by Ana Huang
Alex. Proposing to Ava. So he would be my brother-in-law.
The disjointed yet connected thoughts tumbled through my head. Holy fuck. I’d known Alex and my sister would be endgame since the day I learned he gave up his company for her. He got it back after she forgave him, but for him to even consider doing something so drastic, he had to be in deep.
Yet I never could’ve imagined the proposal would come so early, or that he would ask for my permission.
Alex never asked for permission from anyone.
“I didn’t want to propose until after you and I…sorted through some of our issues.” Alex watched me with sharp eyes, his features taut with tension. “I didn’t want to put either of you in that position.”
I finally found my words through the well of emotion in my chest. “My sister’s rubbing off on you. You actually sound human.”
“I’m good at imitations.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before a laugh burst from my mouth. “Shit, Volkov, don’t kill me with shock before the wedding. Ava will be pissed.”
Alex’s lips curved. “Is that an implicit blessing?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I sobered. “You’re right. We have very different worldviews, and we hit a bit of a, ah, rough patch over the years. I still think you’re an asshole eighty percent of the time. But you…you walked my sister home every day for a year like a psycho Romeo. You always put her safety and well-being ahead of yourself, which for you is saying a fucking lot.” I swallowed hard. “Ava is my only sister. My only real family. I’ve always taken care of her growing up, and I don’t trust her with just anyone. But I trust her with you.”
If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that Alex would lay his life down on the line for her. He may be an asshole to everyone else, but I could always trust him to take care of Ava.
I clapped him on the back as the tightness in my chest intensified. “So yeah, you have my fucking permission. Just don’t kill her with the ring, because that shit is bright as fuck.”
A suspicious brightness glowed in Alex’s eyes before he blinked and it disappeared. He let out a relieved-sounding laugh. “She’ll be okay. She’s tougher than you.”
“That’s true.” Despite her sunny optimism and what some would call naïveté, Ava had always been a survivor. I shook my head in my disbelief. “Can’t believe I’ll be stuck with you forever as my brother-in-law.”
I didn’t doubt Ava would say yes, but having Alex Volkov as my brother-in-law…Lord help me.
“Lucky you.” A small smile remained on Alex’s mouth, but his eyes turned serious again. “Speaking of which, I also have a proposal for you.”
“Alex.” I clutched my chest. “Ava’s not gonna like it if you propose to me too. Bigamy is illegal in D.C.”
“Funny.” He walked to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey, one of which he handed to me. “If Ava says yes…”
“She’ll say yes.”
An uncharacteristic hint of nerves coasted through Alex’s eyes before it vanished beneath cool green ice.
“When she says yes, I’ll need a best man.” He rubbed his thumb over his glass, his tense shoulders at odds with his casual tone. “Since you’re my best friend, and one of the few people I can stand to be around for more than five minutes at a time, consider this my official ask to you.”
Ah, fuck. Emotion rushed back into my chest and swelled until it formed a lump in my throat.
Before our falling out, Alex had been there for every game, every crisis, and every emergency I had. He was the only person outside my family I trusted, and I was the only one he uttered more than a dozen words to at a time.
We’d been best friends, but he’d never called me that, at least not in my presence. Today was the first time.
“That depends.” My voice came out scratchy before I cleared my throat. That fucker would not make me cry. Not today, Satan. “One, do I have full authority to plan your bachelor party in any way I see fit? Two, do I get box seats for life to any sports game I want? Three, can I take your Aston for a spin?”
Alex released a sigh so weary I half expected him to collapse beneath its weight. “Within reason, yes, and no.”
One and a half out of three. Not bad. I hadn’t expected him to say yes to the Aston thing anyway. He never let anyone drive his precious car.
“I’ll take it.” I raised my glass. “You’ve got yourself a best man.”
“I’m thrilled.”
“I can’t wait until our Vegas blowout,” I said, ignoring his dry response. “Actually, shit, let’s level up. You’re a billionaire with a b, as you always remind me. Let’s go to Macau. No, Monaco. No, Ibi—”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t proposed yet.”
“But you will, and it’s best to be prepared.” My grin faded at the sight of Alex’s tight jaw. “She’ll say yes,” I repeated in a softer voice. “Don’t worry.”
Another hint of nerves flickered in his eyes. “I don’t worry.” He rubbed his thumb over his whiskey tumbler again until some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “But no Ibiza. I can’t stand island parties.”
“Deal.” Monaco sounded more fun, anyway. “Here’s to an epic proposal and even more epic bachelor weekend.”
I lifted my glass again. Alex clinked his against mine, and I waited until we’d both drained our drinks before I added, “I’d be your best man even without the box seats, you know.”
The ice in his eyes cracked, revealing a sliver of softness. “I know.”
A poignant beat passed before we coughed at the same time and let out awkward laughs. Alex might petrify into stone if we dwelled too much on the sentimentality of the moment, and I didn’t want my sister to marry a literal statue.
“Now that that’s out of the way…” I threw an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the couch. “Let’s talk about how we’ll make this a stag party you’ll never forget. I’m thinking tigers, tattoos…”
“No.”
