“What did you find out?” she asks, bumping shoulders with Dima.

  “Nothing yet, but I should have something soon.”

  Mila shakes her head. “This is why you should have sent me undercover. Celine would have been here for the funeral.”

  Dima scoffs. “Please, you think you’re better than me?”

  “Without a doubt,” Mila says, her smile cracking a little easier now that Dima is back. “By the way, what the hell are you wearing? You look like you belong in a Say No to Drugs commercial.”

  “Geez,” Dima mutters, scowling. “The Zakharov siblings and their exacting fashion standards. Will this make you both happy?” He stands up and pulls the hoodie over his head.

  He’s wearing a white ribbed-cotton tank top that shows off his muscled arms, and the hoodie momentarily catches the hem and drags it up over his stomach. I catch Mila taking a long look before she pointedly turns away. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her check him out, but I figure if “that” hasn’t happened all this time, it never will.

  The scars on my sister’s heart might just be too much to overcome.

  “Now, you look like a street rat,” Mila mutters, though her cheeks are flushed.

  “There’s no making you happy, is there?”

  “Some people aren’t meant to be happy.” Only part of her tone sounds sarcastic. “Anyway—what were you two talking about before I walked in?”

  “Nothing,” I blurt.

  Dima looks at me with raised brows.

  “Aw, come on, you can’t leave me out of the loop,” Mila whines. “Dima? Wanna rat?”

  “Never mind,” he mumbles and looks away, his version of waving her off. He’s better at reading the room than my sister. Between the two of them, he’s usually the one to know when to let things go.

  “Does this have something to do with the baby?”

  Dima looks startled. “What baby?”

  Mila stares at him in shock, then at me. “You haven’t told him?”

  “Told me what?” Dima presses. “There’s a baby I don’t know about? Whose? Where? What species?”

  “Mine,” I growl, suddenly remembering why I prefer to be alone most days. “Taylor is pregnant.”

  Dima does nothing but blink at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry—did you just say that Taylor is pregnant? Taylor, as in, Celine’s sister?”

  “That’s the one,” Mila says, looking like she’s enjoying herself a little too much. “Talk about sister wives, huh?”

  “You are not funny,” I snarl at her, before looking at Dima. “I was going to tell you. I’m still processing it myself.”

  “Fuuuuck,” Dima groans. “This is…big.”

  “That’s what I keep saying. It also screws up the whole plan.” Mila rolls her eyes and sighs.

  “It doesn’t screw up anything,” I spit. “It’s a wrench in the works, that’s all. I’m going to handle it.”

  “How?” Dima arches a very skeptical brow. “Celine seems like a top-notch gal and all, very laid-back, but there’s no way she’s going to be okay with you having a baby with her sister.”

  “Hell, if I were Celine, I’d stab you in the heart,” Mila teases, flashing me a wolfish grin.

  I grit my teeth. “My first priority is getting Celine back. The rest, I will deal with after.”

  “Or, hear me out now,” Dima suggests. “You could marry Taylor instead of Celine.”

  “Fucking hell,” I grumble, getting to my feet. I’ve always been an angry pacer, and right now, I’m on the cusp of being furious. It has nothing to do with Dima or Mila, though. This is about all the control I’ve managed to lose in a matter of days. “Not a goddamn chance.”

  “Why not?” Dima insists. “You need a wife. The fact that they’re sisters is actually pretty convenient. You have your leverage, and you have your heir. It’s perfect.”

  Mila sighs and shakes her head. “Except for the fact that Taylor would never agree to it.”

  “Does she need to?” Dima asks innocently.

  “Even if she was open to it, I’m not,” I insist. Something tugs inside my chest when I say it, but I very quickly and pointedly ignore it.

  “What are you trying to prove, big brother?” Mila asks shrewdly.

  I glare at her until she lowers her gaze. “Celine is teachable. Taylor is not. I need a wife who can do the job, and Taylor is too opinionated and combative. Celine, on the other hand… She’ll be easy to mold.”

