Page 14 of Kingmakers, Year One

I look around, not for my parents because I already know they’re cheering for me. I want to see if Anna was watching.

It’s impossible to find her—the fans are covering the court. My dad claps me on the shoulder and pulls me into a hug.

“You know the Kentucky coach was here watching…”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Dad, I know.”

My mom kisses me on the cheek, not caring how sweaty I am.

“Well done,” she says in her understated way.

You can still hear the hint of a Russian accent in her voice, and the full measure of Russian stoicism where you could win the goddamn Olympics and they’d give you a nod and a “Could be better,” as their compliment.

I just grin, ‘cause I know my parents adore me. I’m their only child. The center of their world.

“Not bad,” a low voice says.

I turn around.

Anna is standing there, dressed in her torn-up jeans and leather jacket once more. She’s washed some of the makeup off her face, so she no longer looks like the Corpse Bride, but plenty of black liner remains, smeared around her pale blue eyes.

That’s the moment when I really feel like I won—when I see the smile she can’t possibly hold back lighting up her face.

I sweep her up in the biggest hug and swing her around.

When I set her down, she says, “Hi, Uncle Seb. Hi, Aunt Yelena,”politely.

“Did you choreograph that dance, Anna?” my dad asks her. “That was incredible!”

“Most of it,” Anna says. “I took a few of the eight-counts from Mom’s burlesque ballet. With a few modifications.”

Aunt Nessa smiles. “I thought it looked familiar. I can’t believe you remembered that. That was forever ago—you couldn’t have been more than . . . six?”

“Anna remembers everything,” Uncle Miko says. Then, frowning, he demands, “Who was that boy?”

“What boy?” Aunt Nessa is oblivious.

“Nobody.” Anna tosses her head disdainfully.

“Next time, you break his wrist,” Miko orders, his lips still pale and thin with anger.

“Power is not only in what we do, but in what we don’t do,” Anna quotes, calmly.

“Don’t use my own words against me.” Uncle Miko sounds stern, but I know him well enough to catch the hint of a smile on his face.

“Was there a problem?” my father asks, frowning.

“No,” Anna assures him. “Unless you consider an overprotective father to be a problem.”

My dad grins at Uncle Miko, “You shouldn’t have married such a pretty wife if you didn’t want beautiful daughters.”

“I know.” Miko frowns. “A serious strategic error.”

“Don’t let Seb tease you,” my mom says. “He’d be even worse if we had girls.”

She’s joking, but I hear the sadness in her voice. My parents wanted more kids. They tried for years and did four rounds ofIVF. In the end they were given the extremely helpful diagnosis of “unexplained infertility.”

They had to be satisfied with me—the accidental pregnancy that was never followed by another.

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