“Don’t tell Nik,” he says. I wonder if he stole them. “And don’t get another cavity. He’ll blame me.”
She gives him a look. “Like I can help that.”
“Chew slower,” he refutes.
I try not to laugh. There’s no way the pace you eat stops a cavity from forming, but it’s kind of cute that he’d suggest it to his little sister. And by cute, I do mean the “unsexy friend” type.
“I’ll share with Thora.” Katya nudges my hip with her foot and throws me a packet.
Luka leans his shoulders against the blue Celeste poster, scrutinizing me more closely, like a cop would a suspect. I guess it’s only fair. I’m stepping into his world without his permission.
“Are you going to rat me out?” He glares. And a Kotova glare is harsher than most, I’ve found.
“For Skittles?” I say like it’s a silly notion. Though it’s more than that—he’s gauging how loyal I am to Nikolai. And maybe reading into that too, for a relationship status. Or maybe I’m going crazy, assuming things that shouldn’t be assumed. Like Nikolai does. Okay, I may need to reevaluate my thought process soon.
“Yeah,” he says tensely, “for Skittles.” It’s like Skittles has become a code word. I’d be funnier if he wasn’t so serious right now.
“I won’t rat you out for Skittles,” I assure him.
After a long cagey moment, he finally nods, accepting my answer. Then the door cracks open again, this time Timo slides in, strands of brown hair touching his eyelashes. “Anyone have a hundred I can borrow?”
I frown and accidentally blurt out, “A hundred bucks?”
His lips rise, stuffing his hands into his leather jacket. “If I could gamble with a hundred hugs, you know I would, Thora James.” Yeah—I imagine John not liking that turn of events very much.
Luka stays quiet, but Katya reaches for her silver-studded clutch on the nearby dresser.
“Or a fifty.” Timo checks the Marilyn Monroe desk clock, antsy.
“You should really save up for Saint Petersburg,” Katya tells him, unzipping her wallet.
“I’ve already been to Saint Petersburg.”
“As a baby. It doesn’t count.” Katya leisurely inspects each credit card slot, avoiding the cash one. I think she’s purposefully prolonging this conversation, to have extra company, even for a moment’s time. “Nikolai let Luka visit when he was eighteen, and he said in two years, he’d let me go with you—”
“I’m not going to Russia,” he cuts her off. “I like it here, Kat. We all like it here. Right, Thora?”
I raise my hands, pleading the fifth. “I just got here.” I uneasily stand from Katya’s bed, afraid to be caught within the crossfire of a sibling fight. Since Tanner is so much younger than me, my relationship with my little brother is distanced at best. Sure, I love him, but we never hung out as friends. I’ve never been a part of close, in-your-face annoyances that brothers and sisters stir up.
I’m wading in new territory. Which has been my Vegas experience since day one. At least it’s not that unexpected anymore, some positives there.
Without peeking into the cash slot, Katya slowly zips her wallet and even buttons the flap, as though sealing Timo’s fate. “I have no money.”
This isn’t going to end well.
Timo’s face falls. “Come on, please. Don’t do this.”
She sticks her earbuds in, ignoring him.
“Katya,” he pleads. “You don’t want to go to Saint Petersburg. What’s there?”
Her cheeks flush red, able to hear him. “Family.”
Timo shakes his head wildly, his earring swaying. “Your family is here. Have you even talked to Luka about his trip?”
Luka shifts his weight apprehensively. “Stop, Timo.”
But Katya takes the bait, pulling out her earbuds. Her orb-like eyes tentatively flicker to me, for reassurance, I think. As though I can tell her the right path. I can’t. That’s for her to decide. I’m honestly just a bystander, a voyeur in the Kotova backstage experience. This time, I think I did purchase a ticket to it.
“What happened?” Katya asks her older brother.
“Nothing,” Luka says. “Nothing happened.”
Timo points at Luka, about to share details that aren’t his. My interest has peaked. Curiosity—it’s a naughty, wicked thing.
“You said you felt lost. Don’t lie,” Timo retorts.
Luka removes his baseball cap, combing his fingers through his short hair. “Look,” he says to both his siblings. Then he struggles for the next words.
Like Katya, he turns to me for that same support. I almost wonder if Nikolai fills this role in their lives. I just nod to him in encouragement, internally saying you can do this, whatever this is.
His chest inflates, his shoulders rising. “…I thought I’d feel…home when I got there, but I didn’t. A lot was foreign to me. I felt foreign. Growing up here with part of the culture is different. We’re different, and we don’t fit in there…Kat.”
Tears well in her eyes, and her chin trembles. “But we don’t fit in here.”
Timo chimes in, “Yeah we do. Maybe what you’re feeling is internal, so don’t take it out on us.” He’s still trying to get her cash.
Katya flips him off.
I smile.
Timo groans. “Come on, Kat—” She dives underneath her comforter, physically icing him out. He sighs in frustration and turns to Luka.
“No.”
Timo focuses on me and presses his palms together, in prayer formation. “Please, please, Thora James. I’ll even take a twenty and pay you back fifty after I win big. You know I can.”
When I sat with him at John’s table, he won forty extra dollars, but he only left because he had to go prep for Amour. I tell him the truth, “I don’t carry cash on me.”
The door whips open for the third time, and I realize that the television is shut off, no interfering noise below. Everyone must’ve left. Nikolai stands strict in the door frame, and Timo and Luka go suspiciously quiet.
We can all hear Katya crying softly beneath her purple comforter.
“What’d you do?” He looks between both his brothers.
Timo rolls his eyes, but I see the remorse flood his features, his bright gray irises beginning to cloud. “I told her that I’m not going to Saint Petersburg.”
Nikolai glowers like why would you ever fucking tell her that? He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Everyone knew I was never going to go,” Timo refutes.
Luka whispers back, “You could’ve let her believe what she wanted, at least for two more years.”
Timo touches his chest. “I’m being criticized for telling the truth. Does anyone see how wrong this is?” He looks to me. “Thora?”
“Don’t bring her into your shit,” Nikolai cuts in. He gestures to me with two fingers, and when I approach him, he slips his hand in mine. I relax almost instantly, muscles loosening that I didn’t even realize were strained.
“She was my friend first,” Timo snaps. “Just think about that when you’re fu—”
Nikolai interjects with a bunch of Russian words. My eyes nearly pop out. He was going to say when you’re fucking. We’re not doing that. No. My neck heats.