The God (Bratva Blood #3)- S.R. Jones Page 0,33

floundered. My parents did. Eventually they split, from the stress I think. Then, thankfully, Mom had enough money to take us to London, and life started anew. I still love London. I adore that smell of the underground you get as you walk by a station, a faint burnt electric scent. I love the parks. The buildings. All of it. London gave me joy, life, and a chance.

Paris, I don’t love. Not because of the city itself, but all it signifies for me. This is the place my soul died.

We are all seated as the food is served. I have Lilliana opposite me, with Bohdan one side of me, and Charles the other. Jasper sits next to Lilliana.

Despite her stunning looks, I’m not remotely worried my husband will flirt with her. He never does. He screws the blondes, but he doesn’t flirt with them. I think he simply lays them down and takes what he wants. The way he did to me for a full year before he stopped coming near me.

The warmth of Bohdan next to me is enticing. I could simply lean to one side, like a listing ship, and rest my head on his shoulder.

For a crazy moment, I get the urge to do just that. I can’t. Jasper would go insane. He’d likely bash my skull in with the ornate candlesticks, witnesses be damned. I almost smile at the thought of how perplexed, then livid, he would be if I did such a thing.

The starter is a huge seafood platter, and I glower at Jasper. I hate seafood. He knows this. Why has he served it?

“Help yourselves, everyone,” he says.

I wait until everyone has served themselves, except for myself and Bohdan, so I can hopefully nibble a tiny bit, and no one will notice. Jasper isn’t eating his; instead, he’s watching our side of the table, but it’s not me he’s focused on but Bohdan.

“Are you going to have some?” Jasper asks. “This was very expensive.”

“No,” Bohdan says.

Not, no thank you. Simply no.

“Oh, but the chef went to such effort,” Jasper cajoles. “A tiny taste.”

“No,” Bohdan says again. “I don’t like it.”

“Ah, yes, I’m so sorry. I remember now.” Jasper gives Bohdan a small smile. “I forgot you told me, of course.”

Jasper is playing games because it’s what he does. It’s a way for him to test people out and find their weaknesses. He found mine easily enough. The need to keep dancing, the obsession with my craft, my mother being wholly reliant on me financially these days. These are all my weaknesses. He knew straight away the thing to do to control me was threaten my mother, then my livelihood by threatening my feet.

I wonder what Bohdan’s weaknesses are? Jasper has just found out what they are not. Bohdan doesn’t care about being polite.

We all eat, me only nibbling at some fruit and a tiny bit of lobster meat, but Bohdan eats nothing.

“The fruit is good,” Jasper says. “You can’t taste the seafood on it.”

Bohdan grins, reaches out, and picks up a piece of melon with his fingers, before popping it into his mouth and chewing ostentatiously. He swallows, wipes his fingers on his napkin and shrugs. “Yeah, it is good.”

I bite back a smile. These two are playing a game, but I think for once Jasper might have met his match.

The main course arrives soon after, and it’s beef bourguignon, which I love. The vegetables are perfection, crisp and fresh. The meat is lovely too, all tender and rich.

We have red wine with it, and I sip at mine, wanting for once to get absolutely wasted, but knowing I can’t. I must dance tomorrow.

“So, Bohdan, where are you from?” Jasper asks.

I freeze. No way will Jasper think it is coincidence that Bohdan is from the same area of St. Petersburg as me.

“Moscow,” Bohdan says smoothly.

“So fascinating that you’re Russian too,” Jasper replies, as he sips at his wine.

“Not really, there’s a lot of us,” Bohdan says. He wipes his mouth with his napkin, a movement I follow out of the corner of my eye and sips at the wine. “It’s one of the reasons I was given the job.”

“It is?” Jasper asks.

“Yes, you see, if the worst were to happen and your wife and I find ourselves in a dangerous situation, we can communicate in Russian, and hopefully whoever the sick fuck … excuse me, the sick person is who is harassing her, they won’t understand.”

“I’d love to visit Russia,” Lilliana says.

“It’s very beautiful