Page 71 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
Then Yaromir’s eyes meet mine, and the almost-smile dies.
Because whatever was there in his study, whatever dangerous honesty made me say yes to him, is hidden now behind something harder. I can’t tell if I’ve done something wrong or if he has simply remembered who he’s supposed to be.
Larisa sits. “You were discussing horses?” she asks.
“Yaromir’s excellent judgment,” Alexei says.
“Then you were discussing fiction.”
Alexei presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“Not deeply enough.”
I look down at my plate to hide my reaction.
I don’t like his aunt.
It’s not only that she’s rude. Galina was rude. Dmitri’s mother could cut a woman open with a compliment and smile while doing it. Larisa is different. She doesn’t bother to disguise the knife.
Every time she looks at me, I feel assessed. Not as a person. As a tool someone has left on the table.
Worse, I think she dislikes me, and I don’t understand why. We met less than an hour ago. I have done nothing to her except marry her nephew, and somehow that seems to be enough.
Lunch ends with coffee I barely drink and questions I answer because refusing would make me look weak. Larisa asks what I studied, what my father taught me, what I know about household accounts, whether I have ever managed staff. Some answers make her mouth tighten. Others make her look bored.
Yaromir says very little.
That bothers me more than Larisa’s questions.
When the meal finally ends, I feel as if I have survived an interview for a position I never applied for.
Alexei stands first and offers me his arm with exaggerated formality. “Since your husband has apparently forgotten how to host, allow me to give you the grand tour.”
Yaromir looks up.
Alexei’s smile becomes brighter, which tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“A tour?” I ask.
“Yes. Every newly acquired Volkov should be shown where the exits are.”
Larisa makes a small sound that might be approval or disgust.
I glance at Yaromir. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes have gone flat.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says.
Alexei keeps his arm extended. “Come now. She should know the house. Unless you plan to keep your wife locked in one wing like a tragic Gothic heroine.”
Yaromir sets his glass down. “Careful.”
The word is quiet. It changes the air.
Alexei, to his credit, does not flinch. He only looks at me and lowers his voice as if sharing a secret. “He hates when I’m charming.”
“Are you being charming?” I ask.
“I’m devastated you have to ask.”
