Page 45 of Nikola
Normally, I would seek out Nikola’s eyes, but not today.
If he wanted me, he’d have to make the next move, because I deserved better than his recent treatment. I wanted him to need me,craveme. Nothing less would do.
“The concept of Thanksgiving is so… weird,” Papa complained from the other end of the table. He was staring at his turkey with disdain, throwing exasperated glares at the Nikolaevs. “Why is this thing stuffed and dripping with grease?”
“That’s the best part, but I know how delicate you Italians are,” Sasha drawled, winking at me.
Papa glared at him. It wasn’t exactly the best first exposure to the Nikolaevs’ Thanksgiving gathering.
“I can show you exactly how delicate I am if we step outside.”
Sasha threw his head back and laughed.
“Not today, Italian.” He casually hooked his tattooed arm around Branka’s chair. “I promised my wife I’d set a good example for Skye and Damien today.”
Key word there wastoday.
“Don’t you fucking worry about Skye, you fuck,” Papa gritted. “She has impeccable manners. Thanks to us.”
Sasha scoffed. “You fucking wish. Skye takes after me in all the best ways. Right, kiddo?”
“This Italian-Russian-American reserves her right to the Fifth Amendment,” I signed.
Papa’s jaw clenched, a vein in his forehead throbbing, and his hand disappeared below the table, where I suspected he took Mama’s hand to prevent him from shooting Sasha. Papa had a temper on him, and only Mama and I had any hope of setting him at ease.
“Where is the fucking popcorn when you need it?” Nikola chimed in, glaring at me while I ignored him. Sure, now he’d be mad thatIwas ignoringhimwhen he’d been ignoring me for weeks.
“Nikola?” Sasha said, clenching his jaw.
“Yes?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Vasili threw his head back and laughed. “Actually, maybe he should continue so Sasha can get a taste of his own medicine.”
“There are so many ways I could respond, but since it’s Thanksgiving, I won’t,” Sasha answered, winking at Damien and me. “I’m feeling generous.”
“They’ll never stop, will they?”Damien signed.
“I suspect not.”
He turned to face me. “What are we going to do when they kill each other?”
I shrugged, laughing as he gave me an exasperated look. “They won’t.”
With his blond curls, piercing blue eyes, and the bone structure any model would be envious of, Damien would be a heartbreaker one day.
“You seem awfully certain about that,” he said, shooting another glance down the table where the two were still throwing jabs at each other.
“If they’ve coexisted for the past two decades, they’ll be fine for the next two. Besides, Branka and Mama would never forgive them. So there’s that.”
Damien scoffed. “Our mothers certainly know how to keep them in check. Remind me to never get married.”
I chuckled. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?”
Damien just turned fourteen, although he appeared much older, thanks to his serious demeanor and strict boxing regimen that’d always put him in the highest percentile for size. His demeanor was in such contrast to Sasha’s and Branka’s personalities that we often joked that he was my mama’s son. Strangely, Papa didn’t mind that at all and often invited him over to Trieste.
“Is there an age limit?” he retorted wryly.
