Chapter 14 Mischa #2
I gesture to him in such a way that I touch his hand with the back of my fingers.
It is just a second, and it’s automatic, but Isobelle and Sabrina zone in on my hand as it returns to my side, fixated.
They look at me and then they look at Austen, and Austen gives them an awkward face.
They look at me again, then at each other. I think they know why I seem angry.
“Dance partners,” Sabrina says finally, with a strange southern accent.
“He can dance?”
“I suppose,” Sabrina says, all stony-eyed.
“He can,” Isobelle nods.
“Where you from?”
“France,” Sabrina says.
I don’t need my superpower to tell that’s a lie. She sounds like she’s from Alabama or something.
Isobelle, William’s redhead girlfriend, moves over to me. I can be intimidating, but this girl is an artist. She reminds me of a vampire. I want to laugh.
“William forgot to tell me your name,” she says.
“This is Mischa,” Austen offers. “He’s friends with Bee.”
I shoot Austen a look, then return to Isobelle.
“Are you studying in England?” I ask.
“We did a gap year with the boys,” she smiles. “Last year, in France. Then instead of school, we got jobs in the city, realized that working sucks too, but luckily we have these two wonderful boys to take care of us.”
Isobelle’s eyes are soulless. Like Will’s. She makes me slightly queasy.
“Sounds like you have a life others would kill for.”
“Me included,” she smirks. “Are you at university too?”
“I’m not graduating; I’ve learned what I need. I’m going to New York after this trip. I have a job.”
“Really?” Austen asks.
I look at him and wonder if I should even bother to answer. Would he care? Do I want to tell him anything more about me?
“Yeah,” I say and look away. “Nothing... keeping me in Amherst... right?”
“Kitten,” Austen says to Sabrina, “Why don’t you go unpack.”
“You didn’t even warn the poor child?” Sabrina says to Austen in French, like I wouldn’t understand, rolls her eyes, and leaves with Kane.
I zone out watching her walk away. I feel helpless, and every part of my soul fills with sadness.
“Can we talk for a second?” Isobelle asks Austen.
“Yes, my love,” he says.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she tells me, and pulls Austen away.
They go to the corner of the lobby and have a quick conversation.
They are locked in to what one another is saying, like they’re a sports team about to play the second half of a tied game.
They’re both excited. I try to read Isobelle’s lips.
Her eyes are wide, and she’s whispering.
Austen’s laughing. Their hands knit together and she makes a little squeak.
For a moment I imagine she knows there’s something between me and Austen and is excited that I’m here, but that would only make sense if she didn’t mind others in her territory, and she does. I just saw that.
The physical connection between her and Austen is strong.
She starts hanging off him, he’s holding her.
She hugs and kisses him... intense hug..
. they are both really feeling it... his brother’s girlfriend.
.. and he hates being touched... she definitely says “I love you, baby,” to him before she leaves.
One last kiss. On the lips. I don’t fucking like this.
“Sorry about that,” Austen says, when he returns to me. “You okay?”
I’m fucking furious. “Kitten?”
“I did say they were coming.”
“You should tell her,” I say. “Your fiancé. You should tell her.”
He laughs that uncomfortable, a-ha-ha laugh. “No I should not.”
“It’s not fair on her, and we both know she picked up on it already.”
“Sabrina’s very happy with the deal.”
“The deal? Baby...”
“Don’t call me baby,” he warns.
“Baby baby baby.”
Austen cracks a smile and shakes it away. “Sabrina’s very important to me.”
“I’ll bet. She looks just like you. I seriously thought she was your sister. She has your eyes, your face, how is she not your sister? Is she?”
“What?” he frowns, and thinks about it, like he’s momentarily realizing something, or entertaining the idea. “No.”
“You sure?”
He hesitates, then dismisses the thought like it’s ridiculous.
“I know you’re upset, but please don’t have a meltdown.”
“Sorry if I’m freaking out, but the other triplet just got here wearing a blonde wig and you’re expecting me to believe that you didn’t share a womb? There’s no way. I don’t believe it. She’s gotta be your sister pretending to be your wife so you can hide...”
“She was born in a different country. I didn’t even meet her until I was eigh... for Christ’s sake, I can get you her birth certificate if you like?”
“We won’t need to if you just dump her.”
“If you just want to get me out of your system like you say, why would you ask me to break up with her?”
