I almost snorted. God, he was adorable.
All I could do was grin right back at him and quietly voice my agreement.
“Men.”
Letting people down was a sore spot for me. With the rest of my day free, I decided to visit a friend who I had greatly neglected. The more I thought about it, I had let my breakup with Vik affect my friendship with her. I hadn’t been to visit in quite a while, and I felt that guilt weighing down on me.
My stomach tangled as I recognized the last time I’d been to her house had been just before I ended things with her brother.
Really? Had it been that long?
Regrettably, yes.
Okay, so I hadn’t been to visit in months.
So, yeah. I was a terrible friend, I guess.
I mean, we still talked over the phone at least a couple of times a week and saw each other at work, but my heart was heavy with the realization that I hadn’t been there for her lately. What made it worse was that Anika had been a constant for me during my life, always ready to drop what she was doing if and when I needed her.
Lately, our friendship was a one-way street, leaning heavily in my favor.
That was not good enough.
I was taking a step forward to fix that and pulled into the driveway of the beautiful, big Victorian house that brought back too many memories to count. During my childhood, if I wasn’t at my own house, I was here. In our younger years, playing with dolls. Moving on to watching romantic comedies. In high school, talking about boys until the early hours of the morning. And eventually, as young adults, sleeping off a hangover until midday.
A feeling of contentment washed over me as I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The moment the mature woman answered, I smiled sweetly and said, “Hi, Mama.”
Dropping the tea towel she was wiping her hands on, she let out a happy cry before drawing me into her arms. I went willingly, and as she wrapped me up, I chuckled while she berated me in her heavy Russian accent. “You don’t love us anymore, do you? You don’t visit for so long, and now I am an old lady. What have you been eating? You are too little, Nastasia.” She pulled back long enough to cup my cheek and smile at me before her face turned irritated. “You stay away for too long. You won’t do that again, will you?”
I loved Doroteya Nikulin. She was the mother I wished for, and although I loved my own mother in my own way, she was nothing like Doroteya. This woman gave you all of her, every warm emotion, every kind smile. Once tall and slim, Doroteya was now all soft curves as she embraced her aging body. With light-copper hair that was once flaming red and beautiful blue eyes, she was so softly spoken that it was no wonder Anika turned out the way she had. She was a carbon copy of her mom.
She pulled me into the house and called out in muddled English, “Yuri, come see who is.”
The house hadn’t changed at all. The shiny floorboards were covered in plush burgundy rugs, all with intricate patterns that screamed Russia. The furniture was a mixture of dark woods, all expensive, all hand-carved and lovely. The crystal chandelier in the hall remained, twinkling delicately as soft, colored sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows. Every mantle held knickknacks. Imperial eggs, matryoshka dolls, golden-painted photo frames. It was as though they brought the motherland with them when they moved here.
Some would call it tacky.
Personally, I loved it.
She all but dragged me into the kitchen, and when she spotted her pot about to boil over, she threw her hands up and let out a quiet exclamation before rushing over to it and turning it down.
Oh damn. I knew that smell.
With my mouth watering, I asked, “You’re cooking Golubsti?”
The gorgeous matriarch smirked knowingly. “Lunch is ready. Tell Anika. She’ll be happy to see you.”
I knew this house like the back of my hand, and when I got to Anika’s bedroom, I lifted my hand to knock, but the door shot open. A tall woman with dark-copper hair and a frowning mouth blocked the doorway. She looked surprised at my presence, and when I tell you she pasted on a smile that rivalled the Cheshire cat, she did just that.
She had a husky, heavily accented voice. “I know you.”
Yeah. She was vaguely familiar. “Maybe.”
“Nastasia.” Her face softened then. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Years. Maybe you remember me? Ksenia.”
Oh my God. I did know her. How could I not?
My reservations left me as I smiled in response. “Oh wow. Hi.”
She held out her hands, and I greeted her properly. We kissed cheeks three times in the proper Russian fashion. If I were honest, I’d admit she had always given me the heebie-jeebies. There was just something so intense about Anika’s aunt. But then, she would be. As a Bratva wife, I expected it sort of came with the territory.