Damn. Misha had meant to walk out to meet Bella, but he had been too busy staring at her. She wasn't as pretty as she had been in the pictures. She was prettier, and it was distracting, and now she was standing in his doorway, speaking to him in another language, one he didn't understand.
"Yes?" he blurted out, hearing his name in there somewhere.
"I'm sorry, I don't... I'm Misha, and you must be Rosabella."