of Ronan, so I just had to buy it.”
“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Gianna said.
“Oh. Okay.” Her tone implied she was being pressured into telling us when it was clear she was desperate to share. “Do not tell him, but it is a Louis Vuitton scarf with vintage frayed ends,” she announced proudly.
We both stared at her. The only thing Ronan would do with a scarf was strangle someone with it.
“Wow,” Gianna deadpanned. “I am positive he will love it.”
Nadia smiled before saying, “God, I am famished.” Without another word, she began to load her plate with the bliny that weren’t rainbow-colored, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air.
“So what brings you here, Nadia, other than to give gifts?” Gianna sipped her tea. “I’m sure your French cook is just as good as Polina.”
Nadia’s perfect brows furrowed in concern. “I came to check on Ronan after what happened yesterday. I cannot believe that boy had the nerve to shoot him.” Then she added flippantly, “Though we all know it was Alexei who hired him.” Aloof, she rubbed a liberal amount of butter on her pancakes.
I stared at her impassively even as her words stomped on my heart: the fact my papa was the one who indirectly shot Ronan, and the inexplicable detail Nadia had been with him yesterday. If they had such a strong relationship, where was she last night when he was bleeding out?
The awkward silence must have alerted Nadia to the fact she’d hit a nerve—not that she didn’t already know. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time and feigned an apologetic pout.
“Oh, right. I forgot Alexei is your papa. Ronan does not talk much about you. It must have slipped my mind.”
I simply watched her. She was a natural beauty, but fakeness oozed from her like cloying perfume. When she shifted, I realized she was growing uncomfortable beneath my stare.
Maybe she’d heard I was a witch.
She glanced away with an awkward laugh and waved the hand holding her fork. “Anyway, I hope you take no offense. I am sure you understand why you may not be Ronan’s favorite topic.”
I almost laughed. I’d been surrounded by jaded high society women my entire life. I might have been the silent wallflower among them, but the position only gave me the opportunity to observe. I knew how to play this game.
“No offense taken,” I said sweetly. “It would be silly for me to not understand.”
“Absolutely silly,” she agreed with a hint of satisfaction.
“Although I’ve lived in the same house as Ronan for weeks now, and I haven’t heard him talk much about you either.” I frowned in thought. “In fact, when I think about it, never. I guess you and I have something in common, don’t we?”
The blin-filled fork paused at Nadia’s lips, her narrowed eyes sliding my way. “It is expected he would not share personal things with you. You are his enemy’s daughter . . .” Her gaze shimmered with pity. “I am sure it is not malicious intent on his part though. Merely captive/captor etiquette, would you not say?”
Gianna absently bit off the tip of a strawberry, her stare soaking in our conversation with relish.
“I would not say.” I laughed. “I’m not so sure Ronan knows much captive/captor etiquette.”
“Really? I always thought he would manage it just fine by all of our games together.”
Ignoring the nausea her words induced, I made a face of revelation. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk about you. It doesn’t sound like there’d be anything appropriate to share.” My expression was sympathetic. “I’m sure it’s just because you come off so vacuous, he can’t see you on a deeper level.”
Kohled eyes spit fire.
“No offense, of course,” I added.
Nadia set her teacup on its saucer with more gusto than necessary, drawing Kat’s attention from her game. She gave the opera singer a single glance before returning to The Princess’s Reign of Terror and said, “Mamma, I don’t like her.”
I expected a scolding, but I forgot this world defied all norms.
“As much as I appreciate your honesty, cara,” Gianna said softly, “passive-aggressiveness gets the point across. It also makes us look like the better person in the end.”
“What’s passiveagressivness?”
“Sweetie, it’s been going on for the past few minutes. Pay attention.”
“Okay.”
Nadia and I pretended the conversation didn’t happen. I reached for a few more grapes. She set her half-full plate down with a frown as if she didn’t like the fare.
“Is there a reason the bliny taste like paper?” Nadia asked.
“Mila is vegan,” Kat announced proudly.
“That is . . . cute.” The wrinkling of Nadia’s nose told the opposite. She waved a hand toward the coffee table. “Is this all vegan?”
“Yep,” Kat said.
As the opera singer took in the knowledge, an ounce of resentment came alive in her eyes. One would think she was starving and had an allergy to all things vegan, but I knew the real reason she was filling with ire. She hated the fact I had any impact on Ronan’s household.
“That is . . .” Nadia was so flustered, I thought she was going to say “cute” again, but she stopped herself and forced a smile instead. “I do appreciate the humanitarian effort,” she told me, “but do you not think it is slightly . . . selfish to subject the whole house to your views?” She put a manicured hand on mine in concern. “Though I am sure you did not consider that.”
This was the first time I’d ever had the urge to stab someone with a fork. Instead, I brushed her hand off mine before her fakeness rubbed off on me.
“I’m not the one doing the subjecting here. Captive, remember?”
She frowned. “Obviously, the staff feels bad for you . . . Just think of the hassle your diet must put on poor Polina. She is getting older and . . . larger every day.” Nadia shot a glance at Gianna’s belly. “No offense, of course.”
“Mamma isn’t fat!” Kat yelled before anyone else could get a word in. “She’s growing my brother. And you’re rude!”
“Kat, what did I tell you?” Gianna chided with a small smile.
The little girl’s scowl at Nadia faded, then she mimicked the feigned look of pity she’d observed countless times this morning. “I’m sure you’re only so rude because of lots of past ’motional trauma.” Then she added, “No offense, of course.”
It was a violent struggle not to laugh knowing she got that “emotional trauma” bit from Ronan earlier. Nadia’s eyes narrowed, about to spit some retort at the little girl, but a frightening glare from Gianna changed her mind.
“’Sides,” Kat interjected, “Polina likes vegan. She told me so.” Kat looked at Nadia from under her nose. “Even Dyadya says he’s vegan because he puts vegan butter on his steak.”
A small smile touched my lips. I had seen him do that, and it was just like him to take the moral high ground with the barest of minimum effort.
Nadia rolled her eyes and glanced at her nails before saying, “So where is Ronan? I hope he is recovering in his room.”
Gianna and I laughed. So did Kat, though I thought maybe she was just picking sides here. Even having been shot yesterday, Ronan was probably out chopping wood. Or something else less manual-labory and more murdery.
“Dyadya is out with my papa,” Kat announced.
“Oh . . . I must have forgotten. He said something like that when he came to see me last night.”
Interesting. I wondered if he went to see her after I blew him and rode his face or before I passed out with him in his bed.
“I suppose I shall wait until he returns then,” Nadia sighed.
I’d rather be kidnapped by the real devil than sit through another moment of this.
“So, Mila, where do you plan to go after this?” Nadia asked coolly.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like Moscow so much, I might stay.” I was lying through my teeth, but her venomous expression made it so worth it.
“You. Are. Staying.” It was not a question.
“Well, why not?”
“You are Mikhailov,” she said as if the matter was obvious. “You do not belong here.”
“Where does it say that?” I asked with a frown. “I haven’t seen a single sign banishing Mikhailovs from Moscow.”
Her eyes hardened. “He will not let you stay.”
“Who?” I played dumb.
“Ronan,” she growled. “You are nothing but collateral to him. And maybe a fleeting amusement, like a fancy new toy, but I assure you, his interest will pass.”
I dropped my plate on the coffee table. “Is everyone on a mission to ruin my breakfasts?” I exclaimed. “And for your information, Nadia, I’ve never laid a claim on him.” I thought of his earlier dismissal that still burned in my chest. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have him.”
She gave me a disbelieving look.