Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Lucy
Kirill
What time should I pick you up?
I was busy applying the last coat of mascara to my lashes when the text came. I had a feeling I knew what this was about, but I’d been simmering in annoyance with him overnight, so I texted back.
Me
***
For the cake tasting.
I stared at his message, trying to figure out how to reply. My mother and I were meeting Irina and Aralina at the patisserie that was part of Marriage Ink’s wedding empire.
Apparently, Kirill was impatient with my response and decided to call. Just as well.
Without saying hello, I said, “My mother—”
He cut me off. “It’s going to be the two of us. Irina informed your mother of the change of plans.”
Hmm…last I saw Mamma, she was already in full makeup, though she was still wearing a robe.
“Why can’t we all go? Mamma and I can meet you guys there.”
“You suggested we needed to be seen in public.”
“It’s normal to be around family in the weeks leading up to the wedding.”
“I’m trying here. We’ll go to lunch afterwards and chat like a newly engaged couple.”
“Oh my God, don’t let me twist your arm. It’s not like this is a love match. I’m perfectly aware of what to expect.”
“Are you?” he said in a dry tone. “Because you threw a tantrum yesterday.”
“You haven’t seen a tantrum yet. What happened to your reason for being available for Davenport’s will reading?”
“My lawyer can handle it.” He sighed. “What time should I pick you up?”
“I’ll be ready in thirty minutes. The appointment is at eleven. It’s at—”
“I know where it is.”
“Fine.”
He ended the call. I stared at my phone again, seething. I should use “asshat” for his contact name.
I lost interest in getting ready. I was hoping to make a good impression on Irina, who seemed elegantly coiffed and dressed every time I saw her. I ditched the gloss on my lips or blush or extra powder and headed downstairs straight for the kitchen to grab a protein bar.
But Mamma was busy in the kitchen rustling up something over the stove, the aroma making me salivate. She was swaying to music playing on the kitchen radio. Dad was sitting at the breakfast table having coffee, but I caught him watching Mamma with heated eyes.
Ugh. As much as I loved how crazy my parents were about each other, I didn’t want to be around during their amorous moments.
“Morning. Smells good in here.” For the De Luccis, despite the massive houses, the kitchen always had a warm, cozy feeling. This one had pistachio-colored cabinets and red tiles reminiscent of a Tuscan kitchen.
Mamma had changed out of the bathrobe she had on earlier into her favorite embroidered dressing gown, signaling she and Dad were in no hurry to go anywhere and were lounging at home. She turned to greet me, and I was surprised she wasn’t sulking but glowing.
“Hey, are you not sad that you’re not coming with me to the cake tasting?” I poured myself a cup of coffee.
“Irina called me and said you and Kirill need to spend alone time together.” She winked at Dad. “Just like me and your papa.”
“As if you two don’t spend enough alone time already. And what happened to your advice that we didn’t need to see each other before the wedding?”
Mamma shrugged. “If Kirill makes time to see you, why not?”
“You two are not tired of me yet, are you? I’m not cramping your style?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad said. “There’s nothing I love more than my two favorite girls under my roof.”
Aww…
“We love that you’re here, Stellina.” Mamma extended one arm to give me a quick hug, then she stepped back and eyed my ecru pantsuit. “I love the fabric of your suit. Is that the linen-silk one?”
“Yep, this is the only fabric I wear in the summer. It can get humid in DC, and it’s very breathable.”
Mamma transferred the sausage and eggs she was cooking to a plate and put it in front of Dad. I picked up a fork, speared a few morsels into my mouth, and grabbed a croissant from the breadbasket.
“Don’t fill up,” Mamma censured.
“I haven’t eaten anything,” I protested.
My mother walked away to the corner of the kitchen.
“Aren’t you eating, cara?” Dad called after her.
“In a moment,” Mamma replied. “I need to fix Lucy’s makeup.”
My mouth fell open, indignant, while Dad shook his head in resigned amusement.
“Our daughter looks fine to me.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
“She’s looking a bit pale, and that matte lipstick is too harsh.”
“I’m going to eat cake…I don’t like the crumbs sticking to my lips.”
Mamma stopped in front of me, and I turned wary at the sly look she cast me. “Stellina, that’s the job of Kirill…letting you know you have crumbs on your lips and then he’ll wipe them off your mouth…or do other things.”
“Mamma!”
“What?” she said. “You need to learn some seduction skills.”
“I shouldn’t be hearing this,” Dad mumbled into his coffee.
“Thank you,” I said again.
