Page 131 of Dirty Grovel

“I hope you know that I would do anything for you,” he says simply.

I smile. “I’m starting to.”

Oleg orders enough food to feed a small army. He even breaks out the vodka. When Sydney emerges from her room a few hours later, she looks around as though wondering where the rest of the party went.

“No, there’s no one else here but the three of us,” I say in answer to her questioning gaze. “And yes, this is all for you to eat.” I hand her a glass of vodka and pick up my own glass of sparkling lemon water. “Cheers.”

Sydney takes a seat at the kitchen island and looks around. “Where is he?”

“On a work call. He’ll be back soon.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Does he really mean for me to stay here?”

“He wouldn’t have brought us here if he didn’t. You did want your independence,” I point out. “Now, you have it.”

“This is hardly independence,” she scoffs. “Mooching off my little sister and her husband.”

It’s the first time anyone has ever referred to Oleg as my husband. It sends a thrill of excitement racing through me, as fierce and powerful as a tidal wave.

“Enough of that. Like Oleg said, we’re family and family takes care of each other.”

Sydney stares at me for a moment. Then her face splits into a wide smile. “Happiness looks good on you, kiddo.”

“I think so, too,” I say, marinating in my own optimism.

She grabs a fork and leans forward to stab at a piece of beef steak swimming in a rich red winejus. “Man, this smells good.”

“It’s from that restaurant down Main Street, the one with the crystal chandeliers and the water feature.”

“No way!” Sydney exclaims, tasting the beef. Her eyes go wide. “Whoa. That has to be the single best thing I’ve ever put into my mouth.”

I giggle. “Including Timothy Barnett?”

She snorts, spraying me with beef steak juice. The two of us descend into laughter as she grabs a napkin and dabs me with it.

“Yes, indeed,” she snorts. “Geez, I thought Paul was rich. I had no idea. Compared to Oleg, Paul was a freaking pauper.”

We’re still laughing when Oleg walks into the kitchen, his cool eyes warming as he takes in the scene. “You ladies having fun?”

Sydney sobers up a little, but the smile remains on her face as she nods. “Thank you for all this,” she says emphatically. “You’re being so kind and you have no reason to be.”

Oleg shakes his head. “You’re wrong about that. Sutton is my reason.”

Blushing, I reach for the grilled prawns while he joins us at the island. The minutes tick past and the more comfortable we get around each other, the easier the conversation and the laughter flows.

I see glimpses of the old Sydney—playful and teasing, coy and cheeky.

For a second there, it almost feels like we’re a happy, normal family, having a happy, normal family dinner.

That is, right up until Oleg’s phone starts ringing incessantly, causing the smile to slide off his face like melting butter.

It’s a cold, hard reminder.

We are not a normal family.

Not by a long shot.

I keep one eye on Oleg as he answers the phone, muttering in Russian before he excuses himself from the table altogether.

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