Page 151 of Gemini Hunted
After their long and agonizing father-son estrangement, I really worry about the effect of his prolonged presence on Vasili.
Now, in the face of Romanov Senior’s enigmatic comment which hasn’t actually explained anything, V heaves a put-upon sigh from the dining room table where he’s ensconced in his kimono, dabbing on high-end facial serum with the aid of an elegant hand-held mirror.
After our various ordeals and their aftermath, we’ve all showered (except Nikolai, who seems way too tense for that). And shortly we’re all supposed to be eating Belgian waffles, judging by the homey sounds and yeasty smells emanating from the kitchen where Dez and Racetrack are cooking.
“He imagines he’s answered your question, so that’s all the information you’re likely to get from him.” Vasili waves his serum dropper in his father’s general direction. “But I can tell you what you want to know. Cleopatra’s been sneaking visits topapochka’s Crimeandachaand his Seychelles yacht since she was in diapers… practically.”
Silhouetted against the sunrise, V’s dad stirs. “Vasya, you were never intended to—”
“What?” V gives him the Romanov eyebrow. “Know?I have eyes and ears, don’t I? She was your perfect littleprotégée, trained up in the AIB red room to spy and steal and kill. That’s how you hid her from the world. Which is what Messalina asked you to do—hide her secret, half-Fae daughter from a world that had forgotten the Fae existed. She left all the pesky minor details of how to care for the brat to you.”
Having unburdened himself of all this, Vasili takes up his rose quartz facial roller and starts smoothing serum over his cheekbones.
By giving himself a complete facial at the dining room table and rubbing his homophobic father’s nose in it, V is more than making his point.
He’s flipping his father the bird.
“But that’s what I don’t get. Why hide her at all?” Mallory is curled up on the other couch with her Cajun shifter, sipping orange juice and looking all First Girl attentive, while Draco mixes another round of incredibly potent-looking Screwdrivers for himself and Jae at the liquor cabinet.
“I mean,” Mal ventures, “Cleo was the royal heir, so…”
“I was never the heir.” Cleo frowns into her coffee, long lashes hiding her violet eyes. “I was merely the spare. My mother’s legitimate heir was her pureblooded Aquarius daughter Cybelle—my half-sister. Until Cybelle was murdered by the queen killer.” Her low tone turns brittle. “Only then did I become useful.”
From his vantage at the window, Nikolai’s slim body twitches. “You were always useful. To me.”
“Ah,si, for the AIB, I have always had my uses.” Cleo darts her mentor an inscrutable look. “For you and for them, I’m an expensive investment. Too expensive to waste.”
Nikolai’s dark head snaps toward her. “You will not bewasted.As the new queen’s consort—”
“No!” Cleo exclaims (thankfully) before I can swallow my mouthful of cocoa and nope out myself on boarding that crazy train Le Chiffre over there is still riding. “If you and the AIB are finally willing to accept Zara on the throne, then I too can concede. And finally dare to dream of whatIwant.”
Her voice sinks nearly to a whisper. “If I’m even capable of dreaming for myself after all these years.”
Okay, I gotta admit it.
Even though I’ll never trust her again after all the shit she’s pulled, I’m feeling a tiny (very tiny) tug of sympathy for my ex-GF. Far as I can tell, her mom tucked her away like a guilty secret to protect Cybelle’s shaky claim to the throne, even though Cleo was actually the elderandobviously the stronger witch. It doesn’t take much imagination to grasp that Cleo’s upbringing as a trained killer in the AIB red room wasn’t exactly a seaside holiday.
Plus there’s the obvious fact that Cleo’s AIB mentor has some kinda emotional hold on her that neither one of them seems very comfy with. (Though it doesn’t seem to stop Nikolai from using her, he’s definitely a Romanov in that regard.)
Now Nikolai pivots to face her directly. “If you refuse to obey my orders, Cleopatra, I can hardly protect you—”
“Somehow,” I lean forward to point out, “I don’t think she needs your protection anymore, Le Chiffre. Or anyone’s. She’s already renounced her claim and acknowledged mine on WNN.” That impromptu press gaggle was a stroke of brilliance arranged by Senator Mercury, for which I intend to thank Neo’s dad when I see him. “Who else is gonna hunt her?”
Now, for some reason, both Nikolai and Cleo give me inscrutable looks.
Then Cleo lowers her cup to the coffee table, gathers her robe at her throat in a graceful hand, and rises smoothly to her feet.
“I’m fully booked for Paris Fashion Week. This is the next place I will go. Then, eh?” One shoulder lifts in an artless shrug. “We’ll see.”
Maybe my brain is playing tricks on me, because it’s been two days since I slept. But it seems to me that, given our collective fatigue, my ex-bestie’s Italian accent might be slipping.
One more piece of her disguise falling away.
How many more layers does she still have left to lose?
A mini commotion ensues while Cleo glides elegantly upstairs to dress. Nikolai excuses himself abruptly and leaves without her. A flurry of goodbyes and thank you’s need to be said as Jae and Draco usher a tired-looking Mallory (whom I suddenly recall is pregnant, a fact not generally known) out the door for theirdomusand some badly needed sleep.
Ronin coaxes Vasili to shift his extensive beauty ritual from the dining room to the bathroom, then persuades Max to stop lurking and hovering over me long enough to help Ronin set the table for breakfast.
