Twilight Sins: Chapter 38

Yakov said I could sleep wherever I wanted, but I don’t sleep at all after he’s gone. I sit awake all night wondering what to do.

Was he inviting me to bed? Is he waiting for me in his room right now? If I go, will things go back to the way they were before?

I’m still livid with him, but part of me likes the idea of slipping into the easy rhythm we’d found before I stole that phone. I finally muster the courage to tiptoe out of the guest room at dawn.

If he is lying in bed waiting for me, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to resist him.

Turns out, I don’t have to. When I get to his room, the door is open and the bed is made up. Either he didn’t sleep in here or he is already up and gone for the day.

I swallow down my disappointment and pad into the bathroom.

The shower in the guest room was nice, but Yakov’s shower is straight out of Architectural Digest. The water pressure alone is a dream. I scrub my skin with his woodsy body wash twice. It’s almost embarrassing how much I missed the smell of him.

Once I drag myself out of the warm steam, I take a long time getting ready. I blow-dry my hair, tame my waves into manageable curls, and put on and wipe off three different shades of lipstick before I decide to skip it altogether. Then I stand in front of the closet and wait for the perfect I’m-trying-but-not-too-hard outfit to jump off the hanger.

“This is stupid,” I mutter as I shuffle through my options. “Who cares what he thinks?”

I do. Very much.

There was a single second last night when he looked at me like he wanted to tie me to the bed and have his way with me.

Yakov may not want to be around me right now, but the attraction between us is still there. If I can’t have anything else, I want to remind him of that.

I land on a pair of jeans and a cropped tank. The intricate straps of my bralette crisscross over my chest and wrap around my neck. It’s sexy, but tasteful. Reserved.

Nailin’ it, babe.

I walk down the hallway for the first time in two days feeling surprisingly confident.

Until I reach the kitchen.

There’s a woman—no, a teenage girl—sitting at the island.

I slam to a stop. She’s so busy staring down at her phone that she doesn’t notice me gawking at her. Which is good. Because the “Women Support Women” sticker I’ve had on my laptop for the last few years would not approve of the look on my face or the thoughts going through my head.

This girl has almost no clothes on. Her mini skirt could be a headband and her baby tee might be too small for an actual infant. Plus, it’s barely 8:00 A.M. Who needs a smokey eye and a red lip at the breakfast table?

The girl finally looks up. Her expression doesn’t change. “Oh. Hi.”

She doesn’t sound as surprised to see me as I am to see her. Maybe she’s a regular visitor. Is there any way she is here to see⁠—

No. Absolutely not. She’s a teenager. Yakov would never do that.

“Can’t even say ‘hello.’ Looks like my brother bagged a real genius,” she mumbles, as if I can’t hear her.

Brother.

“Mariya,” I blurt before I can stop myself. It’s more from relief than anything else.

“Who are you? Aside from my brother’s latest hookup.” She looks me up and down. “Nice jeans. I didn’t know bootcut was still a thing.”

God, teenagers are the fucking worst.

I paste on a smile even though I already want to grab this little snot by the throat. “My name is Luna. I’m staying here.”

“What does that mean? ‘Staying here?’” Mariya asks.

“It means what I said. I’m staying here.”

I walk to the pantry like I own the place. Like I’m a guest who knows my way around. Like I didn’t just spend the past two days locked in a bedroom.

If Mariya even buys that I’ve been in this house longer than one day, I’ll be happy. With every second her attention is on me, I can feel my confidence draining away. It’s like walking past the cheerleaders in high school all over again.

“Are you two dating?”

I smile sweetly. “Like I said, I’m staying here. I’ll let your brother tell you anything more than that. I don’t want to overstep.”

She rolls her eyes. “Translation: you’re sleeping together. Good to know.”

Mariya is playing tough, but she’s as nervous of me as I am of her. I remember what it was like to be a teenage girl.

I sit at the stool two away from Mariya. “When did you get in from Moscow?”

Why are you here? When did Yakov decide he wanted you to live with him? Was he ever going to tell me?

Last I knew, Yakov didn’t want Mariya here. He didn’t think it was safe for her. Apparently, a lot has changed in the last two days.

“Late last night.”

“You’re up early then.”

“Jetlag.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe you’re the reason he doesn’t want me staying here. Is he ashamed of you or something?”

Just casually preying on my biggest insecurities. No big deal. I’m fine.

“Whatever your brother decides, it has nothing to do with me,” I tell her. “But I doubt he’d tell you he doesn’t want you to stay here.”

Not to her face, anyway.

She snorts derisively. “You should have seen him last night. Me showing up on his front porch wasn’t on his bingo card. He looked like he was gonna be sick.”

Mariya showed up out of the blue. That makes more sense.

He said his mom wanted her to stay here, but he’d refused. Apparently, they went over his head. God help them.

“You got in last night?”

“Around midnight,” she mumbles, her thin fingers wrapped tightly around a coffee mug.

Around the time Yakov let me out of the guest room.

He must have thought it wasn’t worth the trouble to explain to his sister why he had a woman trapped in a guest bedroom. I might owe Mariya a thank you card. Her showing up may have earned me my freedom.

“He wants me on the first flight out today, but I already told him I’m staying.” She lifts her chin defiantly. “I am not going to be kicked out of my own house because my brother wants to shack up with some rando.”

Scratch the thank you card. I’ll show my gratitude by not shoving her tiny ass off her stool and punting her into the stratosphere.

I take a deep breath and smile. “You look a lot different than the picture I saw of you in Yakov’s office.”

“He has a picture of me in his office?”

“A few of them, actually. Of you and Nikandr.”

“The Ice King has a heart. Who would have guessed?”

“He cares a lot about you. He just wants what is best for you.”

Yakov and I may not be on the best terms, but I don’t want to come between him and his family. Plus, I need all the brownie points I can get right now.

“Really?” Mariya turns to me, both brows raised.

I smile gently. “Of course. He cares about you and wants⁠—”

“No. I mean… really?” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not going to tell him all the nice things you said about him when he wasn’t looking. He already slept with you. Stop being so desperate.”

My self-control, already straining under Mariya’s attitude, snaps in half.

I drop my protein bar on the counter and turn to her. “Listen, I know you’re troubled and lashing out. ‘Hurt people hurt people’ and all that bullshit. But I’m not here to be your doormat. If you want to talk about why you’re really mad, go ahead. If not, maybe we should stop talking. For your sake.”

Her eyes go wide.

For a second, I think tough love might be the solution.

Maybe no one has ever talked to Mariya like this. She just needed a firm hand and I provided that. I’m the one who got through to Yakov’s sister. I saved the day.

“You’re right. You’re not a doormat. You’re just the bitch my brother is sleeping with.” She stands up, a genuine smile on her face. “I’ll see you around. Or… probably not.”

With that, Mariya Kulikov grabs her coffee and leaves me sitting alone, speechless.