Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(134)

“Because you are a fucking nightmare and no man with any brains is going to saddle himself to that forever?”

She punches me in the ribs. “I’m a motherfucking delight,” she snaps playfully. Then her smile falters.

“But I’m already terrified of losing the people I’ve got. Why add another name to that list?”

“But you’re not scared of anything.”

“Of this, I am,” she admits. “Cyrille told me what Maksim thought of all of us. That I was the fearless one. But Maksim was wrong. Just like he was wrong when he told me that he’d always be there for me.”

She finishes her cigarette and tosses the butt out the window. I rest my hand on her knee and force her to look at me. “I loved him more than anyone else in the world, Niki. But he was wrong about a lot of things. Including me.”

Nikita nods and her bottom lip quivers. For an instant, I don’t see the proud, beautiful, grown woman sitting across from me; I see the annoying little child who pulled my hair when I wasn’t paying attention and looked at me like I hung the stars for her with my own two hands.

“Do you think that maybe he wasn’t wrong about either one of us?” she asks softly. “Maybe he was right—back then. But when he died, he took the good parts of us with him.”

“Or maybe we’ve forgotten who we were because he isn’t around anymore to remind us.”

“Well… maybe we can remind each other?” she suggests. As she does, she reminds me of that little five-year-old again.

I nod, trying to feel Maksim here with us. His greatest strength was his vulnerability. Maybe, just maybe, I’m more like him than I ever thought possible.





102

PAIGE

My new room back in Misha’s mansion is a little smaller than the gigantic master suite I used to share with him. Which is to say, it’s still big enough to do cartwheels in, and plenty big enough for a tea table where I can entertain guests without worrying about Misha crashing the party.

“I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair,” I say suddenly.

Cyrille and Nikita have both slipped into a comfortable silence, sipping their tea and scrolling on their phones. But they both perk up at my announcement.

“Like a trim?” Cyrille asks.

“Or a full-on makeover?” There is hope in Niki’s eyes. “What were you thinking?”

“I’ve always worn my hair long. I was thinking I’d go for a short, shoulder-length style. Maybe even bangs.”

Cyrille’s eyes widen. “Bangs are… a commitment.”

“I have this amazing hairdresser,” Nikita says. “Her name is Naj and she could get you in really—”

“No, no,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I was actually thinking I’d do it here. Myself.”

Cyrille looks like she might be in shock, and even Nikita’s enthusiasm seems to wane. “You’re going to cut your own hair?” she asks skeptically.

“I used to do it all the time. I don’t see why I should spend sixty dollars on a haircut that I can do myself.”

Nikita nearly spits out her tea. “You only spent sixty dollars on a haircut?”

The two of them exchange another glance, and I roll my eyes. “Seriously, guys, can you stop with the looks? I’m not unhinged. And I don’t need a one-hundred-dollar haircut. Or whatever it costs!”

My salon was connected to a hairdresser’s college. All of the stylists were students who needed practice. I keep that bit to myself, though; I’m not sure Nikita would survive hearing that information.

I get up from the tea table and go to the bathroom. Nikita and Cyrille trail along, looking highly concerned.

“Most women who cut their own bangs over the bathroom sink tend to be… going through something,” Nikita offers up with as much grace as she can muster.

“Well, I am going through something! I’m trapped back in a loveless marriage and pregnant with two children who are probably going to need therapy before they can walk. That qualifies as ‘something,’

does it not?”

Cyrille and Nikita exchange another look, but this one is different. “Speaking of which, how are things since you’ve been back?” Cyrille asks tentatively. “Have you and Misha talked much?”

I deflate like a popped balloon. “We haven’t talked at all,” I admit. “I mean, he comes to my room every so often to ask me if I’m craving anything, if I want something specific for dinner or whatever.

If I’m comfortable. But we haven’t really had a real conversation, except about work.”

“Work?” Cyrille repeats incredulously. “Are you thinking about going back to the office already?”

“Already?” I say with a laugh. “It’s been over two weeks since I moved back and I haven’t stepped foot outside of the house. I’m going to go insane if I’m stuck in here much longer.”

“Bedrest is more important than going to work,” Cyrille advises.

“Which is why work is coming to me. Dr. Mathers cleared me to work from home,” I say, giving my sisters-in-law a victorious smile.

“Is Misha okay with that?” Nikita asks. I don’t know why she bothers asking, since I’m pretty sure she already knows the answer.