Page 18 of My Wild Horse King

That makes me feel terribly, terribly guilty. When she jogs toward me, people are following her. So many people. One of them I recognize from her wedding announcement—her husband, the Russian nobleman. The others are complete strangers, until I realize that the girls, I know.

“Gustav!” Kris is a little out of breath from running across the lobby. “I can hardly believe I’m here—or that you’re here. It’s beenyears.” She doesn’t look angry that I’ve been ducking her calls. She doesn’t look annoyed that she had to travel to the United States and hunt me down. She doesn’t even look upset that I missed her wedding.

She looks. . .delighted to see me. Is she faking?

“And look!” She gestures behind her. “It’s Adriana and Mirdza. Can you believe how old everyone is now?”

She’s speaking in Latvian, which is somewhat helpful, because at least the people around me have no idea what’s going on.

“This poor woman thinks she knows me.” I glance at my phone and hand it to Jean. “Go and wave the uber driver down. I’ll be out in a moment.”

When I turn back, Kris looks annoyed. Of course she does. Her English is as good as mine, one of the joys of an American mother combined with her education at Oxford. But what shocks me is thateveryonein her group looks annoyed. Surely they can’t all speak English, too?

But then I vaguely recall Mom teaching Adriana and Mirdza to speak English like it was some kind of lark—the four of them would all chatter along while riding. . .in English. Still, it’s not the girls who are glaring the most.

It’s the three men, and they’re disturbingly large, nerve-wrackingly aggressive men. One of them looks ready to run me through with a sword. If it was still the eighteen hundreds and people actually used swords.

Kris compresses her lips, but she waits to speak until my team’s gone. “Poor woman?” She arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

“They don’t know me as Gustav,” I say. “And none of them speak Latvian. I’m Daniel Belmont.”

“I’m aware,” she says. “I’ve let you hide over here for a decade and change, and. . .” She frowns.

I think she was about to say she’s never asked me for anything. At least she didn’t have the audacity to say that out loud.

“Listen,” she says, recomposing herself. “I’m not here to ask for something. I don’t need money.”

“That’s a first,” I say. “And this one time, I’d actually give it to you, but only if yougo away.”

The man I think is her husband, the one with hair so dark it’s almost black steps toward me, his face a veritable storm cloud. “That’s more than enough rudeness for one lifetime. You will speak to her with respect, and you will?—”

“Grandfather turns seventy in two weeks,” I say, ignoring her high-handed spouse. “I’ve timed my IPO perfectly—do you even know what that is? It’s an initial public offering, and it’s something you do when your company’s going public. I’ve timed it to happen right before Grandfather’s birthday. When it funds, he’s going to name me his successor, and then, after that, I’m all yours.”

“You always say you’ll call me later. You always say that, soon, you’ll have more time.” Kris doesn’t look composed now. She looks close to tears.

“This is different,” I say, feeling a little guilty. I have put her off a lot, and she didn’t gamble our money away or leave me motherless. “We can take some time off and tour around the United States in a few weeks. I’ll buy you a house in Maine with a barn and you can live here during the summer. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll make it happen in a month. But right now, you have to go away and leave me alone. Okay?” Because if Grandfather even so much as catches a glimpse of her, it’s going to remind him of the misery I’ve spent a decade disassociating myself from. His daughter’s death.

I expect her to be proud of me, or at least willing to wait just a little longer. Instead, my sweet little sister who has always accepted my excuses, my delays, and my refusals leans toward me and slaps me hard, right across the face. The crack’s almost deafening.

Everyone in the entire lobby turns to stare.

“You will come with me,” she hisses in Latvian, “or I will start to scream, loudly and in English, about all the ways in which Daniel Belmont sexually assaulted and violated me.”

She hasgotto be kidding. “I have a meeting right now. If youinsist,I can see you after, but not for very long.”

“This man right here,” she screams, in English, “Daniel Belmont, last night, he got drunk and?—”

I clap a hand over her mouth. “Knock it off.” I didn’t grab her hard, but apparently any sort of touching is too much, because her broody husband grabs the lapels of my coat and lifts me up until my feet are dangling off the ground.

I consider defending myself, but building security’s coming, and if I take his head off, there’s noway I’ll get out of this building and make my meeting in time.

“Put him down,” Kris whispers.

Strangely, her attack-dog listens. Maybe he’s not her husband after all. Maybe he’s very devoted hired help.

“Your team can handle your meeting,” Kristiana says. “I’m not being melodramatic when I say you must come with us. This is truly a matter of life and death.”

It always is, with her. “What did Dad do this time? Ostrich races?” I shake my head. “No, wait. I know. Card game with his friends that got ‘complicated’?”

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