Page 29 of Porcelain Lies

I grab a muffin, tearing off a piece. “Does this mean I need to watch what I say around you now? In case you’re secretly investigating me?”

“Please.” Hannah rolls her eyes. “If I was investigating you, you’d never know. I’m way too good at my job.”

“Is that right?” I arch an eyebrow. “What if I’m actually a deep-cover Russian spy? Been playing the long game all these years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.” The irony of my joke isn’t lost on me.

Hannah strikes a dramatic pose. “Then it would be my duty to take you down. Though I’d feel really bad about it. And probably still make you stress-baked snacks in prison.”

We dissolve into giggles, the tension of my Gianni heartbreak temporarily forgotten in this moment of shared ridiculousness.

“Seriously though,” I say once we catch our breath. “I’m really proud of you, Han. You’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Thanks, babe.” She grins. “But I couldn’t have done it without you. Let’s celebrate!”

I groan inwardly, not relishing the idea of another bout of socializing. “Sure,” I say cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s order takeout and binge-watch something mindless.” Hannah pulls her wild curls into a messy bun. “I’ve got a new batch of those Korean face masks we can try.”

“God, yes.” I sink deeper into our weathered couch cushions. “As long as it’s not another one of those wedding shows.”

“Deal.” She tosses me the remote. “Though I should warn you — now that I’m officially Agent Collins, I’ll probably spend the whole time pointing out inaccuracies in any spy movies.”

“Still better than watching ‘Say Yes to the Dress.’” My fingers brush over my bare ring finger, but the sting isn’t quite as sharp. “Though maybe we should stick to comedies tonight.”

Hannah flops down beside me, tucking her feet under my legs like she’s done a thousand times before. The familiar weight grounds me, reminds me that some things haven’t changed. That not every relationship is built on lies.

“You know what this calls for?” She bounces up again. “Ice cream for lunch. We still have that emergency pint of Rocky Road in the freezer.”

“The one behind the frozen peas?”

“That’s our breakup ice cream, and this definitely qualifies.” She returns with two spoons and our battered carton of comfort food. “Though technically, it’s also my promotion ice cream now. Two birds, one pint.”

The first bite of chocolate and marshmallow melts on my tongue. Here, in our cozy bubble of friendship and sugar, the chaos of the last twenty-four hours feels almost manageable. Almost.

I can convince myself that my night with the Russian stranger was a moment of temporary insanity. But sooner or later, I’m going to have to face Gianni.

I just can’t do it right now.

Chapter Nine

Aleksei

Papers scatter across my desk, but I can’t focus on a single word.

That woman from the charity event keeps invading my thoughts. The curve of her neck. Those tear-stained eyes. The way she yielded to my touch in that hotel room.

“Blyad.” I push back from my desk, running a hand over the bristles on my chin.

My phone buzzes again — the fifteenth message from Sofia since morning. The preview shows another passive-aggressive reminder about dinner with her parents. I swipe it away, but her diamond-encrusted profile photo remains on screen. The perfect Russian bride my sister selected. Beautiful, connected, appropriate.

Unlike the woman from the hotel, who burned like fire in my hands.

I grab my tumbler of vodka, downing it in one harsh swallow. The liquid does nothing to erase the memory of her taste, the sound of her pleasure, the way she-

My phone lights up again. Sofia.

Chert voz’mi!

The screen shows our chat history — dozens of ignored messages about wedding venues and guest lists. Each one a reminder of my obligations. The Bratva expects theirPakhanto make a suitable match. To produce legitimate heirs.

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