Page 94 of Gloves Off

“Dirtyrotten tuber,” she adds. “My parents were farmers, and they’d feed scraps and anything that’s gone bad to the pigs, but sometimes a vicious mold would infect the turnips. The mold is dangerous. Very deadly. You have to watch out for these decaying turnips because if the pigs eat them, they get very sick. They’re also quite stinky.” Her nose wrinkles. “The entire town would stink from it.”

Dirty, stinky rotten turnip?My mouth parts in shock, and I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“It’s expensive when the animals get sick,” she adds.

“Of course.” Don’t laugh, Georgia. “You’d have to call a vet in.”

Volkov has been calling me his dirty, decaying, rotten turnip that you wouldn’t even feed to the pigs. I have to hand it to him—I’m impressed, and very, very entertained.

But I’m still going to get back at him.

She tilts her head at me. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh. Something I heard in the news.” I’m going to get him back, but I’m not going to tattle on him. My gaze swings to the bag she brought. “What’s in the bag?” I ask, changing the subject.

She reaches over and pulls out a photo album. “I brought photos of Alexei growing up.”

My heart lifts. God, I hope he was an ugly child so I can mock him mercilessly.

Maria flips the book open, and on the first page is the cutest, chubbiest baby with leg and arm rolls and huge eyes. He’s wearing a little blue shirt and pants and gazes at the camera with a grumpy little frown.

“Oh my god.” I lean in, taking a closer look, melting. “I’d recognize that scowl anywhere. He’s so cute. How old is he here, like a year?”

“Four months,” she says gravely.

“My god.” My eyes bug out. “He’s huge.”

“I know.” She stares at the photo before shaking herself. “All he did was eat. Always eating. I couldn’t get a moment to myself.” She laughs before she gazes at the photo with affection, and a little plink of emotion lands in the center of my chest. “Having a new baby is hard, but I miss those days.”

The next page has a photo of naked baby Alexei laying on his front on a bed, giving the camera a gummy smile.

“Hah.” I pull out my phone. “I need to save this one so I can tease him about it later.”

Maria laughs while I snap a photo and send it to him. The phone starts buzzing with his replies but I silence it and turn back to the album. I flip through it for a bit, laughing at Maria’s commentary, and when I’m almost done, she stands.

“I’ll just text Nikita to come pick me up.”

She leaves the room, and I keep turning pages.

On the last page of the book, something catches my eye. It’s a photo of Alexei in a Montreal jersey, the team he got drafted to when he first started in the NHL. There’s a photo behind this one, though. I can see the corner peeking out.

I pull the plastic protective covering up, but when I slide the photo out, I almost drop the book.

It’s a picture of a younger Alexei, maybe early twenties, and a very tiny blond woman, about the same age. It’s one of those stiff studio portraits where she’s sitting with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and he’s standing behind her, serious and surly.

Alexei and Emma invite you to celebrate their marriage.

I stare at the invitation, reading and rereading. He was married?

He wouldn’t go to Jamie Streicher and Pippa Hartley’s wedding. At the double date with Hayden and Darcy, he said he didn’t go to weddings.

Is this why?

I study the woman in the photo. Emma. Blond, tiny, thin. So this is his type. My throat feels tight.

“Oh.”

I flinch to see Maria standing right beside me with a surprised expression.

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