“Эта женщина будет моей смертью,” he muttered something under his breath
“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. “What did you just say?”
Ethan avoided my gaze, his eyes firmly glued to his plate of pancakes like I hadn’t just asked him a question. Classic Ethan. Of course, he didn’t respond. That would require a bare minimum of human interaction, and let’s be real—he acted like basic communication might physically harm him. It was almost impressive how committed he was to being infuriating.
Greg, however, did look up. His jaw tightened as he shot Ethan a look that could have sliced through steel. “Я же сказал тебе не говорить по-русски, когда мы с ними,” he said sharply—in Russian.
Seriously? Russian again? What was this, some secret spy convention?
Ethan scoffed, leaning back
