DAHLIA WESTBROOKE
I took in another deep breath as the car drove up the long driveway, Tarasov's large hands expertly controlling the wheel. In less than two minutes, I'd be meeting the rest of his family, and I was totally not nervous. Nope. Not at all.
It didn't help that my dearest husband refused to give me a heads-up of what to expect. He wanted me to form 'my own opinions', but my request was had less to do with that and more do with the fact that I didn't want to make a complete fool of myself in front of them because of my nerves.
I smoothed a hand over my dress, straightening out an invisible wrinkle. I'd gone with a red ensemble that hugged my upper body, flaring at my hips to skate just below my knees. I almost didn't wear it because of the little amount of cleavage it showed, afraid it wouldn't appear decent in front of his parents, but with the little amount of time I had to get ready, I couldn't go about changing dresses.
Now, the closer we drew to the door, I wasn't so sure about my option. Maybe I should have gone with the yellow dress instead.
"What if they hate my dress?" I asked my fiftieth question of the night.
I expected Tarasov to let out an exasperated sigh at this point. Hell, I wouldn't be patient with myself at this point, but he showed no signs of irritation when he asked. "What do you think is wrong with your dress?"
"It's too revealing."
"Is it?"
I gestured at my chest area. "Yes. What if I come off as a slag in front of your parents?"
He burst into laughter, killing the engine when the car stopped in front of the entrance into the house. "You have an interesting vocabulary. And no, you don't have to worry about coming off as a 'slag' in front of my parents. They're both dead, so I don't imagine they'll be judging anyone in the nearest future—or forever."
"Oh." That was one way to make all my nerves disappear. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry."
"For what? You didn't kill them," he replied, dryly, like it wasn't a sensitive matter we were discussing.
That led me to believe he hadn't been close to them, but now probably wasn't the right time to pry. The huge front door opened, and a tall man came into view, possibly a few centimeters taller than Tarasov, which I didn't think was possible, given how tall the latter was.
"No, you do not look like a whore, Dahlia. As I said earlier, you look lovely in this dress. I'm more concerned about your shoes, and the odd-looking heels." His brows furrowed with the last statement at the same time his eyes traveled down to my feet.
"They're YSL," I deadpanned. "They're supposed to look that way."
"What way? Like death traps?" He unclasped his seat belt. "Are they even meant for humans to physically be able to walk in them?"
"You saw me walk in them like forty minutes ago," I reminded him, holding back a laugh.
"You're more goddess than human, so you don't count."
He exited the car after casually dropping that bomb, leaving me all tingly and breathless in the car.
More goddess than human.
That was probably the best compliment I'd ever received in my life, and he didn't even realize it.
When he opened my car door, holding out a hand to help me out of my seat, I was still out of breath, my thoughts so utterly clouded, there was no space to fall into another nervous panic. With my hand still in his, he led me up the stairs until we were in front of the other man.
There was a striking resemblance in their features, so it wasn't hard to piece together that they were related, perhaps brothers. But Tarasov hadn't mentioned a brother, so I concluded this was the cousin hosting dinner.
"I thought you two were going to spend forever in that car," he said in a tone just as dry as his cousin's.
Yup, definitely related, no questions asked.
"This is my cousin, Aleksei. Alyosha, my wife, Dahlia," Tarasov made the introductions, ignoring Aleksei's earlier comment.
He held out a hand to me, and I slipped my hand into his firm grip. "It's nice to see you, again."
"Thank you for having me in your home."
"Absolutely. You're family now. Our doors are always open." He turned his attention to his cousin. "Father and Reina are upstairs. Dinner preparations are still being made. In the meantime, would you like a tour of the property?"
The offer was made to me, and I nodded. "I'd love to."
"Alyosha." Tarasov's eyes narrowed into slits, his tone warning.
"What? I can't invite the lady to take a tour of the property anymore?" Aleksei had a boyish, mischievous look in his eyes, and that only caused the hostility in Tarasov's stare to worsen.
"I want to take the tour," I spoke up, breaking up the stare down slash mental argument between them, when the air became suffocating with too much testosterone permeating the space around us.
"Of course." Tarasov nodded once, letting go of my hand. "If he makes you uncomfortable, you're free to walk away mid-conversation."
Just before he brushed past his cousin, he said something in a language I couldn't understand to his cousin, causing the latter to burst into laughter.
"That was Russian, right?" I asked when Tarasov was finally gone. "What did he say?"
"He said he'd put a bullet in my teeth if I spoke out of turn." Aleksei relayed his cousin's words with a smile, like he didn't just threaten to, I don't know, disfigure his face? And from his tone, Tarasov didn't sound like he was joking.
Aleksei must've seen the worry and confusion in my gaze because he quickly brushed me off. "He's just playing around."
"That didn't sound like he was playing around."
He nodded in agreement, mild amusement still swirling in his irises. "True. Viktor is a serious man. He's really not the type to make-"
"Viktor?" I cut him off mid-sentence.
"Hm?" He appeared confused.
"You just said Viktor. That's his name?"