Page 54 of Nikola
Penelope: Gosh, those Nikolaevs sono tutti pazzi. Puttane. Sono fuori di testa.
Me: Why are you suddenly messaging in Italian?
Penelope: Practicing. I’m getting married at the end of this year.
Arianna: Whaaat????
Me: Holy shit. Already?
Anya: Don’t you already know Italian? Why practice?
Penelope: I’m not good at cursing in Italian, but I’ll know every fucking word before my wedding day.
Anya: Okaaay, we get it, woman.
Amara: Do you intend to send him into an early grave with all the cussing?
Penelope: He’s not worth it. Besides, mark my words. Enzo Marchetti will regret this wedding before I’m through with him.
Anya: Attagirl.
Amara: Are we invited to the wedding fiasco?
Penelope: Apparently it will be a family-only event. I’m so sorry.
Arianna: Well, that better include me since we are family.
My messaging got interrupted when Kostya knocked and entered my room, his hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets. He whistled while I spun around.
“You look stunning,” he said. “Nikola won’t like that.”
I winced. “Ouch. Why are we talking about Nikola?”
Kostya flashed me a smile.
“Because I know you, and we’re friends-slash-cousins-slash-whatever. I agree with you, Nikola needs a push, and this will be it.”
I smiled sheepishly, letting out a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for not being upfront with you.”
He fished out his phone, then waved it. “Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s post a selfie. We look hot together, but I know you’re not into younger men.”
I threw my head back and laughed just as he snapped the selfie, his smiling eyes meeting mine before flickering to his phone.
“Ah yes, the perfect couple. Just don’t tell your papa or Uncle Sasha. They’d tear me limb by limb.”
“Cross my heart.” I made a sign over my chest and then pretended to lock my mouth and throw away the key.
He put his hand on the small of my back and urged me forward.
“Now let’s have fun torturing Nikola.”
“Where are we going?” I signed to Kostya as he drove down the highway. The manor was far enough from the heart of the city to enjoy some peace and quiet, but still less than a half-hour drive from downtown NOLA.
“Sazerac Bar,” he said, winking. “Nikola’s father owns it, so he’s sure to get updates.”
I chuckled. “Wow, you’re even more strategic than I am.”
Once we arrived, Kostya parked his flashy red Lamborghini right up front, making sure Nikola couldn’t miss it.
