Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

Prologue

Damir

“You fucker. You’re alive.”

I spread my arms wide and grin at Mikhail. “In the flesh.”

He glares at me, eyes groggy with sleep and his black curls tousled. My big brother has smiled about three times in his twenty-four years on this earth and he’s not about to bestow one of those rare jewels on me now.

“It’s three o’clock in the goddamn morning, Damir.” He turns abruptly, disappearing into his apartment but leaving the door open for me.

I follow, taking in the bare walls, the minimalist furniture. The only personal items are a laptop on the dining table next to a briefcase with documents spilling out. The Ravnikar men always did prefer working to living.

Mikhail yanks a bottle of Polish vodka out of the freezer and slops two measures into glasses. Beyond the plate glass windows is London, a jumble of shining lights and the dark, sinuous ribbon of the Thames. The view is the reason Mikhail chose this penthouse apartment, about a year before I disappeared. He might not be much into décor, but he loves to watch the city. I give the vista a dispassionate glance. I’m not into views.

You could say I’m more of a people person.

Glancing at Mikhail as he hands me a vodka, I wonder how hard I’m going to have to work to make him do what I want.

“Na zdravje,” I say, toasting him. “My flight got in after midnight. I couldn’t think where else to go.”

“Ever heard of a hotel?”

My instincts tell me to grin boyishly at him. “But I’ve missed you.”

Mikhail takes a swallow of vodka. His eyes are filled with flat antipathy. “Go fuck yourself, Damir.”

I drop the smile. That’s fair, after what I did. I examine my big brother carefully. He’s changed in the years I’ve been gone. He never used to drink like this. His complexion is dull with unhappiness and he looks far older than his years. “How’s father?”

Mikhail takes another swallow of vodka, and his big shoulders tense. “The same.”

“Shame,” I say lightly. “I was hoping he’d be dead.”

Mikhail grimaces, and I know him well enough to read the I wish in his eyes. Things must really be bad if even good little Misha is wishing bodily harm on another person. Excitement blazes through me. This is my in.

I casually swirl the vodka in my glass. “Been going well, the two of you working together?”

Mikhail pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps onto the sofa. “Nothing I do is good enough for him. I’m not good enough.” He levels a bleak gaze at me. “I’m not you. Why the fuck did you leave?”

“You think anything I did was ever good enough for him?” I snarl.

“Yes. Everything. He’s always telling me I’ll never measure up to you. That I don’t have the killer instinct.”

Father never said such things to me, apart from the killer instinct thing. That he told me often. Our parents have pitted Mikhail and I against each other our whole lives, one out of love, and the other out of spite. “Then quit. Our father is a relic from another time. We know more about property development in this country and age than he does. Let’s make our own company.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mikhail mutters into his glass.

This is the difference between Mikhail and me. He’s always been darkly fatalistic, whereas I prefer to drive my own destiny. He’s not stupid by any means, despite what our father has told him. He’s smarter than I am in terms of figures and deals.

This is why I need him. I just have to make him believe he needs me, too.

“I’m serious. The right investments. The best projects. We can start small and make something huge together, I know we can. You always wanted to build a skyscraper in London. Let’s do it. Let’s build twenty.”

Mikhail scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m too tired for this. Go to a hotel or something and leave me alone.”

“Just because you’re on one path right now doesn’t mean you can’t change tracks. Kristus, you’re so stubborn.”

“And you’re always so fast to throw everyone who loves you under a fucking bus!” he roars.

“I left because I had to!”

Mikhail and I glare at each other, breathing hard. It’s the truth. I was going to kill our father, but now I wonder why I ever thought that would be so terrible. Panic rolls through me because I spoke from pure emotion, and I never do that. I quickly go over what I said, wondering if I need to do any damage control. But Mikhail nods slowly, and I see that the truth was far more convincing than anything else I could have said. He drains his glass and puts it down onto the coffee table, turning it thoughtfully as if s