I brushed off the buzzkill. “Actually, how do you feel about cage diving with sharks? We can fly to South Africa for the weekend…”
Alex rubbed an exasperated hand over his face while I rambled off ideas and tried to hold back a grin.
Me annoying the shit out of him while he feigned irritation?
It was like old times, only better, because this time, there were no lies or secrets between us.
Every great friendship had chapters.
This was the start of our new one.
56
JULES
“I’m here! I’m here!” Stella rushed through the door, her hair flying around her in a dark cloud. “What did I miss?”
I pinned the brunette across from me with an exasperated glare. “Ava.”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Stel asked what we were doing, I told her, and…well, I might’ve spilled the beans.”
We’d been drinking at a bar near her apartment for two hours, during which she grilled me about my feelings toward Josh, our relationship, and our plans for the future. She was mostly joking, I think, but that didn’t stop me from sweating like I just finished the New York Marathon.
“Nothing except an interrogation worthy of the CIA.” I finished the rest of my cranberry vodka while Stella slid into the seat next to mine.
She must’ve come straight from work, but instead of a boring business suit, she wore a gorgeous white linen dress and turquoise necklace that set off her bronze skin. The perks of working at a fashion magazine, I supposed.
“I highly doubt that.” Stella brushed a stray curl out of her eye. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. All this time, you’ve been dating Josh? He’s the Mystery Guy?”
Heat rushed over my face. “Can you blame me? Look at the way you’re reacting. Personally, I don’t think it’s that big a deal.” So what if Josh and I had hated each other for almost the entire time Stella knew us? People change
d. “It’s not like I’m dating the Pope.”
“You dating the Pope would be more believable,” Stella quipped.
“Funny. You’re all hilarious.” Despite my grumbles, my cheeks ached from smiling.
For all their good-natured teasing, my friends seemed genuinely happy for me—well, after Ava recovered from her initial shock—and now that Josh and I were out in the open, a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders.
There was a certain thrill to sneaking around, but I hated lying to my friends.
“At least you didn’t tell Bridget yet.” I knocked my foot against Ava’s foot under the table. I didn’t need to be accosted by all my friends at once.
Her cheeks pinked. “Erm, about that…”
As if on cue, my phone lit up with an incoming FaceTime call from a certain European royal.
“Ava.”
“You can’t expect me to keep the news to myself. I’m never the first to get a good scoop.” She held up her hands. “Besides, Bridge was in the group chat.”
I sighed, but since it was too late to put the news back in the box, I answered the call.
Bridget’s face filled the screen. “You’re dating Josh Chen?” she asked without preamble. “What? How? Why?”
“Hello, Your Majesty. Good evening to you, too,” I said pointedly. “How are you doing?”
“Don’t how are you doing me.” Bridget pushed her green cloth headband higher up on her head. She must’ve turned in for the night, because her face was scrubbed free of makeup and I caught a glimpse of her silk pajama top at the bottom of the screen. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details. I always miss the good stuff over here in Europe.”
“Don’t you have royal duties to attend to or something?”
“It’s midnight, Jules, and my royal duties consist of wrangling ministers who insist on acting like grade schoolers. Please, let me have some fun.” A masculine rumble murmured something offscreen. Bridget turned her head to whisper something back before she faced me again. “Rhys says hi.”
She panned the camera so I could see Rhys, who waved at me from his spot next to her in bed. His gray eyes glowed with bemusement.
I let out another sigh, but I recounted the story again, starting with the clinic truce. When I finished, Bridget and Stella stared at me with open mouths.
“Wow. That’s…” Bridget shook her head. I’d propped my phone up against a glass so we could all see her. “Somehow you and Josh together make zero sense and all the sense in the world.”
“Does this mean you guys have stopped bickering?” Stella asked with a hopeful expression.
“Nope. We bicker more,” I said cheerfully. “It leads to great ha—” Hate sex. I cut off abruptly when Ava’s eyes widened with alarm. “You know.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “I don’t, and I don’t want to know. I’ll never be able to look at Josh the same.”
“You will one day.” Stella didn’t date much, but it wasn’t for lack of interest from guys—she fielded suitors every day. Romance simply wasn’t a priority. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” Wariness touched her features.
“You’re the last woman left standing.” Mischief lit up my face. “Who’s going to be the guy who sweeps you off your feet?”
“When you find him, let me know,” she said dryly. “In the meantime, I’m just trying to survive Anya.”
Anya was her boss and the editor-in-chief of D.C. Style magazine.
While Stella told us about her latest photoshoot, which apparently involved a hungover supermodel, a live python, and a gallon of baby oil, a familiar photo drew my attention to the TV hanging over the bar.
Shock stole my breath from my lungs. Brown hair, blue eyes, stubbled jaw, unsmiling face.
Max.
The volume was off, but the closed captions were on, so I could read what happened.
“…body was found in a hotel room in Baltimore. The victim, Max Renner, was stabbed multiple times and died at the scene. Renner was recently released from prison for grand larceny and is believed to be involved in an Ohio-based crime ring. Police suspect other members of the crime ring are responsible for his murder, and the FBI…”
Max was dead.
