Andrei (Quintessence Book 7)

by Serena Akeroyd

  Still, there was a tension to Kurt that hadn’t been there before, and it had nothing to do with the stress of driving through the city.

  When they headed into SoHo, she perked up as they drove down the side streets toward her favorite ‘caff.’ That was how they pronounced it here. She wasn’t sure why, but even though Rossi’s had left its greasy spoon days behind and was now a kind of coffee emporium, they were still proud to be a caff—on the walls behind the fancy coffee machine, as well as the line of drip coffee makers, there were pictures of the place through the ages. She’d often studied them as she paid her bill.

  Eying the female clientele in their A-line skirts with petticoats, and the Teddy boys—a generation of young men who’d pretty much dressed like Elvis Presley with their velvet-trimmed drape jackets, drainpipe trousers, Brylcreemed quiffs, and who had been the rebels of their generation—she truly got a kick out of studying the people who’d frequented the place back in the Fifties.

  She loved Rossi’s. It was probably one of the only places she genuinely felt at ease anymore. The staff all knew her, and they knew Tin, too. Most of them, after the fall, had come to her and hugged her, including Mamma Rossi, the family’s ninety-year-old matriarch. Her gnarled fingers had patted Sascha’s cheek as she’d promised, her voice throaty with too many cigarettes and the remnants of an Italian accent that had been away from the motherland for decades, “Things will get better.”

  The memory, to this day, still had the power to touch her. But, she forced herself to stay cheerful. Kurt didn’t need her to be dour. After that bizarre meeting, he deserved some laughs.

  Kurt pulled another miracle by managing to park about a two minutes’ walk away from Rossi’s, and as he took her hand, they were both more relaxed as they strode towards her favorite purveyor of cakes this side of the Thames.

  “I swear, two nearby parking spaces in one day? I need to bring you along every time I go out.”

  He laughed, displaying white teeth, but even better—the glint in his eyes spoke of genuine amusement. “You can keep me on the dash, if you want.”

  “No, I’ll just let you chauffeur me around. I swear, the traffic is getting worse.” It was a common complaint among all Londoners because, shit, the traffic was never going to get any better.

  The tinkle of the door opening heralded their arrival into the café that hadn’t changed all that much in recent years. They’d started doing afternoon tea, which she was a fan of, and they’d changed some of the seating areas, adding more comfortable seats. The switch had made the place morph into a more chilled atmosphere rather than the working lunch vibe it had before.

  She preferred the switch. Her favorite place to sit here had always been in the corner with a view of the busy street, but it had been popular with most of the locals so wasn’t always empty. Now, there were more armchairs, more comfort, more of a likelihood she’d catch a seat, which made her love this place even more.

  “Have you found that you cling to the places from before more?”

  She blinked at that. “Huh?”

  Kurt rubbed his nose as he took off his suit coat. It was smart, thick navy wool that highlighted his dirty-blond hair to perfection. Underneath, he wore a grey suit with a white button down shirt and a navy tie. He looked like some kind of modern god, and she really, at that moment, could have given him a blowjob.

  Yeah, that was how hot he was.

  She could have slipped his cock out of his fly, dug her nails into his ass, and had him fuck her face.

  And, oh boy, where that had come from, she wasn’t sure.

  Feeling her cheeks flush with the surprising force of the arousal that swirled inside her, she murmured, “Kurt?”

  He grimaced as he draped the coat over the back of the seat and plunked himself opposite her. “I just noticed recently. You never like new places but love the old ones.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, the Holly. It’s new to you, so you weren’t a fan. But if I’d taken you to Roberto Corlino’s or Devianz, I know you’d have enjoyed it.”

  “That’s because they don’t serve crap like that,” she grumbled, referencing restaurants they’d been eating at for a long time. “But maybe it is nostalgia. I don’t know. I doubt it. If the food had been nice, and the company hadn’t been dire, I’d have enjoyed the meal. But can you honestly say you did?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “No. I can’t honestly say I did.”

