Chapter 12 Roman #2
But that part about Vera pushing Mila right in front of me is still gnawing at me. I feel like a dog with a bone. I can't let it go.
"You're on your phone a lot," Sofi says, cutting through a piece of lamb. "Am I boring you?"
"Not at all, why would you say that?" Busted. I clench my jaw as I offer a fake smile.
"Then put it away." She points her fork at me and there's oil on the tines. "It's rude."
"It's business."
"It's dinner." She sets her fork down and picks up her wine glass.
"Mama would lose her mind if she saw you texting at the table.
She has rules about that. No phones, no business, no excuses.
" She takes a drink and holds the glass against her chin, watching me.
"Are you always this distracted when you have company? "
"Only when the company talks enough for both of us."
She laughs and sets the glass down. "Fair enough. But I mean it, put the phone away. I came all the way here and you're not even looking at me half the time."
I set the phone down on my thigh and give her my full attention for a ten count while she finishes her lamb and tells me about a restaurant in Kazan that served the best pelmeni she's ever eaten. Her hands move the entire time she speaks and her bracelets knock together with each gesture.
And when my phone buzzes, I can't fight the urge to check it.
Timur: 7:52 PM: There's another name. Before Koval. Vera Volkov. Same birthdate, same city of origin. Name change happened six months before she married the first husband.
I read it twice and put my phone into my pocket and grit my teeth.
The muscles between my shoulder blades tighten and I stare at my plate blankly.
Vera was born a Volkov, and she didn't just change her name for marriage to Mr. Koval or Mr. Radin.
She had a husband previous to that, making three total, and she changed her name before she ever got married.
Why would she do that?
"Hey," I hear, and I look up to see Sofi standing over me.
When I realize how tense I am, I relax my shoulders, but it's short lived as she slides herself right onto my lap, draping her arms around my shoulders.
I catch Mila's eyes go wide, and her cheeks burn pink with the anger she's masking as I rest my hand on Sofi's thighs.
"I said, put that away. Pay attention to me. "
If it weren't such an intimate position, I'd have a few choice words for her being so direct, but I bite back those words as I rest my hand in the small of her back.
"Sofi."
"Hmm," she purrs in her most salacious tone.
"Have you ever heard the name Vera Volkov?"
The color rises up her face from her cheeks to her hairline as she scrambles to hide what she's feeling. I watch her blink several times, her arms tensing as she draws back slightly, then says, “No. Never heard it."
"You're certain?"
"I said no." She pushes back farther and then stands.
"I think I need some air." Such a strange reaction to my simple question when I have someone with bonafide facts, telling me she's lying.
Why would she lie about this? I'd like to press it, but Mila has watched this whole interaction and I find her response just as puzzling.
She seems furious. Hands balled into fists, lips pursed angrily, and her toe is tapping methodically too. A nervous tic?
I stand and button my jacket. "Well, then, let's all move to the study."
"Actually, I think I should go," Sofi says, turning away from me. "Thank you for dinner. The lamb was wonderful. Tell Sara." The abrupt 180 she's done almost makes me chuckle, but it appears that Mila is relieved now. The angry tension in her body dissolves as she stands.
"I will."
"And invite Sabine next time. She'll never forgive me if you don't." Sofi smooths the front of her dress with both hands and turns toward the door and doesn't wait for a response.
She stomps off in a huff, holding up her skirt in front, but I'm more interested in how Mila's head is still down and her shoulders are slumped.
I can't read her thoughts, but if I had to guess, I'd say jealousy, maybe, or maybe she's just annoyed.
"My study, now, please," I tell her. Then I turn and walk out, leaving my untouched dinner. Sara will wonder why I've not touched it, and I will send her a pleasant note letting her know I had no appetite because I lost it the second Sofi started yammering on.
Mila follows me a few steps behind as I lead her to my study where I shut us in after waving Sorin off. She sets her tablet on my desk and crosses her arms over her chest as I pour a drink and sip it, turning to face her from a few strides away.
"Have you ever heard the name Vera Volkov?" I didn't catch her response to that exact question I asked Sofi because her head was down, and I was more interested in that exact moment to see what Sofi would say. Now, though, it's important that I find out just what Mila knows about her stepmother.
