“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.