  That he repeated her words, pretty much verbatim, had her narrowing her eyes at him. The move made him smirk. “What?”

  He shrugged.

  “What?” she barked.

  “It was . . .,” he hesitated, “different seeing you jealous.”

  Sascha gaped at him. “‘Different’? And I wasn’t jealous.” She’d totally been stalked by the green-eyed monster today.

  “You were,” he retorted, his tone amused. “You were jealous.”

  “Like you appreciated Dreyford gawking at my tits,” she said with a sniff.

  That had him waving a hand. “I’m used to men gaping at your tits, Liebchen. It’s par for the course when you have a beauty at your side.”

  Despite herself, she preened. It was pathetic, but she did. She’d been feeling like a slob, so his words were a compliment that boosted her ego. Shameful, but true. “Doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

  He conceded that with a nod. “I don’t. But, like I said, I’m used to it.”

  “And you’re not used to me being jealous?” She cocked a brow at him. “Which I wasn’t. By the way.”

  “You were.” He snickered. “Every time she put her hand on my thigh, I thought you were going to throw your wine at her.”

  Okay, so he’d seen that. She huffed. “Damn woman was all over you.”

  “And you know that you have no reason to be jealous,” he commented softly. “Don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  That made him scowl. “What do you mean?”

  She hadn’t exactly been putting out of late, had she? Men . . . well, they had needs.

  “Sascha—”

  Turning her head away from him, she smiled in relief when one of the servers, a woman called Rebecca, appeared at their side. “Hi, Becca. How’s Tony?” Tony was her four-year-old.

  “He’s a nightmare,” the younger woman groused. “Has decided he’s forgotten his potty training altogether.”

  Sensing Kurt’s confusion, because Tin was a year younger than Tony and had been potty trained for over a year already, she kicked him under the table. “God, kids, I swear they love just messing with our heads.”

  “Or our sheets,” Becca grumbled, then she perked up. “No Tin today? You know I love giving those chubby cheeks a squeeze.”

  “No, he’s with his dad.” That was her go-to answer.

  Becca cut Kurt a look—she knew him. She knew all of Sascha’s men, the woman just didn’t know they were exactly that. Her men. “Hi, Mr. Yeller. You want the usual?”

  “Yes, please.” He smiled at her, yet didn’t seem to notice her blush when Becca looked at him. He then turned his attention back to Sascha who had to hide a smile of her own.

  She’d lucked out.

  Her men weren’t just hot. They were turning into the sexiest silver foxes the world had ever seen. And to compound that, they weren’t assholes about it, either. Even though a part of her wondered why Becca’s heated cheeks didn’t make her jealous but Jennifer Houghton’s attention had, she refrained from maintaining that line of thought, and murmured, “I’ll have some Victoria sponge cake please, Becca. And some loose-leaf Earl Grey.”

  Though she scrawled that on her notepad, she murmured, “We have some cupcakes with Earl Grey frosting. Want some?” There was a teasing smile on her lips because the woman knew her well.

  Grinning, Sascha nodded. “Please. Pack up eight, will you? I’ll take them home.”

  The server shook her head. “I swear, eight cupcakes. And you and Tin are tiny. I don
’t know where you put them.” She wrinkled her nose as she carried on, “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Kurt rubbed his lips before asking, “She thinks you eat everything you buy here yourself?”

  Sascha laughed. “Yes. Well, that Tin and I share it, too.”

  Those royal-blue eyes of his darkened. “I wish it were simpler.”

  Because, after their little session with the paps she understood. She nodded and reached over to hold his wrist. The armchairs were tucked close enough together for her to hold his hand without feeling like her arm was going to drop off. As he laced their fingers, he asked, “Sascha, there is never any fear of—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t, Kurt. I don’t want to talk about it.” And she didn’t. She had faith in her men, trusted them implicitly, but something about Jennifer had gotten under her skin.

