Yan runs a hand over his balding head and smacks his lips together. They are perpetually dry and bleeding. I’ve learned to tolerate the smacking.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I c**k my head to the side. I’m not sure Yan and I are close enough to justify a comment like that.
He seems to realize the same thing, because he smacks his lips again. “Your father and Maksim seemed to believe that you weren’t the marrying type. That’s all I mean.”
The casual way he mentions Maksim is another thing that’s always rankled. Apparently, he missed the memo: Maksim’s name is only to be mentioned when absolutely necessary. Throwing it around in casual conversation feels blasphemous.
“Whether they believed it or not is immaterial. I’m getting married, and I intend to include m
