Page 110 of Thorns of Death
“No.”
“You never married?”
“No.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “Okay, then. Not talkative. Do you want to come along with us to the opera?”
“I’m with Manuel, I’ll pass.” He shared a glance with me, then added, “I have Darius and Astor assigned to you.”
“Bene.” Those two were efficient and blended into the shadows perfectly. Without thinking, I brought my hand up and stroked my knuckles along the soft skin of her forearm. Everywhere I touched this woman, she was soft. She didn’t pull away, so I took that as a good sign.
“Are they my cousins?” Isla asked curiously, staring at where I was touching her. It was always complicated yet so simple with her. She’d either show you all her emotions, or she’d rein them in. I looked forward to understanding both sides of her.
“No,” Kian answered. “And you won’t even know they’re around.”
She returned her attention to the boys. “So what do you say? Is it a date?” Enzo and Amadeo murmured their agreement, clearly having different ideas of what a date looked like. “Wonderful. It can be a tradition. My brother used to take me there for our dates too.”
“Clearly, he doesn’t understand fun,” Amadeo muttered under his breath, but we all ignored his comment.
The dinner was surprisingly pleasant. I had to admit it was one of the best Russian dishes I’d had in my life and, admittedly, I wasn’t much into Russian cuisine. The boys were perfect gentlemen and commended Isla on her choice of dishes.
“What about you, Kian?” She turned to her uncle. “Is Russian cuisine better than Brazilian?”
Kian smiled and it hit me that in all the times I’d heard from him or seen him, I had never seen him smile. Until today.
“Brazilian cuisine is influenced by multiple cultures. It’s very diverse. You’d like it.”
Isla grinned, then glanced at the boys as if asking them,What do you think?
“Italian food is the best,” Enzo claimed. You couldn’t take the Italian out of him even if you beat it out of him. It made me so fucking proud.
“How about for the next family outing, I take you all to an authentic Brazilian restaurant?” Kian recommended. “But not in Russia.”
“Then where? Italy?”
Kian chuckled. “No, not Italy. And not Brazil. Not until your other uncle is out of the picture.”Translation: not until I kill him.“There is a really good Brazilian restaurant in Washington, D.C., and another in New York. We can pick one of those two.”
“New York.” Isla’s answer was immediate. I cocked an eyebrow and she shrugged. “What? Illias always kept me out of the Big Apple. I want to go.”
Amadeo scoffed. “You mean you never sneaked behind your brother’s back? I would have—”
My wife narrowed her eyes on him, and his words trailed off. I couldn’t help but grin.
“I was the perfect kid, never did anything behind his back.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” Manuel muttered before realizing he’d said the words out loud—and in English. Isla fixed her stare on him, challenging him. “Ma dai.”Come on. “You and your friends… trouble written all over you.”
Isla’s cheeks flushed. “We were saints.”
“For a day, perhaps,” Manuel retorted dryly.
“Don’t listen to your uncle, boys.” She decidedly ignored Manuel. “Just ask my brother. The girls and I were never caught doing anything bad.”
Laughter broke out over the table. “There is the key word,” Kian mused. “You were never caught.”
Isla blinked her eyes innocently, but she didn’t answer. Instead, a coy smile played around her lips, and I knew the children we’d have one day—as well as Enzo and Amadeo—would give us a run for our money.
But my wife and I would be two steps ahead of them.
