Chapter 12 —Demyon #2
She glanced back toward the kitchen. “Viktor! Viktor! Get over here!” she called to her husband. “You won’t believe who just walked in here!”
I glanced at the girl beside me, and she looked so confused—shocked by the scene unfolding before her eyes. She’d probably never expected to see me laughing with people the way I did with Zoya Petrovna.
Seconds later, an older man with gray hair poked his head from behind a curtain. He wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and squinted as if trying to figure out who he was looking at.
As he drew closer, the realization hit him so hard that his brows arched in an instant. “I’ll be damned,” he said in Russian. “Look who finally found his way home.”
“Dobry vecher, Viktor,” I greeted him, bowing my head in reverence.
“Get over here.” He laughed, pulling me into his arms.
“You look good, old man,” I said.
“With a woman like her, why wouldn’t I?” he answered, stealing a glance at his wife.
“Oh, stop it.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
We laughed.
“How are you, son?” He tapped my shoulder. “I thought you were too important to visit old people.”
“Not you guys,” I answered.
That’s when she cleared her throat conspicuously, a reminder that she was still here and completely lost because our conversation was in Russian.
All heads turned to face her.
“Hi,” she greeted the couple, wearing a curt smile.
They looked at each other for a moment, then shifted their eyes toward me.
“American.” Zoya stepped forward, holding the girl’s gaze. “Welcome to St. Petersburg,” she added in accented English.
“Thank you.”
“Do you speak Russian?” Viktor asked.
His wife shot him a stern glare. “She’s American. Of course she can’t.”
“Demyon, you brought home a wife,” Viktor said to me in English. “Finally.”
“Oh, no, that’s not what…” the girl and I chorused like we were in sync.
An awkward silence fell for a brief moment as we exchanged glances, shocked by the coincidence.
“We’re not….” It happened again.
Fuck. What the hell was going on here?
She lowered her head, hiding her face from the couple’s suspicious gazes.
I cleared my throat and straightened. “She’s, uh…she’s my guest.”
The two looked at each other again.
“Guest, huh?” Viktor teased, arms across his chest.
“That’s one way to put it,” Zoya added. “You must think we were born yesterday.”
Their shoulders collided in a playful gesture, and they laughed, as if mocking us.
“I’m serious. She’s my guest,” I said, trying to clear the air.
“Yes, yes, we heard you the first time.” She glanced at her husband and cackled.
“Why are you so defensive, though?” Viktor asked me, flashing an annoying grin.
“I’m not.”
“He is,” Zoya whispered in his ear. She took the girl’s hand and beamed at her. “You’re beautiful.”
Her lips curled into a faint grin. “Thank you.”
“What is your name, child?”
That’s true; I had no idea what her name was—never bothered to ask.
“Evaline. Evaline Harlow,” she answered. “But my friends call me Eva.”
Eva. Nice.
“Welcome to our café, Eva,” Zoya said. “Order whatever you want. It’s on the house.”
“Really?” Her brows arched.
“Yes. As long as you’re with Demyon, you’ll receive the same preferential treatment as him,” Viktor replied.
Eva hesitated, her eyes flicking toward me for a fleeting moment. “Thank you,” she said to the couple, her voice dripping with gratitude.
“Come with me.” Zoya dragged her away.
When it was just Viktor and me, he said calmly, “In my little time on earth, I’ve learned to spot a good woman when I see one.” He glanced in my direction. “So believe me when I tell you that is a good woman. Don’t mess this up.”
I watched her in silence as she smiled at whatever Zoya was telling her on the other side of the counter. She shifted her gaze from Zoya to me, and when our eyes met, my heart skipped a beat. The smile on her face was genuine, and it did something to me I couldn’t yet explain.
Evaline Harlow, what have you done to me?
A few minutes later, after Zoya had packaged some desserts for us, Eva stepped out and bade the couple goodbye. I promised to come visit when I was next in St. Petersburg.
By the time I stepped outside to join Eva, she was nowhere to be found. I looked around, panic gradually creeping into my heart. This was Russia, and I had a lot of enemies back here, folks who would do anything to make me suffer.
I ran across the street, searching the surroundings for any sign of her. Finally, I found a set of footprints in the snow and traced them across the road.
When I rounded a corner, I let out a soft sigh of relief after spotting her on a bench by the sidewalk. She was petting a stray cat, which purred under her hand as she stroked its fur.
“Eva!” I called out, my voice deep and commanding. “Let’s go.”
She set the cat on the pavement and rose to her feet, a hint of fear flashing in her eyes. She saw the anger on my face, and she knew she was in trouble.
“I’m sorry, I was just…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Save it,” I cut her off. “Get to the car. Now.”
She swallowed hard and furrowed her brow, but didn’t argue with me. I watched her head back to the convoy, my blood boiling at the thought of anything bad happening to her.
Perhaps I’d been a bit harsh on her, but that was so she would understand the gravity of what she’d done. My enemies were everywhere in this town, and it wasn’t safe for her to wander off alone.
I rubbed my eyes, hating myself for letting my temper shatter the brief moment of softness we had tonight.