Page 46 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

“She dumped him, anyway,” Leonid says.

“You did?” Brian’s smiling big. “Good. I hated that guy.”

“It seems everyone did,” I say.

“He was a dou—” Brian cuts off as Leonid steps up onto the sidewalk next to me. “Wait, who’s that?”

“I’m Leonid Ivanovich.” He inclines his head half an inch. “But my friends call me Leo.”

“I’m the only one who calls you Leo,” I say.

Leo smiles. “Precisely.”

“You’re—” Brian blinks. “Wait, how long ago did you break up with the old guy? Do youalreadyhave a new boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes and step away from Leonid. I say, “no,” at the same time he says, “yes.”

Brian snorts. “Geez. A guy can’t catch a break around here.”

“Nope. A guy sure can’t.” Leonid waves his hand. “Go about your business, Brian. That is, if you have any.” He glares.

Brian wisely pivots and walks off, muttering something I can’t quite make out, but it sounded like ‘guy’s wearing tomato soup on his shirt.’ I can’t get distracted by any of that, though.

“What was that about?” I ask. “You’re not my boyfriend, you know. You can’t keep telling everyone that.”

“Oh, that makes sense. I suppose you’d rather I tell everyone we meet that we’re joined by some kind of magical bond that we can’t explain. In fact, maybe one of the people we tell could help us identify the source of our connection.”

And I’m back to rolling my eyes again. “You’re annoying.”

Another neighbor walks past, eyeing the car as he walks.

“Not as annoying as everyone in this place.” He glares. “How many people live here, exactly?” He lowers his voice. “There appear to be people everywhere.”

“It’s an apartment. They don’t have those in Russia?”

“They do,” he says. “But most of the people work. They wouldn’t all be loitering around.” He scowls at the guy, who runs off.

I grab his arm and drag him along, opting to walk up the three flights of stairs instead of taking the perfectly serviceable elevator. He deserves it. Only, when we reach the top, I’m the only one huffing. Leonid seems perfectly fine.

That just puts me in a bad mood.

“I wish I had a shirt for you,” I say. “But I don’t keep men’s shirts here. I’m going to run and change my clothes.” I wish I had time for a shower. Hooking and unhooking the trailer and moving two horses was a major chore, and I feel like I still smell like a horse. “Then we can go out and find you some new clothes.”

“By all means.” He waves his hand. “Take all the time you need.” He’s walking around my family room, peering at my photos, and I don’t like it. I flip the one of me and Tim face down, and then I turn on the television.

“I’m assuming you want to get caught up on the world, having spent the last few days stuck in a paddock.” I point at the sofa. “Sit. Watch.”

He barely glances at the news. “Sure.”

“I may take a shower,” I say. “I smell like. . .” It feels rude to tell a horse-shifter that I smell like a horse like it’s a bad thing.

“Like a horse?” He’s smiling when he turns toward me. “I probably do, too.”

“Uh, I just have the one shower.”

“I’m fine with sharing if you are.” But he doesn’t actually take any steps toward me. I’m ninety percent sure he’s kidding.

His grin’s pretty mischievous, though.

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