15. Skye
SKYE
W hile the home visit was wonderful, it left me feeling strangely achy. Restless.
My parents noticed my restlessness thanks to my constant phone checking and excessive Instagram posting.
I blamed the frequent travels and resulting jet lag lately: flying to Italy for a week only to fly back to New Orleans for Thanksgiving weekend at Nikola’s parents’ with everyone.
But it was all a lie.
It all boiled down to the fact that I hadn’t seen or talked to Nikola in weeks, and I missed him more than ever.
It was strange how feelings and thoughts could flip suddenly. From familial to obsessive. From innocent to quite indecent. I’d known Nikola for most of my life, yet it was only lately that I felt like I couldn’t live without him. It felt like this—us—was waiting to happen all along.
He was all I could think about anymore.
After the night of my panic attack in his dorm, Nikola had successfully avoided me for a whole month.
And in that time, my crush had turned into a full-blown obsession, complete with a slew of texts sent that I’d rather not think about—it was beyond embarrassing.
Who texted a boy over and over again despite getting no reply?
I blamed the stubborn idiot, whose lack of reciprocation was making me feel unhinged.
Well, two could play that game.
It was my turn to ignore him—and to pull out the oldest trick in a woman’s playbook. If he wanted to play games, he’d soon learn that I could play just as well, if not better.
I stopped messaging him three days ago, but he didn’t know me at all if he thought I was done. I might’ve forced myself to stop texting him, but I was determined to make him acknowledge the chemistry between us—at the very least.
I couldn’t go to The Den of Sin where he often frequented since I’d been permanently banned from it. However, I figured out another way to draw out the pale-eyed devil.
I’d have lunch with his cousin.
My close relationship with all the Nikolaevs made it easy to talk to Nikola’s cousins and his sister. It helped that we’d known each other for a long time and pretty much grew up together. But for the first time, I’d manipulated one of them.
I wanted to be honest with Kostya and tell him why I initiated a lunch date with him, well aware that using him to make Nikola jealous wasn’t all that mature.
Kostya, a man of few words much like his father, could be intimidating, but he had always been kind to me.
And even though I knew he didn’t harbor any feelings for me, it didn’t lessen the guilt.
“ Are you okay, sweetie ?” my papa signed, that ever-present concern lining his eyes.
He worried too much about me, and though I absolutely adored my papa, he could be overbearing sometimes.
Protective. Suffocating even. Before I could answer, he offered, “ We can go right back to the airport. We’ll be in Italy by tomorrow morning. ”
I glanced out the window, taking in the Nikolaev mansion we’d just pulled up to. It never ceased to awe me—and that was saying a lot, because I’d been coming here since I was a little girl.
It stood like a fortress on the outskirts of New Orleans, secluded and imposing, nestled within a dense, tangled forest that seemed to guard it from the outside world.
The house itself was a striking vision—stark white against the deep green backdrop, with two grand columns flanking the front entrance like silent sentinels.
A wraparound porch hugged the building, its ornate iron railings and hanging lanterns hinting at stories from a bygone era.
The whole place felt like a portal through time, where past and present collided in a surreal harmony.
There was an air of refined elegance, like a French chateau transplanted to the bayou, but the unmistakable charm of classic New Orleans lingered in every detail—from the wrought-iron accents to the creaking wooden steps, inviting you closer.
It was both regal and haunted, pulling you in with a quiet, magnetic allure.
“ You’re desperate to get out of this dinner ,” Mama teased, patting his hand affectionately.
The sun was slowly setting, and I knew the whole family already awaited us around back by the pool.
It was where the Nikolaev gatherings always took place: a twenty-foot banquet table stretching the length of their pool, usually draped in linens and dotted with candles, and of course crowded with delicious food.
“I’m not,” Papa retorted, an undignified expression marring his face. “I just don’t see the point in sitting through a dinner with a bunch of crazy Russians.” He shot me a look. “And Skye looks like she doesn’t want to be here.”
Oh, he was so wrong.
“ I’m great ,” I signed, hiding my anxiety at seeing Nikola again behind a smile. “ And we’re doing this. ”
Sliding out of the back seat, my pink satin dress like a caress against my skin, I followed my parents.
Mama slipped her hand into Papa’s and the three of us made our way past the row of luxury vehicles parked neatly in front of the hedge line.
There was the Nikolaevs’ collection of sports vehicles—Lamborghinis, BMWs, Audis, and Maseratis.
