"I'd like to apologize in advance for anything my family does tonight that is insane, invasive, or generally damaging," Kurt said, clasping Pyotr's hand. He had to admit that the Russian cleaned up well. Then again, so did Nikolai.

Kurt tried to remind himself that there was nothing to be nervous about. Evan had already met his family once. He’d had the cleaners in, and his whole, massive house sparkled. It would be fine.

He just wished it didn’t feel like a life-or-death moment.

Evan, already striding across the foyer, just shook his head. "Your family has nothing on his," he called back. He was wearing a pair of slacks that hugged his mouthwatering ass, and Kurt had to tear his eyes away.

Pyotr shrugged at the raised eyebrow Kurt sent his way. "Family is complicated," he said, his accent thickening the words just slightly. "I apologize in advance for scaring your women."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," Kurt said, wincing a little as someone screeched. Apparently, Evan had found his sisters. "Better get this over with. I love my family."

If Pyotr thought his little mantra was anything odd, he didn't say so, nodding and straightening his back as they headed into the house. He looked about as enthusiastic as if he were heading into battle.

"They're really not that bad," Kurt said. In all fairness, they tended to tone it down around strangers. Pyotr didn't look reassured.

By the time the caught up with him, Evan was in the thick of things. Marizza was gesturing wildly as she told some story or another, her wine glass coming perilously close to Catherine's head more than once. Mama had one arm around Evan, a smear of her lipstick already darkening the jut of his cheekbone.

Venice and Elodie were arguing in one corner, both of them freezing when Pyotr came around the corner. Lucia was nowhere to be seen.

Everything ground to a halt, and beside him, Pyotr went stiff. His shoulders twitched like he wanted to curl in on himself, but he stood tall.

Elodie was the first to break the silence. "You," she said, jabbing a finger in his direction, "didn't tell us you were bringing company."

"That's my fault," Evan said, ducking his head sheepishly. "This is my best friend, Pyotr. I invited him along."

Kurt gaped as his mother smoothed a hand over his hair and shushed him. "It's no trouble," she said. "We're so happy to meet you." She detached herself from Evan to haul Pyotr in for a kiss on the cheek, her lipstick clinging unevenly to the ridges of his scars.

Behind her back, Evan grinned smugly at them both.

Sharp nails closed on the ridge of his ear, and Kurt winced. "You should have mentioned that there would be someone extra for dinner," Mama said, her voice cheerfully threatening.

"Sorry, Mama," he said, leaning into her hold to try and lessen the pain a little.

She brushed her lips to his cheek, leaving a second sticky smear. "Of course you're forgiven, baby." His ear burned as she released it, the blood rushing back in just as painful as her hold.

Catherine, always the most diplomatic of the sisters, stepped forward and held her hand out to Pyotr. "My brother seems to have forgotten his manners, so let me introduce you. I'm Catherine," she said, "and these are Venice, Marizza, and Elodie."

She gave him a firm handshake, unconcerned by his size. Pyotr, on the other hand, handled her like she was made of glass. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice barely above a rumbling whisper.

"Please, have a seat," Mama said, ushering them all to the couches set up on one side of the massive great room. The other half was mostly empty, with a mirrored bar that saw a lot of use during parties.

Kurt caught Pyotr's eye and subtly gestured him to the big, leather armchair to his left. He'd bought it specifically for a heavily pregnant friend to use during a visit, and it had been so comfortable it had stayed. It was the least likely to give way, but Pyotr perched on it carefully all the same.

The less comfortable loveseat that Venice usually sprawled on was just wide enough for Kurt to sit down, Evan pressed against his side. He draped an arm over Evan's shoulders and tried to look natural.

"So what is it that you do, Evan?" Mama asked, kicking Elodie's shoe until she made space on the couch for another body.

"I own a few properties on 175th Street," Evan said, "and I run a bar out of one of them."

"How exciting," Mama said, completely sincerely. There was only a film of wine in the bottom of her glass, and she stared at it morosely. "Our family is also in the real estate business."

"Oh?" Evan said. His eyes flicked to Kurt, and Catherine laughed.

"Not Kurt. He had to go and fall in love with the stock market," she said. "He and Lucia are the black sheep of the family."

"Where is Lucia?" Mama asked, her head coming up like a hound scenting the air. "She came over with us, didn't she?"

"She's hiding in the bathroom," Elodie muttered under her breath. Marizza elbowed her in the ribs, and Elodie shoved her back. "She is."

