“What?”
Vasilije took the final sip from his bottle of beer and dropped it into the recycling bin nearby with a loud clank. “I’m coming back to the house after the break’s over.”
“Why? What’s wrong with your frat?”
“Nothing. But you have to be a student at Randhurst, and I’m currently not anymore.”
Anger seeped into the corners of Luka’s face. “You flunked out? Jesus Christ, Vasilije.”
His brother was indifferent. “College isn’t for everyone. I tried it, and determined it’s not for me.” Displeasure smeared on Luka’s face and Vasilije rolled his eyes. “It’s a big fucking house, get over it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck lifted and tingled. Someone was watching me. I glanced over my shoulder and instantly found Dimitrije, who stared at me with disdain. His attention slowly drifted back to the man he was talking to. The conversation seemed . . . intense.
Vasilije must have noticed what I was looking at. “The fucking Russians. They keep pushing, and Dad’s gonna have to do something.”
“Be quiet.” Luka’s tone was stern.
We all watched the exchange in silence. When the man left, Dimitrije’s attention returned to me, and under his exacting gaze, I shivered.
“You’re cold?” Luka’s palm slid up and down my arm, trying to warm me.
I pressed my lips together and nodded. Around Dimitrije, my bones turned to ice.
“All right.” Luka pressed his hand into the small of my back, urging me deeper into the kitchen. “I have to introduce you to my uncle, and then we can go.”
Goran Markovic was as intimidating as his younger brother Dimitrije. Goran’s nose wasn’t perfectly straight, as if it had been broken and never healed right, and his eyes were cold and intelligent. He stood taller than his brother, with more gray in his hair, but it made him look distinguished. Wise, and calculating.
“This is my girlfriend,” Luka said.
“Addison.” Goran gave a similar smile as Luka’s. Only a corner turned up. He extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
There was no way to stop the tremble as I shook his hand. My voice was choked, barely able to be heard over the party. “You too, Mr. Markovic.”
His hand was like iron, and he didn’t release his grip. “I need to say thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For getting Luka to agree to look at my finances. I’m not sure if he told you, but he discovered my last accountant was stealing from me.”
“Oh?” I glanced at Luka, but his expression was flat. His eyes were tight, disguising whatever emotion he was feeling. “No, he doesn’t talk about that with me.”
Relief took over when Goran released my hand. Again he flashed the pleased smile. “Well, I’m glad to finally have someone I trust looking after my investments.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Luka said. “Are you investing in a private wine club downtown? I was putting together the tax documents this morning and you spent five figures there this year.”
Goran’s expression shifted as if recalling a good memory. “No, not investing. They carry an exclusive wine I can’t get elsewhere.” His gaze turned to me. “Talking taxes on Christmas Eve? While I appreciate his work ethic, do you?”
I wasn’t sure what to respond with, and looked to Luka for help.
But it wasn’t needed. Goran chuckled softly. “You probably do. Luka says you’re driven. And he told me you’re going to medical school. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze held mine just a fraction too long, and my shiver was back. He eyed me as if assessing my potential, and all I could do was think about how this man had ordered the death of Luka’s mother. Goran reached abruptly into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved a buzzing phone, then motioned to the party.
“I’ll let you kids get back to it. Excuse me.”
We drifted toward the main room, and exhaustion slammed into me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could handle being the doll in a pretty dress on Luka’s arm. I whispered to him. “Can we go?”
“I already texted our driver.”
I sagged into the warm back seat as soon as the car arrived—my dress of silk and lace weighed a million pounds under my coat. Luka loosened the knot at his neck, and his hand came to rest on my knee. I shifted closer and leaned into him.
It’d been two months since we’d sat in costumes in the back seat of one of his cars, heading toward his house. We were still in costumes now, but everything else was different.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
My breath hitched. “Thank you.”
I set my hand on top of his, and traced patterns on the back of his palm. The only sound was the pavement steadily rolling beneath tires as the car carried us through the night. He looked beautiful tonight, too, but then, he always did.
“I paid off your student loan.”