Her brow pulls in. The corner of her left eye twitches. "No. Should I have?"
"Your stepmother has had more names than I'd expected." I sip my drink and study her.
Her eyes narrow on me for a second, but I see no recognition there. Mila seems to know nothing about Vera before she met her father. Which means Anton probably knew nothing about Vera, either. This is getting interesting.
"If you're done with me for the evening," she mumbles, her voice catching. Then she clears it before she says, "I'd prefer to go to my room."
"Not yet," I tell her, walking over toward her. "You seemed upset during dinner."
"I wasn't upset."
"Well, you didn't seem to take many notes," I point out, setting my glass on the desk. "And you had a lot to say with your body language." My God, did I notice her body language. Any grown man with two brain cells would be watching that body.
"She had nothing interesting to take note of." Mila turns her face away from me and her chest puffs out. She's feeling defensive—so it is jealousy, not annoyance. Good to know.
"A woman I may consider wedding in my future and you've not taken one note of anything she said so that I can—"
"Sofi is a child, and you sat there and poured her wine and smiled at her and talked to her with that voice." Mila's eyes go wide as she spits out the words, revealing how she truly feels. I bite back a grin while I master my own reaction to give nothing away.
"That voice?" I ask, furrowing my brow. Seeing her snap back like this is so adorable. My God, I could kiss her. I've never had a woman be jealous over me before. Maybe getting Ms. Radin to the altar won’t be so hard, after all.
"Don't."
"You're angry because I was pleasant to her, or because you wanted me to be pleasant to you?"
Her face goes from pink to red and she runs a hand through her hair, the stylus falling from behind her ear and clattering on the floor. She takes two steps toward the door and turns back.
"You're disgusting. She's barely an adult and half your age and—"
"Well!" I say loudly, chuckling for a second.
It halts her in her tracks and I continue, moving closer to her and making her spine straighten.
"You're half my age and I've had you quite thoroughly, Mila…
" I lift my hand, brush a strand of hair from her forehead, and curl it around her ear as a shudder runs through her body from head to toes.
Her chin is high, but her eyes look downward as I caress her cheek softly, remembering the feeling of her lips against mine. Somewhere in the middle of all of this, things have gotten very messy inside my head.
I've lost my way with her. I should be angry and punitive, teach her a lesson about what it means to cross me. But I want nothing more than to tear down every defense she has and find out why she has them. Then teach her what it means to be safe.
The problem is that she's so infuriatingly hard to understand. Mila is angry when I touch her, pissed when I show another woman any attention, and so fucking needy when I expose the raw desire inside her.
"Or did you not like when I had you?"
"It's not the same," she bites out, and I swear there is moisture in her eyes.
So she is jealous. Very jealous.
I can fix that for her very soon, just not tonight. As much as I want to explore it, push her to her limit so I can find the woman who let me ravish her once, all so I can do it again, I can't. Timur is on to something and I have to find out what.
If I'm going to move forward with my plan, I have to have all the facts.
"Go to your room, Mila. Rest. I'll call for you in the morning."
The way her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch shows me the disappointment. Whether she wants what I want or she just wanted to argue her point more, she isn't getting it.
She turns and walks out, closing the door softly behind her, not slamming it like I assume she wants, and I lean back against my desk and stare for a second. She was so ripe for the plucking I could've, and I wanted to.
And dammit that I'm too damn driven by this mystery to take a single moment to indulge. I just have to know. So I message my brother again. He's gotten me this far, and I know with his skills, he can go farther.
Roman: 8:06 PM: I need everything on Vera Volkov by end of week. Every husband. Every death. Financial records, property transfers.
Timur: 8:06 PM: How deep?
Roman: 8:07 PM: All the way down… I have some decisions to make, and what you find out will determine how I go about things.
Timur: 8:07 PM: Understood.
I set my phone down as the undercurrent of thought flows away from Mila and toward this puzzle I'm going to solve.
Vera may be entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
It's conceivable that she mistakenly sent Mila to my fight club to retrieve that ring, considering Anton—and Mila's grandfather Milos before him—was the rightful owner. I'm just not buying it.
Something tells me Vera has more going on than she wants anyone to admit. And I'm going to get to the bottom of it.