Page 59 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
I spot a small building up ahead, but with the snowdrifts smothering the walls, I can’t make out what it is. Until Andrej opens the door and ushers me inside, flicking on the lights.
We’re standing in a small auditorium, rows of red-velvet cushioned seats facing a stage adorned with heavy emerald-green curtains. Gilt boxes are raised above our heads with perfect views of the stage. The crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling are as tall as me. And there’s even a section between the seats and the raised platform for a small band.
I gasp. “It’s beautiful.”
“My grandma had it built. She always dreamed of being a movie star.”
I face him, wide-eyed. “She was an actress?”
“When she was younger. Then she met my grandfather.”
I sense that there’s a story behind this admission, but I don’t press him for it.
“I used to love coming out here to watch plays when I was a child. My grandma would invite friends and neighbors, and there would be ice cream, and sodas. This was where I fell in love with Shakespeare.”
I study his profile while he gazes at the stage curtains, reliving plays from his past.
“Romeo and Julietstill chokes me.”
On tiptoes, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. It all feels so surreal, the snow, the private theater, the library. But the constant, the reason why I’m not freaking out and frantically trying to find a flight back to Chicago, is Andrej.
No one will find us here.
Even if they did, I know that he will keep me safe.
So, why fight it when I have him all to myself in our own personal winter wonderland?
Walking back to the mansion, our shoulders and hips bumping beneath the heavy fur coats, I’m excited to go back to the library, bury myself underneath a blanket, and spend the rest of the dayreading, my toes touching Andrej’s as we sit at opposite ends of the sofa.
But then I spot a face I recognize behind a downstairs window.
Ivana.
“What is she doing here?”
16
ANDREJ
Fuck!
I should’ve warned Cartier that Ivana was here, but I didn’t want to spoil the guided tour of my family home. I was too caught up in Cartier’s wide-eyed wonder. Too intent on seeing our Russian heritage through her eyes.
And, if I’m being honest, I felt like a little kid again, exploring the house and the theater and the snowy landscape and, just for a short time, forgetting everything else outside this snow globe scene that we’re acting out. Cartier took her enforced vacation better than I’d hoped. I didn’t want to rock the precarious boat that we’re traveling on by reminding her that there’s a whole nasty fucking world out there, one where the Bratva sometimes destroys families, and long-lost uncles show up out of the blue with a fuse that’s already burning.
“Leonid insisted that she travel with us.”
Cartier stops dead and stares at me, eyes narrowed. Snowflakes collect on her hat, her shoulders, her lashes, and it takes all my willpower to resist pulling her into my arms and crushing hermouth with my lips. Her innocence is a huge part of her beauty. If she had even half an idea of how fucking sexy she is, she might’ve ended up being one of those women who use it to their advantage.
I pray right there to a God I’ve never believed in that, no matter what happens, Cartier Black never loses this beguiling innocent charm. Because if she did, I would have to carry that blame around for the rest of my life.
“Leonid knew that you were bringing me here?”
“He’s my brother, Cartier. When Yuri Asimov approached you, he involved my family too.”
“Did he know about—?” She carries out an internal debate and decides against completing the question. “Is she here to protect us?”
I reach for her hand, and she tracks my fingers with her eyes as if afraid of making any sudden movements. She doesn’t pull away, but I feel like I’m tiptoeing across thin ice.
