Page 87 of Deceitful Vows

“Is there a chance I could request a small favor?”

Lilia pats my arm, saving herself from a dreaded my-life-sucks grumble. “Of course. But I’m sure whatever you need will be fine. For the right team member, I can make a V look like a U.”

I smile in gratitude before following her into her office for my first official placement in over a year.

33

ZOYA

“Don’t.” Nikita cups the single candle in the middle of a cake that looks like a disaster but tastes divine before finalizing her reply. “If you start, I’ll start.”

“I’m not starting anything.” I roll my eyes like the sudden movement won’t cause the wetness brimming in them to spill over.

I blow out the candle before Nikita and Gigi are halfway through singing “Happy Birthday.”

Even Grampies gets in on the act. His lyrics aren’t as clear as his counterparts’, but the sparkle in his eyes when he tells me to make a wish as I commence cutting a cake big enough to share with a hundred make up for his lack of singing skills.

“If you touch the bottom, you have to kiss the closest boy.”

My laugh is as husky as his words when he puckers his lips. They’re cracked from his breathing mask stealing all the moisture from his mouth, but they’re the only pair on offer, so I jab the knife in deep before leaning over his hospital bed to let him give me a sloppy birthday kiss.

“Happy birthday, Cheeky Chops,” he whispers in my ear before pulling me in for a hug.

“Thank you, Grampies.” I wipe my hand across my cheeks to ensure they’re dry before twisting to face the woman responsible for the first bit of happy wetness on my cheeks in months. “Where did you findm?????´?in Myasnikov? I’ve been searching for it for years.”

I wouldn’t have bought a slice if I’d found it—I have better things to spend my money on than painful memories—but that doesn’t mean I don’t constantly scan high-end bakeries for it.

Nikita’s brows furrow. “I thought?—”

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Gigi interrupts while balancing layers of honey-and-condensed-milk cake on her hands.

I shoot my hand in the air like a kindergarten student busting to use the bathroom.

Nikita’s response is the opposite of my eagerness. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I can’t be late. Dr. Abdulov?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her, aware I’ve already taken up a ton of time she doesn’t have.

We had a pamper day. It was free since we used supplies purchased before Nikita’s mom died. My skin has never felt so lush. It’s a pity I have nowhere to show it off.

Not that Nikita is aware of that.

“And you should probably get a wiggle on, too, Z. What time does the DJ gig start?”

I lie about a glamorous life so she won’t feel guilty about gifting me a thirty-minute shoulder massage in the dingy bathroom of her grandparents’ apartment for my birthday.

Furthermore, Nikita is studying to be a surgeon. Her hands are already miracle makers. The last thing she should feel is shame when offering up their services to a friend who still gives handmade birthday cards every year.

“I think it is around seven. It’s one of those secret gigs no one knows about, so the details are a little hush-hush.” I said I lie to protect her feelings. I never said I was good at it. “So I guess I should get a wiggle on.”

“What about your cake?” Gigi asks, desperate for more of the girl-on-girl time we’ve had in excess today.

I can’t remember the last time we’ve had Nikita alert and present for longer than two hours.

“It’s already curdled. I doubt a few more hours will hurt it.”

Gigi leans in to sniff the cake. When her nose crinkles, gratitude sparks through Nikita’s eyes. There’s nothing wrong with the cake, but by making out it tastes as ghastly as it looks, there will be plenty left for Nikita and me to share tomorrow. Gigi has a sweet tooth, but she’s fussy when it comes to the desserts she consumes.

“Thank you for today. I had so much fun.”

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