Page 126 of The Wrong Brother

The very last line of the article speculates if she got pregnant on purpose. The implication makes my blood pressure rise immediately.

I know exactly where this is coming from.

Andrei.

The man has spent his entire adult life manipulating public perception. He understands politics better than I ever will, and politicians do not fight the way criminals do.

They smile. They leak stories. They let reporters do the dirty work.

Knowing that doesn’t make it less infuriating.

Across the room, Emma appears carrying two mugs of coffee. She sees my expression, then glances at the papers.

At least one of us has the fortitude not to read them.

“Bad?” she asks.

I laugh humorlessly. “Define bad.”

She hands me a mug before peering down at the headline currently displayed on my screen.

“Oh. That’s…creative.”

“It’s slander.”

“Not exactly, Rus. They just finally connected the dots—that I dated Andrei before…” She trails off, a pretty blush on her cheeks again.Howdid she make it in the FBI? Maybe that’s what happened; they let her go for blushing too much.

“Before what?” I ask, curious what made her tongue dart out to lick her lips. Her eyes rove down my chest and thighs before she puts down a coffee cup and moves across to the couch.

“Before you and I met,” she answers tightly, and I can’t help smirking back. I know thatmetisn’t what she was thinking about when she thought about what she and I have done.

I set the phone aside.

The problem isn’t the articles themselves. I can survive articles. What bothers me is what they represent.

Momentum. Andrei has it right now. Every day the stories become more aggressive, and reporters will have to look deeper into me. My life, my business.

That’s the last thing I want.

Every day I remain hidden in these mountains while he controls the conversation. The sensation is disturbingly familiar.

Years ago, watching opportunities disappear while Andrei shaped the story. Watching doors close. Watching people choose him and ice me out until I had to fly halfway across the country.

The memory settles heavily in my chest.

Outside, the peaceful morning is turning somehow even more peaceful as a light rain starts. We both look up and out at the patter.

It’s as if the world beyond these mountains does not exist.

“Rus.” Emma points toward something beyond the glass. “A woodpecker.”

I stand, caught off guard by the change in conversation, and lean toward the window. She’s right. Sure enough, a small bird is hammering enthusiastically at a tree near the edge of the clearing.

Emma smiles. “It’s been there all morning. I was watching it while the coffee brewed.”

I stare at it. The bird continues its work despite the rain, making the leaves tremble overhead.

For a brief moment, I’m lost in the normalcy of the day.