Page 3 of Cruel Longing

I glanced across the table. “I loved it.”

Two

LUKA

For someone who didn’t want to be a bride, my sister looked gorgeous on her wedding day. I downed champagned from the side of the dancefloor while my father spun Katya in the center of the polished floor while the band played. She was a replica of the ballerina that twirled inside her jewelry box. She had one when she was a little girl that would spin to the music.

Only tonight she was being spun by every man at the wedding. I hoped for her sake there was something that made her happy. I waited to cut in so I could ask.

My mother slinked along the opposite side of the floor from where I stood like a panther, greeting guests with an icy peck on the cheek. I hadn’t seen her so enthralled since the engagement party.

The family photos had lasted nearly two hours. I wondered if we had set a wedding record. Between Andrey’s mother and mine the list of poses and requirements for the photographerwas fucking absurd. At one point I heard Babushka tell everyone she needed copies to mail to Russia. The wedding was another occasion Aunt Sasha and the Russian cousins had missed.

“Beautiful party,” a guest chimed as she passed by me.

“Yes.” I couldn’t take credit for a damn thing that happened tonight.

The Petrovs had offered to host the meal and the liquor for the reception. My father had been insulted, but considering they owned a steak franchise, he relinquished. Two traditional Russian families, sparring over non-traditional roles for the wedding had come at a cost. Andrey seemed to keep his distance from my father tonight.

Mikhail strolled next to me and handed me a shot in a chilled glass.

“For the brother of the bride.”

I nodded and slung the vodka back, swallowing as it slid down my throat. I was already drunk. At least the Petrovs were experts in selecting good vodka.

“She looks happy,” he noticed.

He didn’t know what I did. She was fucking miserable. I was certain she loathed her new husband.

“New Orleans misses you, Luka,” Mikhail added. “How is France?”

I dropped the empty shot glass on a tray when a server walked past. “Keeps me occupied,” I answered. I had been on edge since I started packing for the wedding.

Training the recruits forced my body and mind to focus. Rebuilding the vineyards gave me purpose. Preparing the castle for immediate expansion challenged my strategy. Every second of every day was occupied by the Bratva mission. By strengthening the Novikov organization. I worked and pushed myself each day so that when I collapsed into bed, I was nearly asleep. I left no room. No time. No empty, wasted seconds where I could let her in.

Until I traveled for Katya’s wedding. Now, I was surrounded by nothing but endless time and flooded with memories of Amara.

“When do you think you’ll come back?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know that I will.”

The end of the dance saved me from having to explain my position. Papa deposited Katy in front of me.

“May I?” I bowed.

Katya laughed and took my hand. I led her on the dance floor.

“You do look beautiful.”

“Maybe it’s worth it for one night.”

“What is?” I pried.

“To be the center of attention for once.”

I spun her away from the clump of dancers who had gathered on the floor.

“Katya, you’re always the center of attention with your friends,” I reminded her.

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