I shake my head and try to contain the rude laugh bubbling up.
“The nose job was a birthday present a few years ago. Most people get cats when they turn sixteen, but…” He shrugs.
“Wait, how old is she now?” I ask incredulously.
“Twenty, twenty-one,” Yulian answers. “Something like that.”
“Wow, I thought she was older.”
“That’s kind of the point,” he says. “You have to grow up fast in this world. And you can’t show any flaws. Rumor has it she got the nose job done for my brother.”
“For Anton?” I ask, glancing at Yulian to determine if he’s just pulling my leg or not. His expression is serious. “Why on earth would she do that?”
“Love,” Yulian coos, dramatically batting his eyes. Then he sighs. “She’s been chasing after him since the second she turned legal. Even him getting married didn’t deter her. That’s the thing about Bratva princesses—they’re stubborn. They usually get what they want.”
I watch her with Anton, noting the way she uses any excuse to touch him. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention at all. It makes me wonder what they’re talking about.
What do the Bratva prince and the Bratva princess have to say to one another?
“Well, he’s single now,” I point out.
“Is he?”
I meet his curious gaze and roll my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“My brother seems inordinately fond of you.”
“Fond?” I repeat, chortling. “That is not the word I would use. The whole time I’ve known him, he’s either been threatening me or trying to embarrass me.”
Yulian shakes his head. “Classic Anton. Only he can be an asshole and still get whatever he wants.”
“He’s not getting me,” I snap defensively.
Yulian just laughs. “From what I hear, he already has.”
Then the bastard has the audacity to saunter away. I’m halfway to walking after him, just to defend myself, when I get a faceful of Douglas.
“Jesus!” I cry out, narrowly avoiding a collision with my boss.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands with so much calm that it actually unnerves me. If we weren’t in front of the guests, he’d be screaming.
“Um… my job?”
“It’s one thing to have a conversation with a guest. But to get into a confrontation with—”
“I’d hardly call that a confrontation.”
“I am still speaking,” he hisses, cutting me off. “You will do your rounds and refrain from speaking to anybody else. Is that understood?”
“What if they speak to me? Which is what Yulian was—”
“You answer. You offer them a beverage or a canape. Then you leave.”
He glares at me until I nod. Then the angry mask vanishes, replaced with the pleasant serenity that makes him so freakishly good at his job. He nods back and pivots away.
“Ass,” I mutter under my breath when he’s out of hearing range. I look up and realize that Yulian is observing me from a few feet away.
He gives me a knowing wink and turns back to an older gentleman with a bad combover.