Page 45 of Emerald Malice

He hesitates for a second before he perches on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away from me as he can manage.

“I hope you like rom-coms, ‘cause we’re about to have a full-on marathon.”

His eyes go blank. “Whatever you want.”

I cue up the chickiest of chick flicks I can find, then head into the kitchen for some snacks. I have to admit, it is nice to be able to watch a movie with someone.

I don’t even mind so much that he’s forced to be here.

Man, I really need to make some friends.

16

ANDREY

“Why the hell am I here again?” Natalia demands as soon as I open the door.

“Good morning to you, too.”

She squints at me. “Seriously, Andrey—I was barely conscious before Shura was banging on my door, telling me I was ‘wanted’ at the manor.”

“Because you are. Follow me.”

I stride off, forcing her to hurry after me. We pass through the foyer and into the living room. French doors open directly to the garden. I ignore the zig-zagging stone path in favor of cutting across the freshly mowed lawn towards the pool house.

Natalia huffs along behind me, struggling to keep up. Somehow, she finds enough air to mutter under her breath all the way there.

“… ‘wanted at the manor’… like a dog… honestly, how do I get myself into… male version of Kat…”

The pool house is surrounded on three sides by sycamore trees whose leaves have just begun to change color. The house is red stone, elegant and cleverly designed to blend seamlessly into the landscape.

Natalia gasps when it comes into view. I watch her take it all in. As soon as she catches me looking at her, though, she schools her face back into the same surly frown she’s been wearing since Shura deposited her on the doorstep bright and early. “Why am I here?”

By way of answer, I lead her into the pool house.

The exterior is understated, but the interior doesn’t have any problem reminding you how flawless it is. It’s like a secret garden—bristling with plants, beams of golden light pouring through countless windows and skylights. Wooden beams run across the ceiling and ornate carvings dance along the crown molding. Forest green tile adds a splash of color in the kitchen. She hasn’t seen the bedroom yet, but I have no doubt she’ll have to suppress another gasp when she sets foot in there.

“Okay, it’s official,” she mumbles. “You win; I lose. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No—”

“Even your pool house is leaps and bounds above my—what did you call it—‘shit hole in the wall’? Rat’s nest? Some other equally insulting phrase?” She sags. “You win this HGTV contest I never asked to be in. So, y’know, congrats or whatever.”

I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the closest wall. “Are you done?”

She bites her lip and considers it. “Yes. For now.”

“Good.” I nod. “You’ll be moving in here for the time being.”

Her mouth drops open. “You said I could stay in my own apartment!”

“That was before I realized it was a breeding ground for disease and Netflix murder documentaries.”

“I told you I would get my landlord to take care of the mold!”

As entertaining as she is when she’s teasing me, she’s equally delightful when she’s rattled and ready for a fight. I can’t decide which riled-up version of Natalia I like best.

“I did some digging and it turns out your so-called ‘landlord’ is a liar and a thief. He’s had complaints from every single tenant this past quarter alone and he’s seen to exactly none of them.”

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