“I took care of it.”
I nod. Of course he did.
A loud cheer rises up from the front of the room and the group bursts into a Russian song.
“It’s our version of happy birthday.” Nikolai explains. “They’ll sing then cut the cake.” He picks up my wine, which I’ve put on the table when I tried to remove the necklace, and downs the rest of it. “Let’s go home.”
“But we’ve barely been here, Nikolai. Shouldn’t you spend time with your brother and father? Or Ivan? He seemed to want to visit with you.”
At the mention of Ivan, his body jolts. “I don’t want to be with them.” He looks me over, hunger forefront in his gaze. “And what I’m going to do to you, you aren’t going to want to be with them either.”
Before I can argue, or even fully understand his meaning, he grips my hand and leads me from the ballroom.