  Mila twists with disgust. But I don’t give a damn about her propriety.

  I need to marry Celine because she’s a means to an end. Taylor, on the other hand? She could be the start of something I never asked for in the first place.

  Disaster.

  32

  TAYLOR

  “Are you okay?”

  I turn my back on the tall man who spoke. I’ve seen him by Ilarion’s side fairly often. I return to my hyperventilating, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave.

  Instead, I see his shadow grow bigger as he moves closer to me.

  It took some time to find this little corner of the church. It’s partly hidden by tall columns and tucked away behind the looming arrangement of sunflowers I ordered from Chapman’s on Ilarion’s credit card. It smelled like Mom back here, just a fleeting whiff of it, and it felt like the perfect place to panic and cry and melt down out of sight.

  I don’t appreciate him invading my oasis.

  Not that I have the energy—or the oxygen—to tell him to fuck off.

  “Breathe from your diaphragm,” he instructs me. I hate how gentle and reassuring his voice sounds. “Try to slow your thoughts.”

  I glare at him from my hunched position. “If…if I could…do that…I would…be able to…to breathe.”

  He smiles placidly. He’s handsome. Not in the dark, broody, confronting way that Ilarion is, but more of a boyish charm. Non-threatening. Approachable. I have a feeling the faded crew cut was a way of giving those pretty features some grit, but I’m not sure it has the desired effect.

  “Here,” he says, offering me something in his hand. “Have one.”

  “I don’t do drugs,” I inform him, disregarding the little bag in his palm.

  “Your loss,” he says. “But incidentally, they’re not drugs. Not the harmful kind, anyway.”

  I straighten slowly and take another glance at his palm. On closer inspection, they appear to be… “Are those toffees?”

  He nods. “Iriski. They make them special at this little coffee shop in Kazan. It’s toffee with a chocolate center. You have to work to get to the chocolate, but lemme tell you, it’s so worth it.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “It’s not spiked or anything, is it?”

  He recoils in horror. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d do a thing like that?”

  “No. Sorry.” I reach out and take one of the toffees from his bag.

  “Not everyone gets offered an iriski from my personal stash, so consider yourself lucky.” He takes one for himself and pops it into his mouth.

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t consider myself lucky today.”

  He meets my gaze and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Hey, I get it. You loved your mother. You don’t want to have to say goodbye. But you know that cheesy saying?”

  “Which one?”

  “Um, something about hard goodbyes and people you love.”

  “I’m lucky to have someone who makes saying goodbye so hard.”

  He snaps his fingers, pleased. “That’s the ticket. Walt Whitman, I think. Or maybe Gandhi. Can’t recall.”

  “It’s from Winnie the Pooh.”

  “Is it? Well, I’ll be damned. That doesn’t sound quite as sophisticated. You sure it wasn’t Gandhi?”

  A corner of my mouth wants to twitch up in a smile, but the rest of me is still heavy with grief. “Yeah. Mom used to read us Winnie the Pooh tales when Celine and I were little girls. We had a whole collection. It’s still in the attic somewhere. She never threw anything away.”

  “You know what my mom used to read me when I was a boy?” he asks. He pauses for dramatic effect before delivering his punchline: “The riot act.”

  I roll my eyes as I bite back a snotty laugh. “I’m sure that was the story that never ended.”

  He snorts. “You don’t know the half of it. She wouldn’t just read me the riot act, either. She had a cane that she named Horace, and she liked to say that ‘Horace was gonna come visit me’ if I didn’t behave. Mind you, her definition of ‘behaving’ changed daily. Some days, it meant I couldn’t track dirt into the house. Other days, I didn’t tighten the cap on the milk carton to her liking. Horace hurt the same either way.”

  “Is this your way of reminding me that I’m lucky to have had my sweet, loving mother who read me storybooks before bed?”

  “Phew, glad you got that. I was worried I was too subtle.”