All those years, all that heartache, he was dead.
I guess his associates finally caught up with him.
Other than a trickle of relief, I felt…nothing. Not even vindication after what he did in the stairwell.
I’d truly put him in the past.
I dragged my attention back to my friends in time to see Stella’s face pale at something on her phone while Ava and Bridget chatted about Bridget’s upcoming diplomatic trip to Argentina.
A seed of concern sprouted in my chest. “Is everything okay?” Stella rarely looked that rattled.
“Yes.” She slid her phone into her bag and smiled, but it looked more forced than usual. “Something came up at work, but I’ll deal with it later.”
“You should find a job that treats you better,” I said gently. “You’re talented enough. You can even go full-time with your blog.”
Stella made a ton of money from brand sponsorships.
“Maybe one day.”
I took the hint from her subdued response and dropped the issue, though my concern remained. Stella kept all her feelings and troubles bottled up. It wasn’t healthy in the long run, but now wasn’t the time to get into it.
We rejoined Bridget and Ava’s conversation and eventually shifted topics to Ava’s promotion at work. It was past midnight in Eldorra, but Bridget stayed up with us to talk.
My chest glowed with warmth.
It felt like old times, when we would order pizza and talk into the early hours of the morning in our dorm room.
We weren’t eighteen anymore, but we were still us. Even if one of us lived on a different continent now, and we didn’t see each other as much as we used to at school, our friendship was a steady rock.
It was comforting to know that no matter how much some things changed, others will always stay the same.
57
JULES
“What’s the surprise?” I bounced on the balls of my feet, unable to contain my curiosity as we stepped into the elevator of a luxury Upper East Side apartment building. “Tell me, please. I’m dying here.”
Josh had surprised me with a trip to New York to catch the last showing of the Legally Blonde musical revival earlier that night, and he said he had another surprise for me before we left tomorrow. I’d tried to pry the secret from him during our entire cab ride here, but he’d refused to budge.
“Red, we will literally be there in a few minutes.” He pressed the button for the penthouse, and my curiosity ramped up another notch. “Haven’t you ever heard the term patience?”
“Patience?” I pretended to think. “Nope, never heard of it.”
I laughed when he swatted my ass in playful punishment.
I’d been floating on a high since Josh and I got back together. I caught myself humming at the oddest times, like when I was loading the dishwasher or waiting for the metro, and my cheeks ached from smiling so much. Even stress over my looming bar results couldn’t dampen the weightlessness in my chest.
Nothing turned a person into a bigger cheeseball than being in love, and I wasn’t even mad about it. There were worse things than being cheesy. Besides, cheese was a top tier food group.
When we arrived at the penthouse, a woman in a stunning white dress checked our names off a list and waved us in with a smile. “Welcome to the exhibition, Mr. Chen, Ms. Ambrose. The gallery is to your right.”
“Exhibition?” I took in the sleek, modern furniture and glass walls overlooking Central Park. The place looked like a private residence, not a museum.
“Private collector. He’s hosting a party displaying his newly acquired works.” Josh guided me to a long marble hall lit by a domed glass skylight. Dozens of paintings hung on the wall in gilded frames, and well-dre
ssed guests circulated with champagne in hand.
I squeezed Josh’s hand again when his eyes lingered on a glass of the bubbly golden liquid.
“And how did you score an invite to this exhibition?” I asked suspiciously. Who could Josh possibly know in New York?
His smug grin rang a dozen alarms. “You’re looking at it.” He pulled me further down the hall until we reached one painting in particular.
My jaw unhinged. “You’re joking. How is this possible?”
It was the atrocious painting from Josh’s room, the one that brought me so much grief last month. Except now, instead of a Hazelburg bedroom, it hung in a multimillion-dollar apartment between a Monet and a de Kooning.
“I sold it. I didn’t want whoever is after the painting to come after me again, so I made the sale as high profile as possible. If they want to fuck with the new owner…” Josh shrugged. “It’s on them.”
“Jesus.” I admit, it was a genius move, though I still couldn’t fathom the idea anyone this rich would pay to have such an ugly painting in their house.
Max was gone, but I was curious about who was intimidating enough that it would deter whatever criminals he’d been running around with.
“Who’s the new owner?” I asked.
“I am.”
I turned at the rich, somewhat familiar voice, and my eyebrows flew up when I saw who it belonged to. I’d only met him once, but I’d recognize that glossy dark hair and beautiful olive skin anywhere.
Dante Russo smiled. “It’s nice to see you both again. I hope you’re enjoying the party.”
So I wasn’t the only one who remembered our encounter in Christian’s library.
“We are, thanks. Your gallery is beautiful,” I said graciously.
I made a mental note to Google Dante later. I’d heard his name somewhere before, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Appreciation for beauty is part of my family business. Luxury goods,” he said when my brow knit in confusion. “Fashion, jewelry, wines and spirits, beauty and cosmetics. All part of the Russo empire.” A self-deprecating note crept into his tone.