VLAD (The V Games #1)(9)
Turning the tap off, I step from the shower, wrap a towel around myself, and wait for Diana to come and dress my wounds. She’s predictable, and within five minutes, she’s pushing through my bathroom door with a first aid kit.
“Anton is taking care of the mess,” she rushes to tell me, placing the cotton swab over my cuts and dabbing. The sting isn’t as harsh as anticipated, and I find myself playing with the end of the towel.
“And Vlad?”
She grins up at me, her smile lighting her entire face. “He wants to take me to dinner.” Her joy is palpable. I need to be excited for her, but it’s hard. Guilt surges through me.
“Do you even like him?” I find the words tumbling from my lips with a harsher tone than intended.
She narrows her eyes and shrugs. “You have eyes, Irina.” And boy, do I ever. Those eyes can’t seem to stop looking at him whenever he’s near. She winks at me, and my stomach twists.
He’s beautiful. Just like you, Diana.
God, their babies will be stunning.
“It’s not just about looks,” I retort, the bitterness dripping in my tone. “He’s moody.”
Her smile reaches her eyes and warms my heart. “He would be a great match.” She places a Band-Aid over the last cut and rises to her feet. “Father would approve.”
“You sound like Vika,” I snap, irritated at her answer. “That’s all she talks about when we’re forced to attend any of the Vasiliev’s functions.” Vlad’s sister is a bitch, plain and simple. Sure, she parades around with a pretty smile, but I’ve watched her flitting from person to person, whispering lies to whoever will listen.
“Enough, Shadow,” she warns, marching into my bedroom.
I follow, fury building in my gut. “You should choose your own match. Who cares what Father approves of?”
She turns abruptly, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Enough, Irina! Life isn’t that cut and dry, and you know it. Now, get dressed. Father wants to see that you’re okay.”
We glare at each other for a long moment.
With a cold smile that unfortunately matches our father’s, I spit out, “Enjoy your dinner date with your match. Let me know when the wedding is.”
She glowers at me, gives a shake to her head, and storms from the room without another word. The moment she’s gone, I slam it shut and blink away the stupid tears forming in my eyes.
The past…
“Where do you think they keep the vodka?” Niko asks, a smirk on his face. He’s growing a mustache, and it looks so fucking lame. Apparently, his father isn’t strict like ours. Father says we must always be clean-cut and presentable because you’ll never know who you might run into at a moment’s notice.
“All you have to do is ask,” I rumble, dragging my gaze from my best friend to the sunroom just off the living room of the Volkov home. Father needed to meet with Mr. Volkov. He insisted Niko and I tag along. Niko has a thing for Diana, so he didn’t mind at all. She’s seventeen, and Niko is always sporting a boner whenever she’s near. As much as he hates it, though, she’ll have nothing to do with his fifteen-year-old ass. And she might be into me based on the way she smiles at me all the time, but I know better.
A Vasiliev has a reputation to uphold.
If Father requests I see her, then I will.
He’ll keep his options open for as long as he can, though, in case something better comes along. Always calculating three moves ahead, just like he taught Viktor and me in chess.
“I’m going to explore. You coming with?” Niko asks.
I wave him off. “I’m fine right here.”
His gaze follows mine to the tiny artist—the girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her hair is a wild blonde mess as she paints a picture on a canvas far more detailed and well done than any I’ve seen hanging on our walls at home. She’s young, perhaps Viktor’s age, ten or eleven, but she paints like she’s been doing it for centuries. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy coming with Father to his meetings with the Volkovs.
“It’s hard to believe they’re sisters,” Niko utters. “Diana is so fucking hot, and that little girl looks like she has a different daddy. I bet their mother boned the butler. There’s no way they came from—”
“I think I overheard old man Volkov say Diana’s in the library,” I snap, cutting him off.
He’s gone without another word, leaving me to watch from the shadows as the girl paints a sunrise behind a snowcapped mountain. The rays are brilliant and almost an exact replica of the way the sun comes through the window and reflects off her hair.
What do you do with your paintings, little Irina?
As if sensing me, she turns and regards me with a solemn expression. There’re glass doors separating us, and I know she can’t see my face at this angle with the sun reflecting back at her from the glass. Where Diana is all smiles and wide, bright blue eyes, her younger sister is serious. She stares hard in my direction, as if willing her eyes to see me. I’ve watched her gaze stray to me every time I enter a room, studying me. For a brief moment, I wonder if she’s ever painted me. I narrow my stare, but don’t blink. If she can see through the glass, I want her to get a glimpse of the real me—the me I’m allowed to be when not under Father’s watchful scrutiny.