Kurt sighed. He'd expected as much, honestly. "I'll go get her. Don't start dinner without me."

Mama reared back and glared down her nose at him. "I would never," she protested.

"It was a joke, Mama," Catherine said, pouring more wine into both of their glasses.

Getting to his feet, Kurt hesitated with his hand on Evan's shoulder. It wasn't kind of him to leave Evan to the wolves, but he couldn't leave Lucia hiding in the bathroom, either.

Evan patted him on the hand, his eyes sparkling. "Go. We'll keep the ladies entertained. Pyotr can tell the story about the time his mother threatened to shoot an insurance agent."

"Which time?" Pyotr asked, deadpan. He hadn't relaxed much, his shoulders hunched as if he could hide his face. It was a posture that Kurt was intimately familiar with, and he found that he hated it just as much on the big bruiser of an alpha as he did on his little sister.

Even if Pyotr and Lucia didn't hit it off, maybe introducing the Russian to his family would be good for him. None of them were bothered by scars.

There were six bathrooms in the house, but only one of them had books hidden in the cupboard. Leaning against the door frame, Kurt pressed his forehead against the door. "Hi," he said, his breath dulling the shine of the varnish.

There was no answer, but he could hear the shift of fabric.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that Pyotr was coming." He could have opened the door; it was never locked. It seemed more intimate somehow to speak through it, easier to speak from the heart if he didn't have to see the fear in her eyes. "You don't have to hide out in here."

"Yes, I do." She didn't even sound upset about it anymore.

“Lucia—"

"There was a new cashier at the store today," she said sharply. "I didn't even think about it until I got to the front, and she dropped the juice."

Closing his eyes, Kurt pressed his fist against the wood until his knuckles ached. He'd outgrown the need to beat up anyone who hurt his little sister, but sometimes he very much wished he hadn't.

"All that orange juice, and the glass, and she didn't even seem to notice. She didn't even apologize, just stared at me with that look on her face. The one that says What is it? and then Thank God that isn't me.”

She sounded so tired, too tired for not quite thirty. "He's a nice guy," Kurt said. "He might surprise you."

"No one surprises me." Her breath hitched as she sucked in a deep breath. "I just don't want to do it today, Nachos."

"Don't call me that, Lulu," he said without heat. "I'll bring you a plate, okay?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I'll leave it outside, just in case." He sighed, prying his hands out of their fists. "Are you going to hide in the bathroom for Marizza's wedding?"

"She already told me I had to show up for pictures and five minutes of the reception." There was more shifting, and something settled against the door. "I bargained her down from half an hour."

"Good job." He settled down on the floor, his back to the door. "I'm sorry your day sucked. Do you need help finding a new grocery store?"

"No. Maybe." Her head thumped back against the door. "My therapist says I have to give them three strikes." She sounded skeptical, and he could just imagine the crinkles along the bridge of her nose as she said it.

"It works in baseball, you know," he said.

"Does that mean I can get to home base?" she teased.

"When you're forty."

She laughed, but it was strained. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"Oh, I think maybe he has more to worry about than he'd like." Kurt looked up as Evan padded over to them. "Your mother told me where to find you," he said as he settled down on the floor next to them. "Hi, Lucia."

"Hi, Evan." Her voice barely carried through the door.

"I'll admit," Evan continued, unconcerned as he addressed the door, "I have an ulterior motive for inviting Pyotr tonight."

Kurt sat up sharply, his hands slicing through the air as he tried to stop Evan before he sent Lucia into hiding for a hundred years. "She hates being set up," he hissed.

Evan eyed him, relaxed and unconcerned. "He doesn't really like meeting new people, but I thought maybe your family would be able to put him at ease."

There was a flurry of movement, and then the door opened just a crack, Lucia's good eye peeking through. "Why?" she asked, locked like a laser on Evan's face.

Oblivious to the tension, Evan shrugged. "It's not really my place to say."

Kurt watched, heart in his throat, as she opened the door a fraction more, her hair falling thick and dark over half her face. It was possible to see the birthmark outlined in the shadows, if you knew where to look.

One olive-green eye narrowed to the barest slit as she glared at Evan. "I'm not coming out."

"Okay," Evan said easily, getting to his feet. "He'll be coming to Marizza's wedding, so you can meet him then."

Lucia's eye widened, and she cursed under her breath and slammed the door shut. Evan ignored her.

