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Stanislaski Sisters
Nora Roberts
Stanislaski
Contents
Taming Natasha
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Falling for Rachel
Contents - Next
Eyes snapping with a combination of temper and triumph, Natasha marched into her bedroom. So, Mikhail and Alexi thought it would be funny to dress the dog in her new bra and best dance skirt. And they had discovered, she reflected, just what happened to irritating younger brothers when they put their grubby hands on what didn't belong to them.
She imagined Mik would be limping for the rest of the day.
Best of all, Mama had ordered them to wash the bra and skirt—with their own hands. And hang them out to dry. Where, she thought with growing pleasure, several of the neighbor boys would be sure to see them at their task.
They'd be humiliated.
Mama, she thought, always dealt out perfect justice. It was even better than the kick in the shins she herself had dealt out to her brother.
Natasha turned toward the long mirror on her wall and to calm herself, lowered into a plié. Her fourteen-year-old body was as slim as her brothers', with just a hint of curves at breast and hip. Ballet lessons had taught those limbs, those joints, those bones, to bend, twist, adjust to demands, had schooled her mind toward discipline. And given her heart the greatest of joys. She knew the lessons were expensive, and how hard her parents worked to see that she—and her siblings—had what they wanted most.
Because she knew, she practiced religiously, worked harder than anyone else in her class.
One day she would be a great ballerina, and every time she danced, she would thank them for the gift.
Imagining herself in a sparkling tutu, hearing the music swell, she closed golden-brown eyes, lifted a delicate chin. Her hair, a long curling fall of black, swung gently as she rose on her toes and turned in a slow pirouette.
When she opened them, she saw her sister in the doorway.
"They're nearly finished washing it," Rachel announced. As usual when she looked at Natasha she was struck with a mix of pride and envy. Pride that her sister was so beautiful, looked so lovely when she danced. Envy that at eight she felt she would never be fourteen, never be so pretty, so graceful.
Natasha's ribbons never fell out of her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. And she was getting breasts. They were small, but they were there.
For Rachel, every ambition, need and desire centered around being fourteen.
Natasha merely smiled, turned another pirouette. "Are they whining?"
"A little." Rachel's lips twitched. "When Mama's too far away to hear. And Mik says you broke his leg."
"Good. He deserves a broken leg for taking my things."
"It was a little funny." Rachel came in to bounce on the bed. "Sasha looked so silly in your pretty white bra and pink skirt."
"A little funny," Natasha admitted. She walked to her dresser to pick up her brush. "Maybe very funny when they put on Swan Lake and pretended to dance with him." With temper over, she grinned and ran the brush idly through her hair. "Well, they're only boys."
Rachel wrinkled her nose. Boys were currently very low on her list. "Boys are stupid. They yell too loud and smell too much. Being a girl's better." Though she wore faded jeans, a ragged T-shirt and a Yankees' cap over her disordered black hair, she believed it absolutely.
Her eyes, the same color as her sister's, danced. "We can get them back."
She told herself she was above such things, but Natasha studied Rachel with growing interest. Rachel might have been the baby of the family, but she was devious. "How?"
"Mik's baseball jersey." Which Rachel privately coveted. "I think Sasha would look very handsome in it. When they go out to hang the wash, we can get it."
"Nobody knows where he hides it when he's not wearing it."
"I know." Rachel's smile spread over her pretty face. "I know everything. I'll tell you, and I'll help you pay him back, if…"
Natasha lifted a brow. Devious, and clever. Rachel always had an angle. "If?"
"If I can wear your gold earrings, the little hoops with the stars carved on them."
"The last time I let you wear a pair of my earrings, you lost one."
"I didn't lose it. I just can't find it yet." Part of her wanted to pout, but that would have to wait until the deal was set. "I'll get the jersey, help you dress Sasha, and keep Mama busy. You let me wear the earrings for three days."
"One day."
"Two."
Natasha let out a sigh. "All right then."
With a cagey smile, Rachel held out her hand. "Earrings first."
Shaking her head, Natasha opened her little jewelry box and took out the hoops. "How can you be such a wheedler when you're only eight?"
"When you're the youngest, you have to wheedle." She hopped up, happily putting on the earrings in the mirror. "Everybody else gets everything first. If I were the oldest, these would be my earrings."
"Well, you're not and they're mine. Don't lose them."
Rachel rolled her eyes, then studied the results. She was positive the earrings made her look older. Maybe as much as ten.
"If you're going to wear them, let's fix your hair." Natasha plucked off the ball cap and began to run the brush through Rachel's long, loose curls. "We'll tie it back so the earrings will show."
"I can't find my clip."
"You can use one of mine."
"When you were eight, did you look like me?"
"I don't know." Considering, Natasha bent so their faces were side-by-side in the mirror. "We have the same eyes almost, and our mouths, too. You have a nicer nose."
"I do?" The idea that she had anything nicer or prettier or better than her big sister was a towering thrill. "Really?"
"Yes, I think." Because she understood, Natasha rubbed her cheek against Rachel's. "One day, when we're grown up, people will look when we walk down the street. 'There's the Stanislaski sisters,' they'll say. 'Aren't they a striking pair?'"
The image had Rachel giggling and prancing around the room they shared. "Then they'll see Mikhail and Alexi, and say: 'Oh-oh, here come the Stanislaski brothers and that means trouble.'"
"They'd be right." Natasha heard the back door slam, glanced out the window. "And there they are! Oh, look, Rachel. It's perfect."
The two boys, heads lowered in mortification, dragged their feet on the way to the clothesline while the dog raced in circles around them.
"They look so embarrassed," Natasha said with satisfaction. "Look how red their faces are."
"It's not enough. Let's get the jersey!" Earrings dangling, Rachel grabbed her cap and raced out of the room.
Boys would never defeat the Stanislaski sisters, Natasha thought, and rushed after her.
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"Why is it that all the really great-looking men are married?"
"Is that a trick question?" Natasha arranged a velvet-gowned doll in a child-sized bentwood rocker before she turned to her assistant. "Okay, Annie, what great-looking man are we talking about in particular?"
"The tall, blond and gorgeous one who's standing outside the shop window with his nifty-looking wife and beautiful little girl." Annie tucked a wad of gum into her cheek and heaved a gusty sigh. "They look like an ad for Perfect Family Digest."
"Then perhaps they'll come in and buy the perfect toy."
Natasha stepped back from her grouping of Victorian dolls and accessories with a nod of approval. It looked exactly as she wanted—appealing, elegant and old-fashioned. She checked everything down to the tasseled fan in a tiny, china hand.
The toy store wasn't just her business, it was her greatest pleasure. Everything from the smallest rattle to the biggest stuffed be...
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