Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Mikhail isn’t as eager to let bygones be bygones. “Do you often get rent reduction offers in the form of directional maps to a man’s bed, Sunshine?”
“Not often.” I ease the disappointment crossing his handsome face by murmuring, “Only at the end of every second month. No one pays in advance anymore. Not even hookers.”
His laughter rumbles through my ears as I pop open my purse to check how long my mourning should last. I didn’t have a lot of funds, but the leftovers of the severance pay from a bar that closed a few months ago were enough to get me by for a couple of weeks. I noticed its absence this morning when I purchased an off-brand cereal instead of the one with nuts I really wanted.
I’m anticipating every denomination to be minuscule, so you can picture my shock when I notice several high denominations stuffed between their less-craved counterparts.
Several thousand, to be precise.
“Mikhail…” I murmur on a groan when the truth smacks into me. He didn’t go through my purse to snoop. He garnished the limited funds I had inside with a much more impressive figure. “This isn’t mine. I had two hundred at the most.”
When I thrust the bundle, minus a handful I won’t live without, toward him, Mikhail holds his hands in the air while stepping back. “That ain’t mine.”
I glare at him, calling out his lie without words.
“It ain’t,” he says again. “This is the first time I’ve seen those bills. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
When he draws a cross on his chest, my heart sinks. “Your momma is dead?”
I want to smack myself up the back of the head. I’m not good with words, but it is worse when I am hungry. Still, that question was a doozie even for my food-deprived brain.
“I’m sorry. I lack empathy when hungry.”
“It’s all good, Sunshine. I’m not offended.” He spins back around to face the mantel full of ornaments. “It is a little hard to be when you have no clue what you’re meant to take offense to.”
His reply riddles me with confusion, so instead of continuing with my quest for him to take the money my purse has never had the pleasure of housing, I dump it and the bundle of cash back onto my coffee table before sitting on the ripped sofa.
My need to know everything ruefully gnaws at me, but miraculously, I remain quiet, leaving the floor to Mikhail.
He accepts the invisible microphone I’m offering him thirty seconds after spinning around a porcelain duck so its beak faces the wall instead of me. “My ma disappeared when I was four.”
When he shows me a duck identical to the one he just spun around yet three times dustier at the back of the stack, I shrug before signaling for him to get back to his confession instead of the stupid ornaments that hold not an ounce of sentimental value.
He places the dusty duck in front of the newer one before doing as suggested. “She was pregnant.” He scratches his head. “I’m not exactly sure how far along. It would have been a few months, as she’d learned the sex of the baby not long before she disappeared.” I’m shocked when delight is the first emotion he expresses upon announcing he was going to have a baby sister. “We have a long succession of boys in the family, so I was looking forward to having someone not related to me by blood to pummel.” My brows barely join when he commences eradicating my confusion. “She would have had boyfriends, and it would have been my job as her older brother to vet them. I doubt there would have been a better way to do that than with my fists.”
I love his protectiveness.
It makes me swoon—maternally not sexually.
My heart does its second drop of the night when he mutters, “I would have been a good big brother.”
Would have?
Mikhail must hear my silent question, because he jerks up his chin before his focus returns to the trinkets. “It’s weird to think I could have been batting you off me with a stick instead of the other way around.” His smile reflects in the mirror above the dust collectors he’s rearranging. “I couldn’t have dated my little sister’s best friend. That’s just nasty.” He treats my ornaments as if they’re his own before cranking his neck back to me. “In case you’re wondering, I have no issues accepting my big brother’s leftovers—”
I hook a pillow off my couch and throw it in his face before he can finalize his reply.
It has Mikhail laughing like we weren’t discussing missing family members as the rotors of a helicopter hover closer than ever.
23
ANDRIK
While cursing Mikhail to hell, I slam down my laptop screen. “I knew this was a bad idea. He was meant to return her belongings, not debug her fucking apartment.”