50. Call It What You Want
CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT
Maksim and Aleksandr are standing in the impressive front hall, speaking rapid Russian, when I enter the house after my run.
They fall silent when I appear, then exchange a loaded look and resume talking.
Being ignored seems to be the best-case scenario when it comes to any interaction with the Sokolovs. No glares or guns are in sight.
I remain silent as I pass them, heading for the grand staircase that leads upstairs.
I didn’t wake when Lev left at some ridiculously early hour, but I did get up much earlier than I ever had in my former life in Chicago.
I hope Lev will appreciate I went for our regular run without him on my first chance to sleep in.
“Carina.”
I go still with shock when Maksim says my name. Turn slowly, keeping a hand on the railing. “Yes?”
Both of Lev’s brothers are surveying me. Behind them, I see Victoria standing in the living room, holding a baby. She, too, is looking my way, a sneer marring her pretty face. She turns and walks out an open door that must lead outside. It’s a part of the house I haven’t explored.
“Have you spoken to Lev?”
I spin more fully, my hand falling from the carved marble railing. “No. He was gone when I woke up. He said your fa—Igor asked him to take care of something.”
“See?” Aleksandr says dismissively. “She knows nothing.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak English. His voice sounds as harsh as it does when speaking Russian—clipped, emotionless syllables.
I recall what Lev told me once about his older brother. “He can find fault with anything or anyone.”
An accurate description, in my experience.
Maksim pulls his phone out, turning away and raising it to his ear.
I’ve clearly been dismissed. Yet I descend another stair. “Is something wrong?”
“We have information to share,” Aleksandr states, not looking at me. “Lev isn’t answering.”
I grasp the railing again, suddenly needing its support.
An errand. Lev called his father’s request a fucking errand, and I should have asked more questions.
Should have instantly considered an innocuous word having different, dangerous connotations.
He was gone all morning yesterday, morose when he finally returned.
Went to bed early, saying he needed the sleep before a busy morning.
Maksim’s hand lowers, and I know he didn’t reach Lev.
My stomach swoops. I start to feel lightheaded for reasons unrelated to exertion.
Maksim glances at me, then at his impassive brother. “What did you say?”
“The truth,” Aleksandr replies. “She’s worried she’ll be a widow.”
“Victoria’s dream, you mean?”
Aleksandr’s response is in Russian. Low and lethal.
Maksim just smiles. If Lev’s younger brother hated me less, I might actually like him.
I sink down on the polished steps, pulling my new phone out of my shorts’ spandex pocket. It came programmed with one number, but I’ve never called it before. I’ve never had any reason to—this is the first time he’s left since we got married.
It rings once before I hear, “Carina?”
Relief slams into me with the force of an avalanche. My elbows land on my knees as I release a long breath.
He repeats my name, a little louder, and I manage a word. “Hey.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I register motion. I focus on blinking away the moisture that appeared. Crying won’t elevate anyone’s opinion of me.
A pause follows when I say nothing else, then, “You called me.”
I huff a watery laugh. “Maksim said you weren’t answering.”
“I’m working.”
“I know. I—”
“And he’s not my wife.”
The giddy sensation that appears every time he calls me that materializes in my stomach.
“I’ll be home by six. We’ll go out on a date.”
“A date?” I echo.
“It’s when two people dress up and—”
“I know what a date is,” I interrupt. “We’ve just never …”
“Six,” Lev says, then hangs up.
I lower the phone, biting my lower lip to hide the smile struggling to appear. I glance up.
Maksim is frowning. Aleksandr’s arms are crossed, but his expression remains smooth.
“He’s, uh, fine,” I say, pulling myself vertical. “I’m sure he’ll call you back soon.”
“I’m not,” Maksim drawls, then strides away, deeper into another section of the house I’ve yet to investigate.
Aside from my daily workouts, I haven’t strayed far from the upstairs wing where Lev’s bedroom is.
Spending time with Aleksandr is low on my list of priorities, so I start to continue up the rest of the stairs. I need a shower and to plan what I’ll wear tonight.
“You won’t last.”
I still. Stiffen, the cold words washing over me like icy water.
“Lev will have his fun, and then he’ll remember what’s important.”
I’m tempted to ask Aleksandr what he deems important, but I think I already know his answer.
I turn my head, meeting his gaze directly. “You don’t know your brother at all, do you?”
Lev promised to protect me. He could resent me with every fiber of his being—which I’m worried he will—and he would uphold that vow.
It’s who he is. I saw the awed way the other men on that plane looked at him when he rescued me in Madrid.
The deference displayed when we went to Moscow for our wedding was different from the reverence I’ve noticed displayed when he walks around here. Fear is easy; loyalty is earned.
A crucial difference Aleksandr can’t—or won’t—comprehend.
I know I’ve struck a nerve when he doesn’t reply right away. He’s not used to being challenged, and the challenger being a sister-in-law is unfamiliar too.
This might be my only opportunity to talk to Aleksandr alone. And, asshole or not, he is Lev’s brother. I think Enzo fired back at Lev. By comparison, Aleksandr has been welcoming to me.
“I don’t like you,” I state.
Most of Aleksandr’s expression remains the same, but his left eyebrow lifts. Barely, but enough that I notice it.
“And you clearly don’t like me,” I continue. “But there is nothing—nothing—that I wouldn’t do for Lev. Don’t believe anything else I say, but believe that.”
He nods. “Wives obey their husbands.”
“It has nothing to do with obedience,” I snap. “And the fact that you think so—” I stop short, realizing I’m veering far off the course of getting Aleksandr to accept me. Or at least to tolerate me.
Aleksandr smiles, and it’s just as detached and overbearing as his voice. “Continue.”
I’m sweaty from my run, yet I have to suppress a shiver. I exhale, ensuring my voice remains steady. “I’m not an enemy, Aleksandr.”
He shakes his head once. “At least the maid knew her place.” Then he strides out of the entryway.