We Could Figure It Out

“Where’s my laptop?” Misha called from the dining room as I finished getting ready, pinning the last of my braid into place and examining the effect in the mirror.

“I think you plugged it in by the couch,” I yelled back. “Is it already time?”

“Yes!” His voice was muffled as he presumably bent over the couch to haul his laptop over to the dining table.

I fished out my Ozma necklace from a jewelry box that was getting more and more stuffed with expensive trinkets that Misha bought me every month. Not for me to wear, not really.

They were an insurance policy. One his father couldn’t take away, growing quietly.

After I clasped the necklace, I joined Misha at the dining table. The dress uniform he’d chosen fit him flawlessly, of course, with its stylish one-shoulder epaulet chain that matched my own glimmering belt. I had declined to ask how much he’d spent on the outfits. I had also pretended not to see the luxury designer’s name on the tag. We were attending the Citadel Securities Halloween party, a huge event with tons of bigwigs. So basically a work function—his positioning mattered, and I was learning to deal with the importance of appearances.

Besides, the actual costume idea was mine, even if Misha executed it.

“Dasha? Ty zdes?” He was saying into the computer’s camera as I slid into place next to him. His sister’s face flickered onto the screen, her curly brown hair darker than Misha’s but her blue eyes and impish smile unmistakable.

“Durak!” She greeted him before her eyes darted to me. “Podruzka, privyetik!” Which was sort of like saying “hey girl!”

“Privyet,” I answered. I continued in my grammatically-iffy but improved Russian: “Isn’t it late there?”

“Eleven-thirty,” she nodded, seven hours later than the East Coast. “But I couldn’t resist calling. Mishka, I have news!”

“What news, Dashenka?” Misha grinned at the screen. “Is it a boyfriend? Does Father know? Are you grounded forever?”

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out. “No, dummy. Lisichka, hit him for me.” It took me a second to catch the command but when I did, I thwapped him gently on the head as he laughed. “Spasibo. No, Mishka, not a boyfriend. I got into Menuhin!”

He broke into applause as I looked at him for context. Dasha saw and tried to explain, but in her excitement she spoke far too fast for me to parse it. “It’s a big-deal violin competition,” he said after he finally noticed my confusion. “Very big deal. Only happens every other year.” He turned back to the screen. “Pozdravlyayu! Dasha, that is amazing. But also totally expected, because you’re the best violinist in the universe. Where is it this time?”

“London!” Her eyes sparkled. “Father is letting me go with Nina and my teacher for a whole two weeks!”

Misha sat back in his chair and put his arm around me. “That’s wonderful, Dashenka. I’m so proud of you.” I glanced at him sharply and his smile was soft—and relieved. He knew about this already. I hoped he hadn’t had to bargain with his father to make sure it could happen.

“There’s more!” Dasha said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “He said you can come to the final round! Both of you! Papa will host!”

I sat up straight and Misha stiffened; this part was news to him. “He’s invited us?” He glanced at me, gauging my reaction.

I wanted to go. I’ve always wanted to see London. And I wanted to meet Dasha in person, not through a screen.

But if his father wanted us there…I tried to school my eagerness. Sure, it could just be for a family photo op. Or for something else entirely. Misha had spent six months on tenterhooks, trying to meet his father’s expectations without doing anything he couldn’t live with. I thought he was doing an incredible job, but it had to be wearing on him. “That’s incredible, Dasha,” I said, squeezing Misha’s knee gently.

She nodded eagerly, but there was sympathy in her eyes, even through the laptop screen. Misha had told me that his sister was somewhat shielded from their father’s ambitions because she was a girl—and because of Misha’s own efforts, of course. But after getting to know her a little, I think Dasha knew more than he thought.

He shook his initial worries off, let the tension bleed away. For now. “Yes, incredible,” he agreed. “We’ll have to talk about it, Dashenka. I would need time off from work, and Emma has school.”

I’d been working my ass off on both my long-awaited senior thesis—and on getting into an MBA program. I had already received an early admissions offer of a full-ride scholarship to Crownbridge’s program.

Which Adrian would also attend.

That was a concern for another day, though.

“I know, I know, everyone’s busy,” Dasha said, waving it off. “Just think about it. I haven’t seen you in two years, durak!” She put on a petulant pout and I couldn’t help laughing.

“We’ll try,” I said firmly.

“Good!” She said, the pout turning into a satisfied grin with dizzying speed. “Now, what are you two so dressed up for?”

Misha glanced down, like he’d forgotten the costume entirely. “Halloween party,” he said with a chuckle. “If you can call a bunch of old shishki a party.”

“Hey, it’ll be fun!” I admonished without heat, bumping his shoulder.

“Halloween? What are those costumes, then?” Dasha squinted at us as Misha struck as much of a pose as he could from a seated position. “Tsarevich and tsaritsa?” She guessed.

“Exactly!” I chirped, pleased that it came across without any overt “costume” details.

“Almost,” Misha corrected, putting his arm back around me and pulling me in to plant a kiss on my forehead before winking at Dasha. “I’m a tsarevich, yes, but my Emma? She is always a queen.”

I turned bright red as Dasha smiled knowingly. “Ah, of course, my apologies,” she said archly. “I should let the queen and her prince charming finish getting ready, right?”

“Bah,” Misha said, waving his hand. “Rich old men can wait. Tell me more about Menuhin.”

“Nyet, nyet, Mishka, you need to be more disciplined for work,” Dasha chastised him, wagging a finger at the screen. “And I need to sleep. I can call you again another night.”

He slumped in his seat, not entirely for show. “You’re such a taskmaster,” he complained, but he was smiling again. “Both of you. My little queen and my little musician. I should never have introduced you.”

“Too late now,” I said, poking his cheek playfully as Dasha laughed and signed off with another goodbye and a promise to call soon. “That’s so exciting for her,” returning to English with some relief as I got back to my feet, brushing off the dress that probably cost more than several months’ rent. My fingers flew back to the necklace at my throat.

Misha stood, reaching for my hand to spin me around. “You look lovely, by the way. Perfect,” he declared, making a grand bow over my hand to press a kiss to it. “I make a poor prince for the queen.”

“Liar,” I said, pulling him upright and slipping my arms around him. “You’re the one with the national treasure eyes.”

He laughed and kissed me, all worries about his father and London melting away for the moment. For all my anxieties, there was one thing I knew was true beyond all doubt.

If we were together, we could figure it out.

Author’s Note

B-Side Track: Cody Fry – I Hear a Symphony

Thank you so much for reading THE RUSSIAN RISK all the way to the end! And will you look at that, it’s October 31, 2026…the day Emma and Misha met. 💕

FUN FACT:

I originally tried to have a Misha track and an Emma track for every chapter, but it was tough to find tracks for the non-POV character that didn’t feel like they meant more than they were supposed to. A lot of the b-side tracks in these author notes are those tracks, but not all of them. (“I Hear a Symphony” was a sacrifice though. It’s a little cheesy but I love it, and Misha’s piano…sigh”

Alright, my lovelies, that is the conclusion of Misha and Emma’s story, for the time being, at least. I have all sorts of other schemes afoot. If you want to hear about them, make sure to follow me on social media or my website/email list.

And one final bonus for you because you’ve been so good 😉

By the lovely and talented Ava Juliet!