  “If you think we’d cheat on you because, what . . . you’ve been recuperating? I’m not happy about that, Sascha. That’s a lack of faith that is very unfair. We’ve never done anything to encour—”

  She held up a hand and peered over at him. “I know.”

  “Then?” he prompted.

  “I don’t think you’d cheat on me.” She didn’t. But she had, for that one moment’s aberration. “I just didn’t like Jennifer. That’s all.” And Jane, Andrei’s PA, now that she thought about it.

  She was used to her men being ogled. If he was used to it with her, then the same could be said with her quintet of hunks, but sometimes, some women just got under her skin.

  Jennifer with the touching, and Jane . . . God, she was always laughing. That fake laugh, too. The one that womenfolk had created to stroke a guy’s ego.

  “When do children normally get potty trained?”

  She reared back at that abrupt change of topic. Frowning, she replied, “Around two or three.”

  “Why did we potty train Tin at eighteen months then?”

  With no choice other than to laugh, she murmured, “Since when did we decide what Tin does? He didn’t like his nappies, so Devon told him he didn’t have to wear them, don’t you remember?”

  Kurt frowned. “No.”

  “You do. You were writing Schwarz.” That was the last book in his Black Blood trilogy.

  “Oh, well, I don’t remember much around then. My brain was a blur.”

  She chuckled, because he really was out of it when he wrote—that was no lie. “Well, Devon said he didn’t have to, then Tin peed on the rug in the office.”

  “I’m sure Dev loved that,” Kurt said, snickering. Then he squinted at her. “Wait a minute. He had that thrown away, didn’t he? Was that why?”

  “Yeah. He said that he’d forever associate it with a urinal.”

  Kurt snickered again. “He’s such a prat sometimes.”

  She winked. “Our prat.”

  “True.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Then, because Tin is Tin and Devon is Devon, Dev showed him how to pee and crap, and ta-dah! We had a potty-trained kid.” She cut Becca a look as she was on her way with a tray of drinks. “Don’t say anything, though. I like to pretend that Tin is normal, and I’m having issues with potty training him, not problems deciding whether he should be learning German or the piano next.”

  When she wrinkled her nose, Kurt’s guffaw made her grin at him. Of course, his laughter inspired some drooling from Becca who ducked her face to avoid eye contact with both him and Sascha.

  With Kurt’s strong coffee and her Earl Grey in hand, they settled back and looked out onto the road. It wasn’t a restful sight. London could never be that, and maybe that was why she was tired of it. She’d always loved it. Up until recently.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She tilted her head to the side to take in both the street and him. “I’m thinking I’ve had enough of London.”

  Her blunt statement had him lifting his brows. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Andrei mentioned you weren’t happy here.”

  “He did?” She winced. “I should have guessed.”

  “We share the things that count, Liebchen,” he murmured softly. “You know that.”

  “I do.” She pursed her lips. “Did he tell all of you?”

  “Ja, of course.”

  “Of course,” she groused, then when Becca appeared once more with their goodies, she thanked her and forked up some of her cake, while Kurt tucked into his waffle with fresh cream and strawberries.

  “Didn’t you want him to share that with us?” he asked, cocking a brow at her.

  “Not particularly. I was just thinking out loud.” On a particularly shitty day. She’d gotten her period that morning, and the sight of it had just. … Sascha blew out a breath.

  This shit was hard.

  She knew how to grieve. She did. But losing the baby? It was a gnawing ache that she didn’t know how to ease; meanwhile, the world carried on, her men’s busy lives continued, Tin didn’t stop developing, and she was left feeling like the last month and a half hadn’t actually happened. It might as well have been the day after the fall rather than a full seven weeks on.

  He nodded, seeming to sense the turn in her mood. “Would you like to be in the country? Outside of the city? Or just a different house with no memories?”

  She thought about the memories that house did contain, and the prospect of leaving it behind entirely filled her with dread. Then, she thought about what she needed, thought about what could be good for her as well as them, and murmured, “You know the family pile?”

