Page 157 of Emerald Malice

Even Misha seems to be in high spirits. He’s sitting on my right, one hand protectively cupped over Remi’s head as the poor dog whines every so often. He’s not a fan of all the noise, but perched between Misha’s legs, he’s tolerating it pretty well.

The only one who seems to be having less fun than Remi is Shura. But I’m assuming that has less to do with the noise and more with the fact that Katya isn’t here. She sent me a text earlier saying she wouldn’t be able to make it.

When the men burst into laughter again, Misha flinches. His face is as taut and anxious as ever, but that is his default position. The kid’s been conditioned to be wary for too long for that to go away overnight.

I nudge Misha gently. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you eat enough?”

His smile breaks through for a moment. “I’ve never eaten so much in my entire life. Remi loved it, too.”

Misha and I have been passing Remi little tidbits under the table throughout the dinner. It’s probably the only reason Remi endured all this noise.

“How are your lessons going?”

“Okay, I guess.”

The slump of his shoulders says otherwise.

“Is Mr. Akayev not treating you right?” I’ve met his personal tutor a few times now, a taciturn Russian in his late sixties. I wish Andrey would’ve chosen someone softer, warmer, but I can’t deny that the man knows his stuff.

Misha looks alarmed that I would even suggest such a thing. “He’s fine. Maybe a little impatient, but he’s okay. It’s the work.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “How about you come over to the pool house tomorrow and we recap what you’ve learned so far? Maybe I can help.”

“Yeah?”

“I always learned best when I liked my teachers. And my two favorite teachers in the whole world were my mom and dad.”

Misha frowns, and I immediately regret bringing it up.

Why did I go and mention my wonderful parents to a boy who’s never had any inkling of what it’s like to have even one functional parent, let alone two? It’s like wagging a juicy steak in front of a starving man. Look what you can never have. I feel like a bitch.

I pat him on the arm as Remi whines for attention. Misha dips his head down to let Remi nuzzle his face, and I turn to Andrey, whose eyes are finally fixed on me.

His hand slides up my thigh under the table. He doesn’t seem to mind that we’re surrounded by people—and when his hand is warm against my skin, I don’t mind, either.

“You already have a full-time job, lastochka,” he points out softly. “Why take on the role of teacher, too?”

“Because he needs me.”

Andrey doesn’t say anything, but he steals glances at me for the remainder of the night.

When we get back to the manor and Remi ambles off to bed with Misha, Andrey takes my hand. Going to the pool house has become something of a routine for us now. But tonight feels different.

My heart is fluttering in my chest as we step through the door. Wordlessly, we move to the bedroom, walking into something that feels as inevitable as breathing.

Andrey only lets go of me to undress, his eyes still tracing over me like he’s making sure I don’t disappear.

But there’s no chance of that.

His tie puddles on the armchair, followed by his suit jacket. Cufflinks, his watch, his shirt—he places each item carefully in the chair, and I watch as moonlight ripples down the broad expanse of his back, a familiar tingle low in my belly.

It isn’t until he’s standing in his black boxer briefs that he turns and looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong, little bird?”

What’s wrong is that Mila and Katya were right: I’ve been in denial. I thought I could have Andrey without needing him. I thought I could be close to him without it changing me.

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