Page 35 of Owned By the Russian

She didn’t look up, but the way her fingers tightened slightly around her fork told him she’d heard him. For a moment, the silence stretched. Then she took a bite of shrimp and met his gaze across the table.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” she asked, her tone feigning nonchalance, though he caught the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

Ilya tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Is this your way of admitting it tastes good?”

Valentina rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. It just tastes decent enough for me to be curious.”

“My brothers,” Ilya replied, pouring himself a glass of water. “Fedya, to be specific. He taught everyone how to cook.”

Val’s brows lifted, and she couldn’t keep the amused smile from spreading across her face. “Fedya? Well, that’s… unexpected.”

“Why?”

“Fedya’s always so quiet and reserved. It took him forever to warm up to me?unlike Viktor and Kostya. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Ilya smiled a little as he took a bite of shrimp. She wasn’t wrong. Fedya was the quietest of the five siblings, often blending into the background with his calm demeanor. But what most people didn’t realize was that Fedya had a streak of twisted humor, the kind that could catch even his brothers off guard. Ilya didn’t bother explaining that, though; it was always more fun to let people figure it out for themselves.

Valentina shook her head, her tone light as she went on. “I like your siblings. It’s kind of a relief that they’re not all grade-A assholes like you.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, a sarcastic smile tugging at his lips. “Glad I can set the bar.”

“Seriously, though,” she said, swallowing her food. “Your family’s… nice. A little overwhelming, maybe, but nice.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her plate before adding, “It’s a little different from mine.”

He watched her closely. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she began, twirling her fork between her fingers as she stared ahead, “my siblings aren’t as bad as Rhiannon’s?hers are practically insane?but I’m the youngest, so I’m constantly babied. It doesn’t matter how old I am. To them, I’m still the little kid who couldn’t keep up.”

Ilya stayed quiet, his eyes lingering on her. She said it so casually on the surface, but there was just enough edge in her voice to hint at a deeper frustration.

“And it’s not like they mean any harm or that they don’t believe in me or anything like that,” she added, almost absently. “But sometimes… it’s exhausting.”

Her voice softened at the end, and Ilya resisted the urge to say anything. Instead, he took a slow sip of water, giving her room to speak if she wanted.

For a moment, she didn’t. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint clink of her fork against the plate. When she finally looked up at him, there was a flicker of something in her eyes?guarded but not completely closed off. But he could see the frost starting to harden, and he nodded, finally speaking.

“I get it.”

Val scoffed, a wry smile appearing on her lips. “Yeah, right. You’re the oldest of your siblings. There’s nothing relatable.”

Ilya glanced back at his plate, his grip tightening slightly on the edge of his fork. The words came before he could stop them, like a dam finally giving way under the pressure.

“Maybe not,” he started, his voice low. “But being the oldest doesn’t mean you’re untouchable. Especially when you’re a Nikolaicousin.”

She blinked, the casual defiance on her face softening a fraction into curiosity as he continued.

“People look down their noses at us, waiting for me, Kostya, for any of us, to screw up. Doesn’t matter how much we do right?they’ll always see us as second-class Nikolais. Not good enough to carry the name but still expected to uphold the weight of it.”

His tone wasn’t bitter. It was bland, like he was reading alphabets off a chalkboard. But if you listened closely, you could almost catch the quiet anger he usually kept hidden, wrapped around his words. He set his fork down, the metallic clink against the plate sharper than he intended.

“They don’t say it outright, of course,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “but you can see it in the way they talk to you. The way they act like we’re charity cases who should be grateful just to be in the room.”

Valentina didn’t say anything right away, her gaze fixed on him now, more intent than he was used to. It was like that night all over again, the one where she spotted the injury on his neck and showed concern, only for him to lash out at her. He was an asshole to her that night, more fiercely than usual, and if he hadn’t behaved the way he did, she wouldn’t have had any reason to storm out of the party early only to be a near-victim of an ambush that would have taken her life.

So, as much as he regretted opening up like this, he didn’t try to take it back. He simply bit his tongue and kept quiet.

“Is that why you’re such an asshole?” she asked after a beat, though her tone lacked the usual bite.

A humorless smile graced his face. “Maybe. Hard to say. Might just be my stellar personality.”

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