Eleven #2
The woman patted his shoulder and came back with a crock and ladle, filling the rest of his bowl.
It was spectacular, a cross between rich spices and tart fruit.
He hoped Nadia knew the recipe because this was definitely something he’d like to have again—of course, he could always get the recipe from her.
There was no promise she’d ever prepare food for him again and it wasn’t wise to entertain such hopes.
When he finished his second helping, he carried his bowl to the sink and the old woman swatted him away, directing him back to the chair. She placed a plate in front of him with links of meat and waved a hand for him to try.
He patted his belly. “Thank you, but I’m full.”
She nudged the plate closer and smiled.
Giving in, he took a small slice of meat, popped it in his mouth, and paused. The salty morsel had a venison flavor, similar to sausage but lacking the give of pork. He held it in his mouth, not quite sure how to process it.
Nadia came into the kitchen, looked at him, the plate, and then her grandmother. She said something in Hungarian and laughed. Turning back to him, she said, “Do you like that?”
Still not through the first bite he shrugged, not wanting to offend anyone.
“It’s horse sausage,” she said, passing him a napkin.
He took the napkin and turned, spitting it out before he gagged. Reaching for his water, he took a gulp and swished until the taste was gone.
Nadia giggled and whispered, “If she offers you hurka say no thank you.” He didn’t know what hurka was, but he trusted her judgment. No horse and no hurka.
The door opened and Nadia noticeably stiffened. A man, about Elliot’s age with a rugged build, stepped inside and stilled the moment he spotted them. Was this another relative?
A slow grin exposed tobacco stained teeth as the man practically purred her name. “Nadia.”
“Hello, Roland.” Her welcome was as curt as his was lascivious.
The man—Roland—strode to her in two steps and took her into his arms. Elliot stiffened, his body going as taut as Nadia’s appeared as the newcomer leaned in to kiss her. She arched away and Elliot stood, clearing his throat.
Roland turned as Nadia peeled herself out of his grip. His gaze scrutinized Elliot as if just noticing his presence. “Who is this?” he said, his Hungarian gruff and basic enough for Elliot to translate.
Nadia, not using her native tongue, stepped to Elliot’s side. “This is Elliot. My boyfriend.”
Elliot stilled at the label, his mind jetlagged and his thoughts racing to keep up with the cultural differences while making a decent first impression, but he was certain he’d have noticed if his greatest fantasy had come true and he and Nadia formed a relationship.
There would be no missing that detail and she was clearly lying for reasons having to do with this man, whom Elliot disliked on principle.
So he didn’t object to the label. He also disliked seeing random men touch her.
Placing his arm around her shoulders, he met the man’s assessing stare.
His insides coiled as the larger man seemed to stare through him and see his deepest insecurities.
Elliot envisioned Bruce Wayne’s armor covering his skin, impenetrable and protecting him from that stare.
It didn’t protect him, but it made it easier to hide his timidity.
Nadia’s body relaxed once she realized he’d play along. “Elliot, this is Roland, our neighbor.”
The larger man folded his hands across his broad chest, drawing Elliot’s attention to the extra pounds packed on his trunk, and openly sized him up.
“Boyfriend? For how much time?”
His English surprised Elliot, but Roland wasn’t nearly as fluent as her aunt. His words were slow and clumsy, but he suspected he’d learned the language as a way to connect with Nadia—much like Elliot learning some Hungarian.
“We met over a year ago,” Nadia informed, lacing her arm in his. “We live together.”
She didn’t necessarily lie. She was staying with him temporarily.
They’d been kissing and had an official date last night.
Did that mean she actually saw him as her boyfriend?
Of course not. This was just a ploy to keep this Roland’s hands off of her.
He knew why she lied, but his chest swelled with satisfaction as part of him wanted to believe the lie.
The man grunted, his beady eyes narrowing on Elliot as his ruddy complexion darkened. “Nadia is my fiancée.”
His inflated chest deflated as the man’s statement punctured the fantasy. Elliot frowned and Nadia snapped in Hungarian, her words cutting through the air like the lash of a whip.
Fiancée? She was engaged? How true was their engagement? Nadia didn’t seem to care for this man, and she’d never mentioned having a fiancée. Although, why would she mention that to him?
The man barked back, craning his neck and exploiting his strength. But she didn’t cower, nor did she soften her tone. Her dark eyes flashed with sharp dislike as her words cut through the air, pointing accusingly at the man who claimed to be her fiancé.
Elliot didn’t need a translator to understand the situation. Apparently, this Roland fellow missed the memo that the wedding was off. Elliot grinned as relief settled over him.
His eyes widened as the man crowded in, towering over her and growling some sort of demand while pointing at him. While she might not be intimidated by this brute, Elliot knew he was outmatched. The man was an oak, his meaty fists the sort that could swiftly snuff out a life.
Elliot kept his voice level. “Nadia, maybe we should—”
The man’s cold stare landed on him, threatening, and Nadia shoved his barrel chest, drawing his attention back to her. He grunted and let his stare wander down and up her body, before mumbling something that sounded like a promise.
Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as she met his glare. “I hope when we return, you’re gone,” she growled at the man, pulling Elliot into the parlor.
“I’ll be here, Nadia. You can’t get rid of me.”
She handed Elliot his carry-on. “I’ll drive you to your hotel. My aunt’s resting.”
“I can take a cab if you’d like to stay.” He didn’t want her to stay. He wanted her as far away from that giant as possible, but she was here to visit with family.
She hesitated, glancing back to the kitchen where Roland watched her through narrowed eyes. “No. I think I’d like to go with you.”
The car they borrowed was a dated, compact blue model, a cross between a sedan and a station wagon. Nadia managed the roads well but laughed when she forgot her way.
“It’s been a while. Sorry. I swear I’ll get you there.”
He was hardly paying attention to the roads, his mind still trying to make sense of the man claiming to be her fiancé back at the house. “Why does that man think you’re engaged to him?”
She huffed, her tapered fingers gripping the wheel. “Because he’s a fool. My father wanted us to marry and told him so. I was only a girl then, but I knew I’d never marry him, whether my father gave him permission or not.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Yes.” Her lips pursed. “Roland has money and he helped my grandmother when the banks wouldn’t. He thinks we’re indebted to him.”
“Has your grandmother paid him back?”