“Nonsense.” Mamma already had the lipstick out and started to retouch mine. “It’s a good thing we share the same coloring and I always carry pink-peach gloss.”
After fixing my lips, she brought out the blush.
“Not too much,” I whined as I endured the strokes of her brush.
“You have such amazing bone structure. You don’t need a lot.”
My thoughts went to Anya, and before I could make any comparison, the doorbell rang.
“That’s Sato,” I said. “I better go.”
“Invite them in for coffee.”
Hell no. I didn’t trust my mother not to embarrass me with more seduction talk.
I grabbed my bag that was on the foyer table and swung open the door.
I looked up and up to see Kirill’s chiseled, handsome, and unsmiling face.
My heart bounced to my throat, and I was temporarily robbed of words.
His eyes took me in from the top of my head, lingered on my lips—damn Mamma and her seduction tips—before they quickly bypassed my chest to my feet before focusing on my face again.
I squirmed under his blatant appraisal, and oh my God, my nipples responded.
I gave a shake of my head to dispel the fleeting insanity of Kirill’s effect on me. Men like him were a dime a dozen among my De Lucci and Moretti relatives. That was what I got for growing up in a family blessed with the “gorgeous” genes. I should be immune to them.
“I was expecting Sato.”
“Now, that would be disrespectful to my fiancée, wouldn’t it?”
His gaze shifted past my shoulder. “Good morning, Lottie.”
Oh, was he on a nickname basis with my mother now?
“Good morning! Come in for coffee?” my mother called.
“We’re going to be late.” I walked past Kirill, not giving him any choice but to follow. I paused at the top of the steps and noticed the Porsche sitting in our driveway. Behind it was an SUV with a driver I didn’t recognize. But Sato was standing beside the parked cars, keeping an eye out.
Kirill’s fingers laced into mine, his grip firm as we both descended the steps.
A zing of awareness shot up my arm and my breathing grew labored.
It reminded me of how easily he turned me on the night of our engagement.
It was infuriating. With just one touch, all the mental walls I’d erected against my attraction to him crumbled.
He wasn’t even doing anything different.
He did the gentlemanly thing of opening my door and helping me into the low-slung sports car. Then he rounded the back of the vehicle, giving Sato instructions, before sliding into the driver’s side.
“Weekend car?”
“You can say that.” He gunned the engine and off we went. It occurred to me that this was the first time Kirill and I were in a situation that resembled a date. The family dinner didn’t count and definitely not the funeral. Sato picked me up for that since Kirill went in a separate vehicle.
“Did you look over the prenup?” he asked.
Oh, this was why he wanted to see me this morning and suffer through a cake tasting. The document in question was two hundred pages. It had gone back and forth between our lawyers, but since I had a law degree, I combed over it too.
“Yes.”
“And?” There was a wealth of irritability in that one word.
“I’m still thinking over certain items.”
“Like what?”
“The part where my work does not interfere with events where you require my presence.”
“That sounds reasonable, don’t you think? I allow my wife to work—”
“Allow?” I cut him off. “You'd better watch your words with me, Kirill. I get stabby around autocratic men.”
“Do you have a knife in your purse?”
I couldn’t place his tone, but it was one he frequently used with me—amusement, irritation, and admiration all rolled into one.
“It’s a metaphor.”
We retreated into our own silence for a while.
The traffic wasn’t as bad on a Sunday morning, and I observed Manhattan wake up after a Saturday night on the town.
The health enthusiast winding down from an early run.
The couple with a toddler and a baby in a stroller walking leisurely, coffee in hand.
The lady with a yorkie peeking out from her purse.
I’d seen a woman carry a fluffy white dog in a hiking backpack to take on the subway ever since the public transit disallowed dogs unless they were in a bag.
“You should be used to autocratic men,” Kirill said finally. “You’re surrounded by them.”
“Why do you think I moved to DC?”
“Aren’t there the same men there?”
“Well, yes, but they’re frequently the so-called facilitators who answer to men like you—the men with the actual power and who hold the purse strings. They don’t give me much of a headache because they can be reasoned with given the right incentive.” A euphemism for bribe or blackmail.
“Is that why your boyfriends are the hipsters who embrace saving the environment and world peace?” he scoffed.
I wasn’t surprised he’d done a thorough inspection of my background. I did date a doctor who volunteered for Doctors Without Borders.
“If you must know, I love green-flag men who care about people other than themselves. My marriage is quite out of character, but if I can use your power for the greater good, then I’m all for it.”