  Kurt snorted. “How could I forget?”

  As one of the two legitimate heirs to the Jacobie family estate, she had every right to live in the palatial residence. It was deep in the heart of Surrey, close to London without being too far away, but was a link to her past, as well as a great place for a kid to grow up. All her guys could have as much space as they needed, but Tin could play in the grounds without her worrying, and he’d have more freedom than here.

  Their Kensington villa had a yard, but it was small and enclosed. More like a courtyard than somewhere for him to play. When it rained, which it did a lot, it was totally unusable. She didn’t doubt that it would rain in Surrey, too, but there were more options.

  At her continued silence, Kurt frowned. “You’d like to live there?”

  “It’s an option. You know Edward’s moved to be with the other Silicon Valley bigwigs.” Her nephew, a tech billionaire and a guy fifteen years older than her—shit, it was weird being a young aunt—had left the UK behind after his mother and sister’s trial—his name had been dragged through the gutter, even though he’d been innocent.

  By association, he was vilified, so he’d made the move over the pond.

  She couldn’t blame him even as she felt for him. He’d lost his mother and sister the moment of their arrest. He’d learned his mother had killed her in-laws—Sascha’s parents—and that his sister had helped their mother arrange Sascha’s assassination.

  It seemed incredible to associate such words with her. But, there were several billion reasons why, and those billions were now in her bank account while Elizabeth rotted away in prison on double murder charges, and Laura was serving time for conspiracy.

  Edward hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, but reading the press coverage on the trial, it would be easy to forget that. Even as she was sorry he’d been hounded by the media, she’d been relieved when he’d left for the States. Andrei had worked with him for a long time and seemed to like him, considered him a friend, but she couldn’t be anything other than ill at ease with the man whose family had stolen hers.

  Not that it was his fault, and her dislike of him didn’t make much sense, but instincts were instincts. You couldn’t avoid them or force them to conform.

  “I’ll talk to Sean about it,” Kurt murmured after a moment’s contemplation. He cut her a look as he forked up some more of his dessert. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “He’s been busy.”

  “He�
�s always busy. We all are Sascha, but that doesn’t mean we won’t make time for you. You need to remember that.”

  She sighed—this was becoming an often repeated and tedious topic of conversation among the men. “I know.”

  “No, I don’t think you do, and look what happened because you didn’t want to intrude on our work. You went out without Devon or Sawyer when you should have been tucked safely between them. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t ours. But we need to learn from that tragedy—you don’t feel comfortable interrupting us, and you have to stop thinking that way.”

  She frowned at him, and though she tried to contain her irritation, her voice was waspish as she bit off, “I wanted to go shopping, Kurt. Shopping. And I wanted a goddamn burger. Do you think I don’t listen? Do you think I don’t know that Andrei is trying to save some country’s economy and that he’s hauled Sawyer and Devon in to help him? Do you think I don’t know Sean is trying to stop some freak from getting his paws on another innocent child? And do you think I don’t realize you’re up to your neck in edits?”

  “It doesn’t matter. None of that does,” he retorted, and his hand snapped out to grab her wrist. He held it firmly in his large, warm grip, then stroked the underside, where the many veins collected, with his thumb. That tender caress made her shiver. “You’re all that matters. There will always be another crisis. Another problem. Another worldwide economic disaster to avert. That’s how Andrei works. And Sawyer and Devon aren’t much better. We both know the more complex and complicated it is for them, the more they love it. Sean will always be working on another case, and they just seem to get worse and worse, and I’ll never not be writing a book. That is constant. That is our life. But it doesn’t mean that you don’t take precedence. You and Tin,” he amended.

  She bit her lip—but that was the only way she conceded to his words.

  He reached forward to tug her lip free. “Whatever you want is best for us as a family.”

  “That’s not fair to you guys.” Her whisper made him frown, and deep in his eyes, she saw the welter of concern he felt for her but usually managed to hide.