  Finally, I can’t help it—I smile. But it’s grudging. “What was your name again?”

  “Dima.”

  “Dima,” I repeat, finally unwrapping the toffee and popping it into my mouth. The caramel hits my taste buds like a boost of pure adrenaline, and I feel my body rally around the rush of sugar. “Did Mila send you over here?”

  “No, why would she?”

  “Because she’s tired of babysitting me.”

  “Neither one of us are babysitting you,” he says in a tone that’s naturally—and, given his line of work, strangely—compassionate. “We’re just…looking out for you.”

  “Why?”

  That takes him back. “Because you’re important.” He says it like I’m supposed to already know.

  I suck on the caramel and peek around Dima’s shoulder. The service will start soon. I can see people filing through the doors. I’d informed our extended family only this morning in the hopes that most of them might not make it. We’ve got a whole mess of aunts, uncles, and cousins in Denver who won’t make the journey. But I notice Uncle Peter and Aunt Monica waltz into the church in their best mourning attire.

  I ought to go out there and greet them. But it’s so much easier standing here, sucking on a toffee behind a wall of sunflowers, talking to a violent yet weirdly thoughtful stranger about storybooks and dead mothers.

  It’s like the world I’ve always known has already been left behind.

  And I’ll never, ever get it back.

  I turn my attention back to Dima. “‘I’m important’? What you really mean to say is that my baby is important. Am I right?”

  He just smiles. “I like you, Taylor,” he says simply. “You’ve got that no-nonsense je ne sais quoi that I’ve always appreciated in a woman.”

  “Then you should hook up with Mila,” I half-joke. “That woman is the epitome of no-nonsense. Probably because of that giant stick she has up her ass.”

  He snorts with laughter, which draws Mila’s attention. She’s standing across the pews, speaking to some guy in a full suit and dark shades. A member of the security detail, no doubt.

  Dima irons out his grin and pretends like he wasn’t just laughing at a funeral. “Funny—she says the same thing about you.”

  “I just lost my entire family in the span of a few hours. What’s her excuse?”

  “Oh, she has a few tragic excuses of her own,” he says cryptically.

  I want to ask about what he means, but she glances our way again and I decide to tuck that question away for later. I glance toward the other side of the church to see if I can spot her brother, but I’m pretty sure if he was here, I’d have seen him by now. Ilarion’s not the type of man who can go very long without being noticed.

  “Neither one of you have to be here, you know.”

  “I know. I—” He groans as his lashes flutter like he’s orgasming. “Oh, yeah…Finally hit that chocolate. Got there yet?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.” I fidget in place for a minute before I work up the courage to look at Dima again. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “That’s one.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “That’s another one.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake—I’m trying to ask who you are.”

  “Who am I?” he parrots.

  “Yeah, like…” I wave a hand around. “In all this. Who are you to Ilarion?”

  “His right hand man, of course,” he answers. “And the token eye candy, obviously. I’m sure you guessed that part, though.”

  “So you’ve known him a long time?”

  “Since we were nineteen.” He scrunches his face in thought. “So…nine years now. Shit. I’m old.”

  I ignore his joking. The man is constitutionally incapable of being serious. “And do you believe he loves my sister?”

  I’m watching close enough that I don’t miss the way he stiffens when I pose the question. From across the church, Mila is firing questioning glances our way like she can sense us wandering into dangerous territory, but Dima doesn’t notice.

  “I mean, he asked her to marry him. I think love is implied.”

  “You would think,” I agree dourly. “But something Mila said the other day got me thinking. She believes that her brother doesn’t do anything without a reason. She also believes that he doesn’t let emotion get in the way of his decisions.”

  Dima doesn’t say anything. I think he’s starting to realize just how thin the ice beneath our feet is.

  “A man like that would never marry impulsively. And an engagement after only two months… Seems out of character for him, wouldn’t you say?”

