“My computer science degree says yes,” my brother bragged. Really. He was so insufferable — even more so when he was drinking heavily, like he was tonight. “Do you know a Sergei Ivanov?”
Mikhail frowned. “Of course I do. That’s my advisor — the one I was just telling you about. The closest thing I have to a Russian parent.” Mikhail darted a glance toward me. “He’s the former security officer who called me that night about my parents.”
“He’s suspect number one,” Jonathan said. “Hits a lot of the marks we talked about.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mikhail said. “I trust Sergei. He’s one of the only people I can trust. Your math’s broken, bratan.”
“Math doesn’t break, Misha,” my brother said. “It’s just numbers. Combinations of numbers and scenarios. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Go back to the drawing board,” Mikhail said. “There’s something wrong with the equation.”
“I’ll double check it,” Jonathan said, but he sounded doubtful. He waved the server over for more whisky — he had practically finished an entire bottle by himself.
“Do you really think you should be drinking that?” I asked finally. I’d been biting it back the entire dinner, but now I was done. “Did you drive here?”
“So what?” Jonathan said, his voice thicker than usual. “I’ll get a cab. Come pick up my car tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Mikhail cut in. “My car will take you back to your apartment.”
“See, Sadie?” Jonathan lifted his glass in an effort to make a toast. “I can get as wasted as I want on expensive whisky. Cheers.” When he crashed his heavier glass into my more delicate wine glass, it cracked, sending a pricey mess everywhere. Servers rushed over, apologizing for something they hadn’t done.
Mikhail spoke soothingly in French — I had no idea what he was saying to them — and the mess was tidied up in no time. We bundled Jonathan up in his coat and sent him off in the car I’d arrived in. Mikhail waited with me outside the restaurant. I was too embarrassed to continue sitting in there with the waitstaff we had inconvenienced so terribly.
“I’m really sorry about Jon,” I said, regretting the fact that my brother had ruined even this quiet moment between Mikhail and me. “I hope he didn’t wreck dinner too thoroughly for you this evening.”
“It was nothing — I’m sorry that things aren’t very good between the two of you,” Mikhail rumbled, motioning to a doorman to open an umbrella over me as it began to sprinkle. “I think it’s a shame. You’re brother and sister. Siblings have the closest bond.”
“Well, you can have Jon if you really want a sibling that badly,” I said with a laugh. “Free of charge. He’s your bratan, after all.”
Mikhail blinked at me, surprised. “You remembered. Good pronunciation too.”
“What, bratan?” I smiled. “You called him that all through our time at Tides. I hear it in my dreams sometimes.”
“You dream about me, Sadie?” Mikhail’s blue eyes were mischievous, but I blushed all the same. “Tell me what other Russian words you remember.”
“Why, so you can laugh at how I botch them? Ebat, of course.”
He nodded seriously, as if he were considering something important. “Yes, very classy. Go on.”
My face got even hotter. “Malysh.”
“I was wondering if you would hold on to that one.”
A second car arrived at the curb. I started to say goodbye until Mikhail got in alongside me.
“Are you coming back to Smythe?” I asked him, confused.
“No,” he said. “We’re going to my hotel.”
The driver nodded and accelerated away from the restaurant.
“I have to get back,” I protested. “My mom’s going to worry.”
“I already took care of Mamachka,” Mikhail said, waving his phone at me. “I texted her and told her not to wait up.”
“You’re on a texting basis with my mom?” I demanded. “When did that happen? No — don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Misha, I have to go home.”
“Not before dessert you don’t.”