Page 47 of Crown of Hate

She fakes a frown at my joke. “Well, a good wife should at least know how to cook.”

I bite back an eye-roll. Typical boomer advice. “And husbands?”

“Them too. Mikhail is good with his hands.” She catches my expression and quickly adds, “Not with guns. He’s a good cook.”

I choke on my saliva and hurry to the fridge for a bottle of water as I start coughing. That wasn’t what made me react, but thank God she missed my real train of thought.

Mikhail being “good with his hands” conjures images far less innocent that have nothing to do with cooking—his fingers teasing and squeezing, touching me in ways that make me forget my own name. I don’t even expect anything else from him.

I gulp down half the bottle, trying to cool the heat rising in my cheeks.

“What are you thinking?” Grace’s voice snaps me back to the present.

“What?” I splutter, caught off guard.

She points at my cheeks. “You were blushing and biting your lips. Don’t tell me you were daydreaming and having an orgasm right here in the kitchen.”

I scoff, trying hard to regain my composure. “I don’t like him that much.” I narrow my eyes on her and pretend to be annoyed. “Why would you even think that?”

Grace’s bluntness knocks me for a loop. If she’s this damn upfront now, I can only imagine how wild she was back in the day.

Actually, scratch that.I don’t even want to imagine it.

“Because I know a lie when I hear one, girl.” Her lips quirk into a knowing smile.

Before I can come up with a response, the front door slams open. Hell yes! I’m saved. I don’t need to second-guess who just entered. Only one person would dare make such a dramatic entrance: Kira. She told me she’d be coming by today before she left last night.

And right on cue, Kira struts into the kitchen like she owns the place. She’s a vision in a beige two-piece suit, her face clad in sleek black designer heels that perfectly match her purse. She’s stunning. A goddess in human form. I can’t help but wonder which parent blessed her and Mikhail with such incredible genes.

If I had to guess, I’d say it’s both.

A grin splits my face when she takes off her sunglasses with a flourish. “Well, well. Who’s this supermodel gracing us with her presence?”

She smiles back, gingerly walking towards me. “Your crazy husband’s significantly saner sister.” She stops in front of me and gives me a once-over. “You’re glowing.”

I sigh, dramatically. “Pretty sure ‘forced marriage’ and ‘glowing’ don’t exactly mix, Kira.”

“No, I mean it…” She steeples her fingers under her jaw, scrutinizing me. “That, girl, is the unmistakable glow of a good night. I know it when I see it.”

Heat rushes to my face. I bite my lip, caught between embarrassment and a strange pride. “Well, I can’t deny that.”

She groans. “I’d ask for details, but I imagining my brother in that context might make me hurl.”

A laugh leaps out of me. I don’t have any siblings or close cousins, but Mikhail and Kira’s relationship gives me a taste of what I’ve missed. Kira’s always on his neck, but I know they’ll give up their lives for the other without hesitation.

“Where’s the brute, anyway?” she asks, looking around as if her six-foot-five brother might be hiding in one of the cabinets.

“Out on business. He might not be back today.” The words leave a hollow ache in my chest. I miss him so much already. Damn it.

“And what are you going to do? Sit around moping like a lovesick teen?”

That’s exactly what I plan to do, but I’m not about to admit it. “What do you suggest?”

“Have some fun.” She laces her beautifully manicured fingers through her hair. “Grab a bikini. We’re hitting the pool.”

“I’m not a good swimmer.”

She ignores my excuse and twists her neck to Grace. “Can you get us some fresh orange juice and snack? Anything at all.”

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