Velella

1. Misbehave

MISBEHAVE

“Is this seat taken?”

“Yes.”

A low screech—chair legs scraping against hardwood—contributes to my body’s rising temperature. Awareness mixes with the heady dose of anticipation swimming through my veins.

“Your manners haven’t improved,” I state.

“I have no manners.”

“Something we can agree on.”

A lie—one of many I’ve told him. He reacts how I was hoping. His eyes meet mine, crooked smirk appearing, and emotions I don’t want to name expand in my chest until combustion seems to be a legitimate concern.

“You look nice. Pretty dress.”

“I had a performance before this.” Another fib, delivered as carefully as my stroking the side of the glass with the pad of my pointer finger. A soft squeak follows as skin glides against condensation.

If Lev Sokolov knew I’d purchased this dress specifically for him, a month ago, he would …

I’m not sure what he would do actually. I’ve never tested the boundaries between us because doing so could have catastrophic consequences.

I’m cautious. Careful what I say, careful how I act. For selfish reasons, not only because of my family. Our liaisons are foolish for Lev. My continuing to meet him is so idiotic that I don’t think a word has been invented for it.

Yet here I am—again.

I cross my legs. Lev glances down. We both watch my maroon dress drift higher up my thighs. I’m wearing tights since it’s snowing, but I feel the brush of his gaze like there’s not a single layer between us.

“How has your trip been?” I phrase the question purposefully, as unobtrusive as possible.

We could be two strangers who just happened to sit next to each other at this hotel’s bar tonight.

“Good. Busy.” His deep voice lowers before adding, “Better now.”

I blush. I feel the heat warm my cheeks—a common reaction when we’re in close proximity.

“We are expanding.”

I reach for my cocktail and swallow a small sip, hoping the whiskey will dissipate the sudden tension in my muscles. Does that mean he’ll be here more often? Does that mean my father will be ranting about the Russians when I visit this summer?

“Congratulations,” I say.

Lev nods an acknowledgment.

I don’t ask more questions. I stare, searching for a safe topic.

Another rare grin appears as he holds my gaze. The boyish smile sheds time off his face. He looks like the seventeen-year-old I met over a decade ago.

Sometimes, I forget how long we’ve known each other. Sometimes, two strangers who just happened to sit next to each other is an accurate description of us. Familiar strangers maybe, but nothing more.

Lev Sokolov is a difficult person to get to know.

My entire existence is a facade, constructed from falsehoods that wouldn’t matter so much if he were someone else. Someone separate from the world I carefully avoid. With one exception.

“Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”

Lev flicks an assessing glance at the hovering bartender. The man—he introduced himself as Wolfe when I arrived—was friendly, bordering on flirty, when he took my drink order. Hoping for a generous tip, or genuinely interested, or maybe both.

Wolfe’s somber expression now would fit in at a funeral. Lev has that effect on people. He radiates an intensity that’s difficult to relax around. Impossible to ignore.

“Vodka,” Lev clips. “Neat.”

“Of course, sir.”

I take another tiny sip of Manhattan, mindful of my low alcohol tolerance. I hardly ever drink hard liquor, only the occasional glass of wine with dinner.

Tonight isn’t typical. My heels are higher. My dress is shorter. My underwear is scraps of lace rather than full-coverage cotton.

When I glance at Lev, he’s already studying me. Not my legs, but my face.

I flush again, like a lovesick teenager. Rub the damp glass with my thumb—again—struggling to keep my composure from slipping away as I listen to the low hum.

“How is work?” he asks.

“Not expanding,” I state dryly. “More budget cuts.”

The arts are always the first to lose funding in a recession.

Lev’s attention has shifted to the opposite end of the bar. Unenthralled by the symphony’s financial woes, but at least he asked. More than many bother to do. Most guys’ eyes glaze over as soon as I mention my job. Musician can sound sexy. Violinist doesn’t have the same sultry effect.

“They were supposed to bring in a conductor from Austria for a spring residency,” I continue. “The board emailed this morning, letting everyone know it’d been canceled. We’re repeating the same program from last year, which won’t help with attendance.”

I don’t add that I’ve spent weeks practicing the prospective pieces, hoping I’d be elevated to first chair during the next audition. I’d be disappointed about the change of plans even if I hadn’t started preparing for a performance that would never take place.

“Your drink, sir.” Wolfe sets a glass down, then hurries away without any attempts at small talk.

Lev glances at the vodka I know he won’t drink.

I look where Lev’s attention was focused before.

Jason—the man who approached me shortly after I sat down and took the stool beside me without asking if it was available—has returned from the restroom.

I was planning to explain I was meeting someone when he came back.

Too late now, and he’s not brave enough to approach with Lev beside me.

I aim an apologetic smile Jason’s way, then take a hasty sip to wipe away any misplaced guilt. Ice clinks against glass, the cherry nestled in the center of the cubes.

“He’s too old for you.”

My eyes dart to Lev’s. I’m not surprised he noticed Jason; I am taken aback that he’s commenting.

“He’s thirty-eight,” I reply, tone a tad defensive.

Information Jason offered up while Wolfe mixed my drink, along with his reason for being in Chicago—a college friend’s bachelor party.

It’s his buddy’s second wedding. The first bachelor party was in Vegas, which Jason said he’d preferred as a location, up until he spotted me.

That line wouldn’t have led to anything, even if I hadn’t been here to meet Lev.

But a ten-year age gap isn’t unheard of.

My father was fifteen years older than my mother.

Not that their relationship was an example I want to emulate.

Lev pulls a crisp hundred out of his pocket and tosses the bill on the counter. “Was nice talking to you.”

I nod. “Wish I could say the same.”

He leans closer, until our faces are only a few inches apart. So near that I can map the constellations of amber flecks in his whiskey-colored irises. I forget to breathe following the first inhale of his scent—wool and smoke and soap.

“I prefer you not talking.”

“Same.” The solitary word comes out as more of a breathy exhale than an insult, that threat of combustion appearing again.

It’s unfortunate yet thrilling that no amount of exposure has dimmed his effect on me.

Another rare grin appears before Lev brushes by, striding away from the bar.

I know he won’t look back, so I do, biting my bottom lip as I track his rapid progress toward the elevators.

I’m not the only one watching. Every person Lev passes pauses to stare, no one immune to his intrigue.

It makes me feel better—and worse, knowing my fascination isn’t unique.

His hair is a little longer than it was when we met in mid-December, dark brown strands barely brushing the collar of his coat.

I face the bar again before my interest becomes too obvious.

Wolfe reappears, his expression warm and inviting once more. “Can I get you anything else?”

I shake my head, lifting my glass to swallow the remaining drops of drink. I still, nodding toward the untouched tumbler to my right. “He’s not coming back.”

“His loss.” Wolfe shoots me a commiserative, charming grin before fisting the hundred and whisking Lev’s vodka away.

I finish my drink. Slip my coat on and stand. Spin, nearly colliding with Jason.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, lips puckering into an exaggerated pout to display his disappointment. Not an especially attractive expression on an adult nearing forty. Man-child comes to mind.

“Early morning,” I say. “Enjoy the bachelor party.”

“Wait.” He grabs my arm as I take a step forward.

I stiffen, not relaxing until he drops his hand, seeming appeased I’ll stay in place.

“Can I at least get your number?”

“That’s not a good idea.” I slide my hands into my pockets and start walking.

“You know where to find me!” Jason calls after me.

I barely hear. I’m distracted, running my pointer finger along the straight edge of the plastic key card Lev slipped in my pocket.