So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(57)

“Her temperature is 103. I’d hoped to take her to the hotel with me.”

Vadim stood and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “She will stay here until she is better. Alexei can inform you when she’s awake.”

“Vadim!” Isobel couldn’t believe his bullheaded insensitivity. “Your mother can’t stay at a hotel.”

The petite woman thrust her hand out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Victoria Wallace.”

Isobel shook it, enjoying the strong grip. “Isobel Chase.”

She brightened. “I know. My daughter adores you. Your picture is on her bedroom wall along with Vadim’s.”

“That’s scary.” And wasn’t that an image, the two of them paired together on a teenager’s bedroom wall? Isobel cut a look to Vadim, who evidently wasn’t as impressed with this news as Isobel.

Victoria addressed her son, her expression chilly. “I’d like to be here when she wakes up, so I’m going to sit in her room.”

“Alexei can call you—”

“Of course it’s all right,” Isobel cut in. “And there’s no need to stay in her sickroom. You might catch the flu. I’m sure Vadim can put you up elsewhere in the house.” She led Victoria gently to the sofa. “Now have a seat while he and I go into the kitchen and talk about you behind your back.” Then to Vadim: “Petrov. Kitchen. Now.”

She steered him into the kitchen, but only because he let her.

“She should be staying at a hotel,” he grated.

“While her daughter is sick?”

“I can take care of my sister. That woman should not even be here!”

Isobel placed her hands on his chest. His hard, broad, perfect—focus. “Vad, it’ll just be for a couple of days. Let’s eat, and if after that you still can’t bear it, then Victoria can stay with me. It’s a ten-minute drive from here to my place, and she can visit her sick daughter while you’re at practice.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Then you can move into a hotel and leave this place to the two of them.”

Color flagged his aristocratic cheekbones while his decadent mouth twitched in annoyance. He wanted to shout at her, but he didn’t want his mother to hear. Perfect.

She smiled sweetly. “Now, what’ve you got here that could be turned into a meal?”

“Alexei cooks. He will make dinner.” He squinted at her. “I do not enjoy when you interfere in my life, Isobel.”

“I know,” she said with a pat on his arm. “Now, go put on a shirt. You’re blinding us all with those pecs.”



Dinner was a strained affair, a lot of “Could I have some bread, please?” and “Oh, this carbonara is lovely.” (It was. Alexei had it going on in the kitchen and looked almost human in an apron with cartoon cats and the slogan OCP: Obsessive Cat Person.) Isobel did her best to keep the conversation rolling and learned that Victoria was an office manager for a real estate company and that the bakeries in Park Slope, Brooklyn, were out of this world.

“So, Isobel,” Victoria said after Vadim’s grunts became unbearable. “I understand your father isn’t around anymore. What about your mother?”

“She lives in Scottsdale with her partner. After she divorced my dad, she came out and lived happily ever after chasing the rainbow.”

Vadim’s head snapped to attention. “Gerry is gay?”

“You remember my mom?”

“She was always flirting with the players.”

“Overcompensating.” Isobel smiled at Victoria. “Speaking of overcompensating . . . There was a time not so long ago when Vadim wished I was a lesbian. It was the only explanation that fit the facts as he saw them.”

Back to grunting from the Russian man-child to her right.

Victoria smiled. “He was always like that as a boy. No gray areas with Vadim.”

“Yes, please discuss me as if I am not here.”

“You can always contribute,” Isobel said, but by some mutual silent agreement she and Victoria stopped talking about Vadim’s childhood foibles. It was still too raw for them to be in the same room together.

“So, do you like being a coach?” Victoria asked after a few more bites. “I understand there aren’t many women coaches at this level.”

“She’s an excellent coach when she’s not being a pain,” Vadim offered, which Isobel took as progress, because the statement could only be directed at his mother. Or Alexei.

“Some would say the two things go hand in hand,” Isobel said, then to Vadim’s mom, “I like it. I like working with people who want to learn.”

“Pro players are pretty set in their ways, I imagine.”

“Damn straight. Younger players, especially ones younger than Mia, are more receptive. Definitely more rewarding.”

“I am unrewarding?” Vadim asked.

She heard unexpected cheekiness in his voice, so she gave it right back. “Not . . . completely. A vast improvement from your misguided youth.”

His smile lit up the room and her world with it.

“I’ve been doing some work with a youth hockey charity here in Chicago,” she said to Victoria, eager to mute the charge coming off Vadim. “Giving kids, especially ones that don’t have a lot of economic resources, opportunities to play sports can have a real impact on their lives.”