Page 173 of Lethal Legacy

“But you liked the toy store, Masha, remember?” Ofelia says hurriedly, stepping over to remove her from me. “Why don’t you get the Barbie Mama bought for you?”

“Don’ like Barbie,” says Masha mutinously. Fishing in the pocket of her jeans, she comes up holding a rock, which she flourishes triumphantly. “Look what I found, Luce! For Deda.”

“I don’t think Deda Yuri will want rocks, Masha.” Inger’s eyes glitter with annoyance.

“For DedaJuan.” To my horror, Masha pokes her tongue out at her mother.

“Masha!” Ofelia has gone white.

“Well.” Inger glares at me. “I can see that teaching manners is clearly not your forte, MissLopez.”

There’s something unsettling about the emphasis she puts on my name. The first time, I’d thought it was just my imagination. But this time, the calculating look in her eyes sends a shiver of unease through me.

“Do I dare ask whoDeda Juanis?”

“Masha,” I say quietly, trying to stay calm. “I’d love to see the Barbie your mama got for you. Have you said thank you?”

“Fank you,” she mutters resentfully, but she goes out of the room obediently enough.

“Deda Juan is my father,” I explain. “Masha took to calling him that. I have tried to correct her, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure she isn’t confused.”

“I fail to understand why my children are spending time with your father. Does he have a working with children clearance?” Her distasteful insinuation is clear enough. I try to push down my sudden surge of anger.

“You know how strict Mr. Stevanovsky is about security.” I meet her eyes steadily. “He would never allow the children to be in harm’s way.”

“Ha.” Her eyes roam around the apartment. “You’ve certainly made yourself at home. The apartment looks nothing like it did when I decorated it.”

Because nothing says “home” like a soulless white sea.

“Where is Roman?” She glares at me like his absence is my fault. “He assured me he’d be here when we got home.”

Well, I’m glad he informed someone.

Increasingly unhinged, I’m still trying to work out what to say when the door opens behind me and, to my relief, Roman’s voice intervenes.

“You said you’d be home at eight, Inger.” I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him use this tone before. It’s calm, courteous—and utterly chilling. “It’s five minutes to the hour. I’m hardly late.”

Holy shit.

If he ever used that tone with me, I’d be running a hundred miles in the opposite direction. Inger, however, seems completely unfazed.

“Romie!” Her icy expression transforms in an instant, to a girlish smile that matches the saccharine tone of her voice. I step out of the way to avoid being mowed down as she makes a beeline for Roman, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth. I try not to watch. Figuring the sooner I get out of here, the better, I start edging toward the door.

“Wait,” Inger commands imperiously. Still clinging to Roman, she eyes me over his neck. “I bought Ofelia a dress for the ball today. I’m going to be busy all day tomorrow with the hairdresser and makeup. Can you make sure the dress is hung properly, and that she doesn’t get makeup on it? I’ll send my people over to get her ready after they’re done with me. Mickey and Masha’s outfits will be sent over in the morning.”

Mickey and Masha’s outfits? For a ball?

“Of course, Mrs. Stevanovsky.” I don’t dare look at Ofelia’s agonized face. I can’t see Roman’s.

“Romie.” Inger pulls back, though her arms are still locked around his neck. “You and the children will pick me up at the hotel at seven. Bring the limo, so we can all arrive together. It’s just awkward with the paps if we’re waiting for a second car to arrive.”

Ha.So that’s who he’s attending the ball with.

It makes sense, I guess.

Show a united front to the press. Play happy family for the cameras.

It’s not like I didn’t spend several years playing that very same game.

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