Page 53 of Love to Defy You
Willow quirks her eyebrow at me, but she goes along with it. “Sure. Uh, I’ll go grab my phone.”
Having Enzo here in my apartment for dinner is already proving educational. Imagine what I can learn over multiple days trapped in a ski chalet with him where I have the homefield advantage. The web of secrets he’s spun will inevitably unravel, and I’ll be there when it does.
Besides, I’ll have a special surprise waiting for him, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes I’ve won.
Mikhail’s snores in the passenger seat grate on my nerves, and it’s difficult to focus on the road. I turn up the volume on the car stereo in an attempt to drown him out, but even Tchaikovsky can’t compete with Mikhail Aslanov, so I tighten my grip on the steering wheel of his Escalade and bear it. I don’t trust Mick behind the wheel, especially with Willow in the back seat, so I insisted on driving to St. Moritz, which marks the start of our winter holiday.
After the unwelcome guest at Thanksgiving, I started walking Willow to and from class, and for once, my defiant littlemalishkadidn’t put up any resistance. I haven’t seen Messina lurking in the school hallways or our usual haunts, but Willow and I kept a low profile until after final exams.
The Order of Apollo has been unusually inactive as well, and while I’m relieved by the absence of ritual invitations and late-night kidnappings, their silence keeps me on edge. I have no idea what’s waiting for me next, and I’m tired of glancing over my shoulder at every flicker of movement or sudden noise. It’s exhausting.
I need to get out of Zurich, and now that exams are over, Willow and I can hide away in the St. Moritz chalet for a few weeks of respite—with Mikhail as the third wheel. Josie will join us for New Year’s, and my mother is keeping Ana in Paris for Christmas. So, for now, it’s just the three of us, which gives me time to prepare for the arrival of Enzo and our other guests. I even extended an invitation to Henri Rooman at Willow’srequest. She seems to believe Prisha and Henri would make a cute couple, but I disagree.
If Prisha wants to pop her cherry, Henri doesn’t stand a chance against her fictional men. I doubt the guy even knows what a clitoris is, much less how to find it, and it’s setting her up for disappointment.
I glance in the rearview mirror at Willow, who has also nodded off with her forehead pressed against the window. Her breath fogs the glass with every soft exhale.
I love watching her sleep. She loses her sensual allure when she’s unconscious, transforming into something innocent and pure. It makes me want to defile it.
I didn’t get to claim her virginity for myself, and I envy the idiot who was inside her first—although I’d be willing to bet he didn’t make her come. I wasn’t her first, but I’ll certainly be her last, and that’s what matters.
When we arrive in St. Moritz, the cloudless sky is bright blue against the white horizon of mountain peaks, and the sun reflects off the snow. The road winding up the steep incline toward the chalet is clear, but snow is plowed high on either side into walls of ice.
I follow one last bend before the chalet comes into view. The four-story luxury lodge is built on the mountainside with rich wood framing and panoramic windows overlooking the valley. When I pull into the five-car garage, I kill the music and park.
Mikhail awakens with a grunt. “Are we there yet?”
I turn off the engine. “What does it look like?”
Willow’s dark eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she stirs.
“Come on,malishka,“ I say. “I’ll give you the tour.”
The three of us leave our bags in the car, and I lead the way into the house. I called ahead to make sure the house was staffed—only with our longest-serving and most-trusted staff members—and prepared for Christmas, and when we walk intothe living room, the fourteen-foot tree stands tall in front of the wide windows overlooking the mountain peaks beyond. Green curtains frame the tree in draping velvet.
Willow gasps. “Holy shit, this is nice.”
I wrap my arm around her waist. “Good. I want to spend every Christmas here. Next year, we’ll invite your father and Galina, but this year, I want you all to myself.” I pull her closer and nuzzle my nose against her ear. “We have so many rooms to christen—“
“Alek!”
The feminine sound of my name startles me, and my adrenaline spikes as I whirl around to confront the threat.
But instead of an assassin sent by the Order to eliminate me, I find Anastasia at the top of the staircase. Her long, blonde hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, which sways like a pendulum with each step as she descends the stairs. Her gait is graceful thanks to years of rigorous ballet training my mother forced her to endure. She’s wearing a pink fur coat, white pants, and obnoxious furry boots that go all the way up to her knees.
Ana always knows how to make an entrance.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Mat’said she was keeping you in Paris for the holidays.”
She reaches the bottom floor and approaches me, batting her eyelashes and pushing out her bottom lip. “Starshiy brat,ya skuchal po tebe—“
“Speak English.” I fold my arms and stare down at her over my nose. “Willow is here.”
She turns to Willow and kisses both cheeks. “Forgive me. It means, ‘Big brother, I’ve missed you.’ How are you, Willow?”
“I’m great,” she answers. “God, how long has it been since we saw you in Paris? How old are you now?”
“It’s been at least a year.” Ana flips her ponytail off her shoulder with a delicate flick of the wrist. “I’ll be seventeen in February.”
