Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You answer with i vas takzhe. Means ‘And you too.’ ”

She did her best to wrap her lips around the slippery sounds. Who knew Russian sounded so sexy?

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Volkov.”

His mom flapped her hand. “Oh please, it’s Alina. Come.” She clamped her arm through Rosie’s and towed her to the sofa where a short, handsome man in a shiny shirt and pinstripe slacks sat between Babka and a white-haired gent, also short and dapper. The old guy’s attention was focused on the TV, some old comedy in Russian with English subtitles.

“Look, everybody. Meet Eddie’s new sweetheart!” Alina beamed.

Behind her, Eddie scraped a hand down his face, then mouthed, “Sorry.”

Well, shit. This whole scenario itched like a steel-wool sweater, but playing along assuaged her guilt over giving Eddie the wham-bam-thank-you-sir treatment. She forced a toothy smile and waggled her fingers. “Hello. Happy New Year.”

Babka poked her son, who lifted the remote and paused the movie before standing to shake her hand. “Sorry, miss. We always watch this movie on New Year’s Day. The Irony of Fate.”

“Sounds grim.”

“Bah.” Babka flicked her fingers. “It’s hilarious. You see, this guy gets drunk and ends up in the wrong apartment. A beautiful lady lives there, and—”

Eddie cut in. “She doesn’t need the whole story, Babka. Rosie has to go meet her family.”

“Of course, of course.” With a grunt, Babka launched herself to her feet. “But first, try my dumplings, eh? And a few blini with scrambled eggs and caviar. And Alina’s pickled beets.” She nudged the old guy with her foot. “Alexi, get up. Say hello to Eddie’s devushka.”

“Excuse me, dear. Lost in my thoughts.” He rose, clasped Rosie’s hand in his broad, warm palm, then turned to his son. “I have decided. We will try that eco-solvent.”

“Dad,” Alina scolded. “We have company. No one wants to hear about the dry-cleaning business.”

The grandfather pointed a knuckly finger at Alina. “The dry-cleaning business paid for all of this. Dry-cleaning is in our blood.” He turned to Rosie, whose hand he still held. “Tell me, miss, wouldn’t you rather have this beautiful sweater cleaned with organic products?”

“Um, sure?”

Grandpa grinned widely, and Rosie noticed the strong family resemblance to Eddie. Age had softened his jaw, but the sharp cheekbones, bright eyes, and slim, sturdy build were the same. “Now, our Eddie,” he continued, releasing Rosie to clap his grandson on the back, “he knows the importance of keeping up with the times, eh? He’ll do us proud.”

Eddie’s gaze slid to hers, and his grin turned brittle and fake. “Sure, Dedka.”

“Of course he will.” Babka hooked her arm through Rosie’s and tugged her toward the overflowing table. “Now, come try my dumplings.”

The juicy meat-filled dumplings were delicious, and so were the blinis—little buckwheat pancakes topped with scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, caviar, and dill. Eddie’s mom loaded her plate with pickled herring in beet-tinted sour cream sauce, potato salad studded with veggies and chicken, and a generous slice of walnut cake topped with plum jam. She knew she should save room for brunch with her family, but everything was so scrumptious. While she and Eddie ate, squashed together on the little loveseat, she caught his grandma whispering something about “good, sturdy hips” to his grandfather. She glanced up, and the woman gave her a thumbs-up.

Alina settled onto the couch and cleared her throat. “So, Rosie, tell us about yourself. You like working at the bar with our Eduard?”

She wiped sour cream from her lips and glanced at Eddie, who wrinkled his brow in an apologetic gesture. No problem, this one she could answer truthfully. “I do. Bangers is a fun place. We’re like family.”

Eddie’s dad grunted. “Our son doesn’t tell us much about his night job, besides how much he loves the tater tots.” He lifted a slice of salami to his lips. “No reason he should work in a bar when we need him in the shop.”

Alina elbowed him. “Hush, Papa. A young man needs to be around other young people. Besides, he’s only working at the bar until he finishes his business degree.”

That explained why he was forever scribbling in a little notebook he carried in his hip pocket. Must be doing his homework.

Eddie set his plate down. “Dad, could we not talk about this today?”

His father opened his mouth but shut it when Alina elbowed him again. “Time for a toast.” She gathered empty plates from the coffee table. “Eddie, you choose.”

He followed her to the dining room and returned with a tray of shot glasses and an oddly-shaped bottle, slim, white and bent to one side. “From Siberia. The bottle’s supposed to look like a mammoth’s tusk.” He poured them each an ice-cold shot, nudging the smallest pour toward Rosie.

Babka rubbed her hands together. “Our Eddie knows the good stuff.”

Grandpa stood and raised his glass. With a solemn expression, he intoned, “We raise our glasses to Ded Moroz, Grandfather Frost, and his granddaughter. To the new year. Za nо́–vij god.”

Rosie mumbled her best approximation of the phrase and swallowed her shot. It burned pleasantly. “Excellent,” she muttered to Eddie.

“Like Babka says, I know the good stuff.” He bumped his shoulder against hers before downing his shot, then added, “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

She clenched her fist in her lap so hard her nails dug into her palm. Don’ get attached to him.

Oblivious to Rosie’s stiff posture, Alina continued her interrogation. “So, Rosie, you’re going to spend the day with your family? That’s good. Family is what holds us together, right, son?”

“Sure, Mama.” He leaned his head onto Rosie’s shoulder and whispered, “Take me with you.”

“Aww,” Babka cooed. “Look how in love they are. You’ve been hiding her from us, lapochka. Are you a student too, dear?”

“Sort of. I study art.” Good thing her scarf, long sleeves, and thick tights covered her tattoos. Except for her blue hair, she presented a pretty conservative picture this morning. Though colorful people like her were a