Sasha crossed one ankle over the other. “Think I’ll stay here, mate.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, slipping from Christian’s lap and running to the bathroom. Her drink went with her.
“Let me know if you need help washing your back, dear,” Sasha called out, his phone in his hands.
“Why are you still here?”
“To compliment you on your exquisite taste in wives.”
“Glad you approve,” Christian replied. “However, it’s wife in the singular sense and you keep your bloody compliments to yourself.”
An evil grin lit Sasha’s face. “Surely you can’t be thinking to keep her all to yourself?”
Christian glared at him, until he heard the shower running and the television blaring. Apparently, she had turned it to one of the five thousand music channels because in the next heartbeat, Zoe was singing along to some hideous pop song.
“Still want her?” Christian asked as Sasha’s expression became one of pain.
“Please tell me she doesn’t do that when you shag her.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Less than twenty-four hours of being leg-shackled and you’re already boring.” Sasha tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“Where were you last night?” Christian asked, ignoring the smirk on his cousin’s face as they walked out of the bedroom.
“I was otherwise occupied.”
“You mean you were shagging some woman blind, then got pissed.”
“You say tomato and I say…We say it the exact same way. Anyway, after satisfying the very lovely Kianna and getting a text from you, I left her sleeping in bed while I performed my duties for you.” He gestured to the living room, where several packages were piled on the coffee table. “As you can see, you interrupted my night.”
“Yes, a virtual martyr you’ve become. Shall I look for marks of self-flagellation?”
A woman walked by, disappearing into his bedroom with what he assumed were Zoe’s belongings. Her purple laptop was plugged in and humming on a nearby desk. An enormous vase of sunflowers sat on the corner beside it.
His cousin sauntered over to a nearby table and gathered a packet. “I’ve got a whole list of details on your new wife, but I’m afraid she’s rather boring. No love child. Used to be a waitress. No drug history. Lives near her parents. Volunteers at the food bank, church and the local library.” He pulled a face. “Ugh, make it bloody boring. However, the bit about some legendary local springs and only true love finding them sound interesting. Marginally.”
“You can thank me later by actually paying me,” he added, waving the papers at Christian.
Christian grunted as he eyed him, taking note of the designer pants, slim-fitting button down and Italian handcrafted shoes. Sasha wasn’t hurting for anything. “Where in God’s name did you get all this information so quickly?”
“Imagine, if you will, a search engine that allows you to type in the object of your knowledge quest and presto,” Sasha snapped his fingers, “It’s laid down at your proverbial feet. Anyway, Zoe Martha Ambrose of Holland Springs, North Carolina, has four brothers and one sister who posts YouTube videos of herself singing. One of them you might know. His name is Dr. Luke Ambrose and he has a reality show on HBO.”
“I already know about her family. Well, the highlights.” Christian had heard rumblings of the supposed good looking doctor. “But isn’t he Latin or something?”
“He and his twin brother, Logan, were adopted by the Ambroses. Found them as children on a mission trip to South America. Can’t remember the country right off hand. Maybe Chile.” Sasha shrugged. “You know the whole time I was doing this the theme from Mission: Impossible kept playing in my head.”
“At least something was there to keep your lone brain cell company.”
“At least I’m not sexually frustrated. I thought the curse of the wedding ring didn’t happen until at least a year into to it,” Sasha said.
Murder was illegal, Christian thought. Was it still considered murder if it was a crime of passion? Because right now, he felt like choking Sasha—passionately.
Christian grabbed an orange from the fruit basket and peeled it, popping a slice in his mouth. “Did you bring what I wanted?”
Two women entered the room, their uniforms identifying them as staff as they began to clean. The younger one kept giving them side glances and bending over at the waist to show off her Kim Kardashian asset. It was wasted on him, but not apparently on Sasha.
“Catch.” Sasha winked at the woman and threw a box from the table into Christian’s waiting hand. He set down the fruit and opened the package. Nestled inside was his grandmother’s wedding ring. It looked small enough to fit Zoe’s finger. Actually, it looked like it was made for her.
“Sebastian is going to kill you when he finds out.”
“I know.” Christian grinned big and shoved it in his pocket. “That’s why I had you get it.”
“He wanted that ring for his fiancé,” Sasha revealed.
“My brother’s engaged?”
“No.” Sasha hopped on the table and grabbed an apple, polishing it on his shirt before he took a bite. “He’s planning ahead. You know his saying.”
“‘Prior planning prevents piss-poor performance’,” they said in unison.
“Sebastian needs to try being in his twenties,” Christian said. “Then again, I might be the one forced to run for a position with the EU.”
“But just look at you now, old man. You’re going all respectable. Guess I’ll be forced to go at it alone from now on.” Sasha took another bite of the apple before setting it down beside him.
“You’ll survive, I’m sure.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” A fierce light entered Sasha’s eyes, but as quickly as it came it left. “This wasn’t for good press was it?”
Christian shrugged his shoulders in answer and dipped his head slightly. “There’s something about her.”
“And that would be?”
The answer was clear, and he embraced it fully. “There are some things a man shares with his wife before he announces it to the world.”
Sasha half jumped off the table and thrust the stapled print-out to Christian. “Be as vague as you want, mate.”