"Oh," Evan paused at the corner where the hallway turned back to the rest of the house. "Your mother sent me to tell you we're starting dinner soon."

Kurt climbed to his feet, pressing his palm against the door. "I'll bring your tray in a few minutes, okay?" There was no reply. He shuffled over to Evan, resting his arm against those lean shoulders. "Thanks for that."

Evan gave him a sidelong look. "I didn't do anything."

"You tried," Kurt said. "Nobody else does anymore."

Humming thoughtfully, Evan let Kurt lead him back to the living room.

Pyotr looked like he was praying the floor would swallow him up. Venice and Elodie were arguing with Marizza about some detail of a story that they were telling, their voices reaching that dog-whistle pitch that grated on the strongest of nerves.

He never wondered why their husbands skipped these family dinners. Sometimes he wished he could do the same.

He loved his family.

"What's this I hear about dinner?" he asked, his voice pitched to carry.

Mama grabbed the excuse with both hands. "Dinner. Yes, of course. You must be starving, baby." She swatted Elodie on her way to the dining room, her movements loose and fluid. "Girls, stop arguing."

Kurt clenched his jaw until it popped. He loved his family.

The dining room table was set for royalty, the good dishes laid out next to silverware that Kurt had inherited from one of his grandmothers. At some point, a ninth place setting had been squeezed in on one side, and Kurt moved to pick it up.

"Lucia's not feeling well, so I'm just going to..."

He looked up as Evan put a hand on his wrist, a shocked huff of breath escaping him as he realized that Lucia was standing in the doorway. She was dressed for company, one of Venice's designer hand-me-downs draped over her frame like it was tailored for her. She looked like a supermodel straight out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

Kurt set the plate back down, the quiet clink the only sound in the room. Everyone was staring at Lucia. Everyone except Evan, who'd settled into his chair with a smug smile.

Lucia didn't even notice, her eyes glued to Pyotr's face, a soft blush climbing her cheeks. Pyotr was curled in on himself, like a Rottweiler that wanted to be a lap dog, his eyes on the floor. They kept flicking her direction, though.

"This is my sister, Lucia," Kurt said. "Pass the potatoes, please." He sat down at the head of the table and poked Evan in the shin. "Don't be smug," he muttered.

Evan didn't even try to hide his smile. "Screw you," he replied, passing the massive bowl heaped with mashed potatoes. "Lucia studied literature," Evan said, loud and cheerful. "She likes writing children's stories."

Without looking up from his plate, Pyotr gave the impression that all his attention was on Lucia as she crossed the room. Her usual place next to Kurt was occupied by Evan, but she pulled out the chair next to Pyotr without a word. It put him on her bad side, and she had to turn her head at an awkward angle to see him.

"What is it that you do, Pyotr?" Catherine asked, her manners finally overcoming her surprise.

"I'm a bouncer," he growled to his plate.

"I'm sure you're very good at it," Mama said, pouring herself a healthy measure of wine.

"Do you—“

"How did you get your scars?" Lucia asked.

Kurt almost dropped his fork, his heart rate spiking with panic. Pyotr was a great guy, but he could break Lucia with one blunt finger.

Evan just grinned.

"I was in a motorcycle accident." Hunched over his plate, Pyotr looked like a medieval gargoyle, the fork in his hand almost ludicrously tiny in comparison.

"Oh," Lucia said thoughtfully. Then she reached up and pulled her hair back, tying it into a bun at the back of her neck.

All around the table, plates and silverware clattered as they slipped out of numb fingers. Kurt was pretty sure he was having a heart attack as he watched his timid, demure little sister run a finger down the longest scar on her neck with a grimace.

"I was born with a birthmark that pulled my shoulder out of place," Lucia said. She plopped a scoop of roasted vegetables onto her plate, then offered the spoon to Pyotr. "Do yours hurt?"

Pyotr stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "No, but if there is bad weather, my cheekbone aches. It was broken in three pieces. This is why I live in Miami. Never bad weather."

"We had a hurricane last month," she said dryly as she handed him a roll. No one else had moved, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Only a little one," he said, his eyes lighting up when she laughed.

Kurt stared until his eyes dried out and he had to look away; then he turned to Evan, who was grinning ear-to-ear. "Don't be smug," he said, ignoring the fact that he had to clear his throat to get the words out. Awe and devotion burned in his chest, and he turned back to his plate before anyone could see it in his expression.

He was grateful to Evan. That was all.

Evan ignored him and dug into his meal with gusto.