  Dima shrugs. “If you believe Winnie the Pooh, love is the kind of thing that makes you do things out of character,” he says. “And Ilarion doesn’t like to be predictable.”

  I shake my head. I know a runaround when I hear it. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Dima?” I ask. It’s blunt, maybe even a little rude.

  But so is trying to sidestep the obvious.

  He arches his brow, but there’s an amused smile underneath his surprise. “No, Taylor. Less and less so with every passing second.”

  I nod. “Good. I understand why you’re willing to lie for Ilarion. I appreciate loyalty. You’re protecting your family. Just remember—that’s exactly what I’m doing for mine.”

  I take a deep breath and prepare myself to face the music. Can’t hide forever, as they say. “Thank you for the iriski,” I say, before walking out of my hiding spot.

  I reluctantly make my way toward the small group of Theron relations gathered around the casket holding my mother. It’s a closed casket, but that hasn’t stopped people from approaching for their final regards.

  “Darling!” Aunt Monica says, spotting me first as I walk up to them. She grabs me and pulls me into her soft, expansive body. “Darling, we had no idea the cancer had progressed so far.”

  I nod, hating the lie I forced myself to tell. “It was very sudden.”

  “Where’s Celine?” Uncle Peter asks. “And your father?”

  And there it is—the question I’ve been dreading since I picked the damn flowers. Which, now that I see them here in the chapel, are entirely too yellow.

  “Celine’s with Archie.”

  I startle when I feel a warm hand press to my side. Ilarion steps into our loose circle as though he belongs there. As though he’s always belonged there. My aunt and uncle look at him with wide eyes laced with shock.

  I can’t exactly blame them. The man has a way of eating up the atmosphere in a room. It gets harder to breathe, harder to move, harder to do anything but gawk.

  “Sorry to interrupt. We haven’t met yet,” Ilarion says, taking my aunt’s hand first, then my uncle’s. “I’m Ilarion, Celine’s fiancé.”

  “Oh!” Aunt Monica breathes, her eyes trailing over Ilarion in amazement. “Fiona did mention the engagement to me when we last spoke. I think… Wasn’t it the day of the engagement when she called me? Oh, how awful for Celine, to have lost dear Fiona so soon before she could see you wed.”

  “You said Celine’s with Archie,” Uncle Peter grumbles impatiently, dispensing with the polite condolences. “Where are they?”

  “Fiona’s death was sudden,” Ilarion explains. Probably the only time I’ll actually be grateful for his interruption. “Archie…didn’t take it well.”

  Scratch that. He should have consulted with me before grabbing the reins and making shit up.

  “So Celine’s at a private clinic with him, trying to soothe him through this very difficult day. I’m here representing Celine. And of course, to support Taylor.” He nods at me, tacking me on like an afterthought.

  Uncle Peter clears his throat gruffly. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry, Taylor. This can’t be easy for you.”

  “No,” I say, glaring at Ilarion. “It’s not. I—”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Ilarion says abruptly. “I need to go speak to the priest before the service starts. It was nice to meet you both. I just wish it had been under happier circumstances.”

  He turns and walks away, taking that all-consuming presence with him.

  The most shocking part of all?

  I’m actually disappointed to see him go.

  33

  TAYLOR

  A strange sense of numbness engulfs me when I watch the casket being lowered into the ground.

  I stop feeling much of anything. I concentrate on the lingering sweetness of iriski in my mouth and Ilarion’s rich scent in my nostrils.

  Not that he’s standing anywhere near me.

  He’s taken up a post on the opposite side of the yawning chasm in the earth. It feels strategic, deliberate—though I can’t decide if the point is to make me look at him or to make me feel all alone. Either way, it’s working.

  Mila and Dima flank me on either side. It might have been touching, if it weren’t for the fact that I know they were ordered to do it.

  They aren’t here to comfort me.

  They’re here to watch me.

  The moment the casket settles into the deep soil, I turn and walk away. I can feel them all gawking, but to my surprise, no one stops me.