And it looked like Nikola had finally bought himself the red Aston Martin Valkyrie that he’d been yapping about since last fall.
Whenever I stayed here or with Sasha, I drove their vehicles, but usually I opted for the safer ones. Like the ones that Branka or Marietta drove, although the latter had started a collection of her own sports cars too.
An hour and a half later, the evening was in full swing. Even Papa looked as if he was having fun.
Plates were stacked high with roasted turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, and pumpkin bread—and that was before we could make our way to the dessert table.
Candlelight danced around the patio, casting an amber glow on everyone’s happy faces.
The Nikolaev cousins were seated at the left side of the table, while our parents sat at the right side. Damien sat next to me while Nikola sat across from me, looking particularly dapper in his suit, his necktie in a perfect Windsor knot.
“Nikola worked on his tie for at least half an hour,” Marietta stated, and I quickly averted my eyes, cursing myself at getting caught. Be cool, Skye .
“And why do we care about that ?” Kostya asked in a bored-looking face.
“I just noticed Skye admiring it, that’s all.” My cheeks flushed. I liked Nikola’s sister, but she could be too much sometimes, especially when her parents let her have a wine or two with dinner. “What do you think, Skye? Does he deserve a star?”
I shrugged, feeling his eyes on me—assessing, daring, challenging—but I was determined not to give him the time of day.
“I hear you and Kostya are having lunch tomorrow,” Nikola said, threading his fingers together behind his head and relaxing back in his seat.
“ What’s it to you ?”
“That won’t be happening,” he deadpanned.
We’ll see , I thought smugly.
For the rest of the night, I made a point of sticking to conversations with Damien and the rest of the Nikolaev and Konstantin children.
Normally, I would seek out Nikola’s eyes, but not today.
If he wanted me, he’d have to make the next move, because I deserved better than his recent treatment. I wanted him to need me, crave me. Nothing less would do.
“The concept of Thanksgiving is so… weird,” Papa complained from the other end of the table. He was staring at his turkey with disdain, throwing exasperated glares at the Nikolaevs. “Why is this thing stuffed and dripping with grease?”
“That’s the best part, but I know how delicate you Italians are,” Sasha drawled, winking at me.
Papa glared at him. It wasn’t exactly the best first exposure to the Nikolaevs’ Thanksgiving gathering.
“I can show you exactly how delicate I am if we step outside.”
Sasha threw his head back and laughed.
“Not today, Italian.” He casually hooked his tattooed arm around Branka’s chair. “I promised my wife I’d set a good example for Skye and Damien today.”
Key word there was today.
“Don’t you fucking worry about Skye, you fuck,” Papa gritted. “She has impeccable manners. Thanks to us.”
Sasha scoffed. “You fucking wish. Skye takes after me in all the best ways. Right, kiddo?”
“ This Italian-Russian-American reserves her right to the Fifth Amendment ,” I signed.
Papa’s jaw clenched, a vein in his forehead throbbing, and his hand disappeared below the table, where I suspected he took Mama’s hand to prevent him from shooting Sasha. Papa had a temper on him, and only Mama and I had any hope of setting him at ease.
“Where is the fucking popcorn when you need it?” Nikola chimed in, glaring at me while I ignored him. Sure, now he’d be mad that I was ignoring him when he’d been ignoring me for weeks.
“Nikola?” Sasha said, clenching his jaw.
“Yes?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Vasili threw his head back and laughed. “Actually, maybe he should continue so Sasha can get a taste of his own medicine.”
“There are so many ways I could respond, but since it’s Thanksgiving, I won’t,” Sasha answered, winking at Damien and me. “I’m feeling generous.”
“They’ll never stop, will they?” Damien signed.
“ I suspect not .”
He turned to face me. “What are we going to do when they kill each other?”
I shrugged, laughing as he gave me an exasperated look. “ They won’t .”
With his blond curls, piercing blue eyes, and the bone structure any model would be envious of, Damien would be a heartbreaker one day.
“You seem awfully certain about that,” he said, shooting another glance down the table where the two were still throwing jabs at each other.
“ If they’ve coexisted for the past two decades, they’ll be fine for the next two. Besides, Branka and Mama would never forgive them. So there’s that. ”
Damien scoffed. “Our mothers certainly know how to keep them in check. Remind me to never get married.”
I chuckled. “ Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical ?”