Page 23 of Corruption

“And then what?” I ask sardonically. “They give us Kitten as a reward?”

“This has nothing to do with Pretty Girl now, and you know it.”

“Nadezhda. No,” I say in a warning tone. Then, “And before you get any ideas to do anything on your own,”—Fuck, I hate what I’m about to say. Because despite how our marriage came to be, I love her and I would drag her to the alter even faster if I had to do it all over again knowing how it would all play out—“don’t forget exactly what you did that made my stupid brother turn on you in the first place and forced us to elope so my father wouldn’t kill you with the rest of your family.”

Nadia glares angrily at me for the jab, but it does the job of getting her to shut up.

Kiya rounds the corner then. Almost on cue. Like she was standing there listening. But it’s hard to know with her. She’s good at keeping her cards held close to her chest, I’ve noticed.

“Is this one okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” Nadia says with a smirk.

It’s one of my coats instead of Nadia’s, and it nearly swallows her. But Kiya doesn’t seem to mind. Neither do I. Seeing her in Nadia’s dress, and my coat is like the heavens are screaming at us and holding a fucking neon sign over her head that she belongs with us and not my brother.

This is going to be a long three months.

9

Kiya

When the Fantoni’s took me in, Addy handed me a credit card and told me to tell the driver to take me wherever I wanted to shop for a new wardrobe with the only restriction being that I had to stay in one of the boroughs of the city at all times.

Even though there was no limit on the card, I didn’t go to any high end boutiques. I just went to the mall and shopped in the run-of-the-mill stores that most people shopped in but that I hadn’t because my mother bought everything thrift. And then I bought everything thrift because I couldn’t afford normal stores when I got to New York on my above minimum wage but barely enough to survive in the city job.

Nadia doesn’t even glance at those stores, even though I protest and tell her that they’re fine.

“Yes. They are fine,” Nadia agrees. “But why settle for fine when you can have better. Come on. One of my favorite dressers is waiting on us. She’ll get you everything you need. Custom.”

Her dresser works in an expensive boutique that could be a normal store if not for the marble floors and chandeliers and décor and the servants that approach us with refreshments and appetizers.

We’re taken to a private room upstairs that’s the size of my entire old apartment. My measurements are taken, the dresser asks me what I think I might like, and then she and her attendants leave the room while Nadia and I wait.

“We should do something after this. Lunch. A spa date maybe? Anything you want within reason. Some things might take longer than an afternoon to arrange.”

“You’re going to have to tell me what your definition of reason is,” I reply because just a few weeks of living with the Fantonis showed me that what’s within reason for the rich and powerful is a lot more than what’s within reason for people who aren’t.

“Tell me what you want to do, and I’ll let you know.”

“There’s this exclusive art museum in the city. They have this new exhibit. I’ve only seen a few pictures online because they don’t allow cameras and release them sparingly. The tickets are expensive and there’s a waiting list, so I understand if you can’t—”

“I’ll make some calls,” Nadia assures. “What’s it called?”

“New Millennial Art Gallery.”

“Oh. Alik mentioned that to me. He’s been wanting to go, but I have to admit, though I appreciate all forms of art, I don’t find myself as mesmerized by visual art as I am by auditory art like music and singing. I prefer the opera and Broadway. Maybe we can plan to go with Alik, actually, if I can’t get us in today. Or maybe he can take you again even if we can.”

I can’t help but be suspicious of Nadia’s motives. Since I showed up last night, she’s been so nice and open and welcoming. People aren’t nice like this for no reason. My mother wasn’t. When she did do something nice for me it was either out of obligation or to throw it back in my face the rare times I stood up to her until I just stopped asking her for things or expecting anything from her.

“Why are you doing all this?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“You know why.”

“This goes beyond making sure you don’t piss off my dad by mistreating me. You could have just locked me in your house and bought me more clothes and ignored me. But you’re not.”

“Is it a crime to want to get to know you?”

“No. But that doesn’t answer why.”

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