Page 34 of Deceitful Vows

They’re night and day.

Light and dark.

Similar yet unique.

They’re the very definition of a brother from another mother. I’d put money on it.

Mikhail quirks a brow when I say, “Now your lack of fear makes sense,” demanding further explanation. “You’ll survive his threat of disembowelment since you’re blood.”

“Blood isn’t always thicker than water.” He leans forward until his elbows balance on the tabletop. “And do you care to elaborate on what his threat entailed?” I don’t believe him for a second when he smirks. “I’d like to know which buttons to avoid.”

He wants to direct his arrow straight at them, not away from them. His smirk announces this, much less the menacing glint in his eyes.

I thank the waitress for filling my mug with a steaming hot brew as Mikhail’s curiosity gets the better of him. “He threatened future bed companions, didn’t he?” When I give him a look as if to say,I’ll never tell, he murmurs, “You don’t need to confess, Sunshine. The truth is all over your face. I’m just trying to determine why he’d say that and then do what he did.”

I’m lost but too exhausted to excavate with the intelligence it deserves. “What did he do? Leave me to pre-scrub your sheets before placing them in the wash because I had no clue you were related?” I hit him with a pointed stare. “You could have told me he was your brother. Then I wouldn’t have broken a nail wrangling a fitted sheet off your ginormous mattress.”

He laughs. It is unexpected from how uneasy the groove between his brow makes him appear. “And let him steal the honor I worked so hard to achieve? Don’t be ridiculous.”

The coffee I’m slowly sipping means it takes me longer than I care to admit to recall where I’ve heard those words before. It makes me sick when I unlock the vault.

My voice is too loud for our public setting when I ask, “You were watching us?”

Mikhail nods.

He. Fucking. Nods.

I appreciate his honesty, but still, I’m shocked by his nonchalant approach to his reply.

His eyes bulge when he understands the cause for my kick under the table. “Notthat,” he pushes out quickly. “What the fuck is it with everyone today thinking I’d get my rocks off watching my big brother…” He refuses to say his last word. He swallows the bile it instigated before lowering his voice to a more respectable level for our audience. “I saw your exchange in the elevator.” His words quicken when my snarl causes me to bare my teeth. “The pre-slap part of your exchange. Jesus, Sunshine. I’m not a complete fucking creep.” When Ipffthim like I’m unsure if I believe him, he says, “I’m trying to be honest with you. I thought you’d rather that than base our friendship on the lies he must have tossed out to get you to?—”

He snaps his mouth shut like he said too much.

It’s too late for him, though.

His hand has been shown.

“What did he lie about?”

“Nothing.” He sits straighter and clears his throat. “I’m talking out of my ass.”

“You’ll be talking out of your ass with my foot lodged up it if you don’t go back to the honesty route you were endeavoring to get off the ground only seconds ago.”

I mimic his earlier pose. Elbows on the tabletop, eyes full of sorrow. It displays that I won’t let him fob off my interrogation any more than I won’t hate him for his brother’s actions.

His delay in responding is the equivalent of kneeling on shards of glass. It hurts, but not as much as his confession. “He’s married.” To ensure I can’t use the excuse of bad hearing for any future stuff ups, he repeats, “Andrik is married.”

13

ANDRIK

“You’re married!” My father’s eyes fling from the simple gold band Mrs. Sakharoff shoved into my palm last night, now circling Arabella’s ring finger, to me. “When? How? You said you weren’t ready.”

I wait for my staff to leave as per the demand of my hand thrust before answering, “I changed my mind.”

Well, I had.

Arabella presented as the perfect reared-to-serve-my-ruse bride. Then I spent the night ravishing a woman who made me wonder if vengeance is for the weak.

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