“I have said so much more than that,” I tell him, infuriated. “I actually fooled myself into thinking you were falling for me, but you’re waiting for her? How could you do this to me? How could you do it to her?”
His mouth drops open. I head to my room to sulk.
When I turn to walk up the main stairs, I see Isobelle at the top, leaning on the wall, watching us, with a giant smirk on her face.
We lock eyes the whole way until I pass her, our faces getting more and more sour the closer we get, until she breaks into a maniacal laugh that seems to dare me to throw her head first over the railing.
A hot shower and an hour later I feel good enough to head outside and slide back into the lobby on the handrail.
Will is on the piano and Austen is on guitar serenading Isobelle with a song about her. It’s really good. She’s wiping away tears. Real tears. Deep ones. Sabrina spots me and flashes her own perfectly round dimples, just like Austen’s.
I go back up to my room.
???
My adoptive father nicknamed me Lemon. It’s sort of a Russian name for a grenade because of the shape.
Grenades look like lemons. Sort of. It’s because I have a special talent that makes me his secret weapon.
I can’t even tell my brothers about it. Only he and Sofie know that I can read people like a book.
When my brothers play poker, I always see their bluffs. When we play blackjack, I can tell when Gregor and Maxim count cards. I don’t have to count, because I know if I should take a card just by their body language.
Sofie and I spent a lot of our life around people who didn’t speak our language.
There were lots of languages in the city we were born in.
After that we were refugees in Vienna, and had to learn German.
Then Sivishni found us, and we had to learn Russian.
He put us in a private French high school in Moscow, and when we graduated, he took us to America, where they speak Cartoon Language.
Every time I master one language, I get stuck with another one.
So I have become an expert in non-verbal communication, the same way deaf people become experts in lip-reading.
Contrary to popular belief, liars do not fidget.
They all start out very still, and then they either stay rigid, or they overcompensate.
Good ones return to their normal state fast, but they are rare.
With them, you have to look at their fleeting, minuscule expressions.
Most people also have “tells”, the little things they do when they’re not telling the truth, like putting their hand on their nose or something.
By the way, all of these signals go haywire when violence comes into play, so I work best when people are not under duress.
The truth speaks without words, without sounds, without a voice being heard, yet I hear its echo. The body is a window to the soul. It talks through mysterious signals, so subtle and profound, they can’t be comprehended by reason alone.
Eventually Sivishni decided I had a sixth sense, and I guess I kind of do. I see through everyone. Who’s nervous, who is secretly hated by the others, who will fold fastest, and who will break even faster. I’m never wrong.
He began to use my abilities to find the rats, cheats, and liars in the organization. My only condition is that I’ll never use it with intimidation, because the accuracy of my perceptions is largely based on body movements, and distressed emotions cause most people to become rigid.
I have to fight this marrying-some-girl nonsense. I have a good baseline for Austen, and William, but I need to find their tells. Isobelle and Sabrina need closer scrutiny too.
I have one other talent. Cards. I need to see them lying. I need to get them to play a bluffing game.
I find them in the games lounge when it’s raining, drinking coffee with Amelia.
“I need to do something, I’m bored to tears,” I say, and jump onto one of the couches near them. “Do any of you know poker?”
I pull a deck out and start shuffling with one hand, and give a few elegant flourishes by doing a cascade and a riffle.
“You seem like a bit of a shark,” Sabrina says, and stares at the cards with her piercing green eyes, just like William and Austen’s. “We’re about to get fleeced!”
Fucking hell her eyes are exactly like theirs and the dimples for fuck’s sake this shit is crazy how can I be the only one who sees this I am losing my mind here but I gotta push it down and screw a tight lid on this or I won’t pull this thing off.
“Okay, no gambling,” I laugh. “Have you ever played gambit?”
“Never heard of it,” she shakes her head.
“It’s a very cool game, and it’s very easy,” I tell her. “You’d be good, I think.” I put a card in front of Sabrina and Isobelle. I look at Austen and William. “Are you in?”
“I guess,” Austen says.
William shrugs. “Sure.”
“I’ll just watch,” Amelia says.
Perfect. I deal out the whole pack.
“This is a deck of playing cards, except the low cards, from two to six, have been removed, and there’s double the amount of high cards. Eight kings, eight queens, and so on.”
“I think I’m already confused,” Sabrina says.
I finish dealing.