“You dance every day,” Vik mutters, slumping back into her seat.
“But not at weddings.”
“Vik,” I say. “You need to help me. I can’t marry Boris. I can’t. He’s revolting.”
“Can’t help you there, Sofiya. If Boris wants to marry you, he will. Besides, better you than me.”
My jaw drops. “How can you be so cold? So cruel?”
“Because I want Mikhail for myself. He’s the perfect husband for me. If you’re married to Boris, he can’t have you.”
“What makes you think Mikhail wants me?”
Vik looks at me like I’m an idiot. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. I might not be experienced with men, but even I know that when a man can’t take his eyes off you, that means he likes you.”
“I knew that, too,” Mila says, still dancing around the room.
“But I can’t marry Boris.”
“If you don’t, he’ll try to marry Mila or me. And we can’t give Mila to that man, can we, Sofiya?”
There it is—Vik is playing on my protective mode for our youngest sister. She knows I would never let anything happen to Mila. So she’s willing to throw me under the bus so she and Mila are safe.
“You never liked me,” I say.
Vik sniffs and turns her nose up to me. “You’re putting words in my mouth again. I’m getting ready for bed. We have another show tomorrow night, and I don’t intend to miss it. I’m going to get my beauty sleep.” She walks gracefully out of the room.
Mila continues to dance as if nothing is wrong.
MIKHAIL
I wait outside for that spineless little fucker to leave the house. When he does, I’m waiting for him.
“Boris,” I say, making him jump.
“Mikhail. I was just on my way out. I don’t have time to talk.”
“With what car?”
Boris stops. “What?”
“With what car? You came here in the car the women own. You left yours back at the performing arts center. Let me take you.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” He fiddles with his tie. “I can walk.”
I step in front of him, so close I can see the tiny specks of green in his eyes. “I’ll take you.”
Boris gulps. “If you wish.”
I love intimidating people. It’s what makes me so suited for my job.
I open my car door for him to get inside. Boris slowly does, his eyes darting around for an escape route. I slam the door, and he jumps again.
After getting into the car and starting to drive, I finally talk. “So, you want to marry Sofiya.”
“I don’t want to marry her. We are getting married.”
“I see.”
“You can't have her, Mikhail,” he blurts out.
“Bold of you to tell me what to do.”
Boris’s mouth drops open, and then he quickly shuts it. “I—I wasn’t,” he stutters. “I’m just telling you like it is. Sofiya is mine. It wasn’t appropriate of you to look at her the way you did, knowing she’s mine.”
“I apologize.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Not really.
“Oh, so … are we good?”
“Why wouldn’t we be good?” I ask in a calm voice. I know how to make people uneasy. It’s a skill I learned years ago, and I’ve honed it in more recent years. Ever since I lost … I can’t even think his name.
I’ve learned you can lose a lot in life. It makes it easier to deceive people when you don’t have a heart.
“I just … I just assumed you wanted Sofiya,” Boris says. “Judging by how you were looking at her.”
