Page 127 of The Wrong Brother

Then my phone vibrates, and the spell breaks immediately.

Another message. Another article. Another reminder that I can’t hide here.

My attention returns to the screen, and I can hear Emma deflate with disappointment only feet away, her hands wrapped around the coffee mug. The sigh that comes out of her makes me feel slightly guilty.

Not guilty enough to stop reading.

The latest headline appears: QUESTIONS REMAIN ABOUT SMIRNOV PREGNANCY SCANDAL.

I set the phone down harder than necessary, and the coffee on the side table sloshes. Across from me, Emma’s smile disappears.

Then she asks the question I’ve been avoiding.

“Do you think he’s winning?”

I answer abruptly: “Yes.”

That’s the problem. For the first time since returning to Colorado, I feel like I’m reacting instead of acting.

Like Andrei is dictating the pace.

Years ago, he forced me out of this state. Now, despite everything I’ve built, despite the empire waiting for me in California, despite the resources at my disposal, I find myself wondering whether he can do it again.

Sooner or later, I am going to have to pull the trigger.

* * *

Frank arrives two days later. I hear the vehicle before I see it: the low growl of an expensive engine winding its way up the mountain road. Emma is standing beside me on the porch with her arms crossed and her eyebrows tight. Together we watch a vintage Lincoln appear from beneath the trees.

The moment Frank climbs out, he stops and stares at the cabin.

Then he stares at me.

Then back at the cabin.

His expression grows increasingly horrified.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Emma tucks her chin to hide a smile. I close my eyes briefly.

Frank marches toward us, expensive wool coat flapping dramatically around his knees. He gestures at the structure as though I’ve personally offended him.

“Thisis where you’ve been hiding?”

“It seems to have served its purpose. The press hasn’t found us, have they?”

“Let me guess. There’s only one bathroom.”

Emma chimes in helpfully, “And just a shower; no tub.”

“There are two bedrooms.” My voice is louder than necessary, cutting off Frank’s response, his mouth still open as he scoffs.

“I wasn’t discussing bedrooms.”

Emma is openly laughing now, bumping against me as she loosens up, and I can’t help the ghost of a smile as well.

Frank looks at her, clearly delighted to have found a sympathetic audience.