Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
LEO
The moment Alyona steps onto the main deck, she comes to a dead halt and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. Her eyes ping-pong around, absorbing the scene in front of her. It’s a lot. Some would call it sensory overload. “What. The. Fuck,” she mutters.
Genevieve may have gone a little overboard. Resting my ankle on my knee, I sit back in the chair and enjoy the look of bewilderment on Aly’s face. “What? Not to your taste?” I feign offense.
There’s champagne chilling table-side in a silver bucket that glimmers under the fairy lights strung crisscross above us.
A layer of rose petals so thick you’d think a flower shop had exploded covers every surface, and rows upon rows of candles line the dining area, their flames dancing in the shadows, even though I’m sure it’s against fire code.
This is not romance, it’s romance on steroids.
Aly approaches, still looking at me like I’m mentally unwell. “Should I be concerned? Are you feeling alright?”
I raise my whisky glass in cheers. “Perfectly fine, thanks. Nice outfit,” I shoot back.
She blinks innocently, but there is nothing innocent about her chosen attire. She’s wearing a snug-fitting white T-shirt that exposes her midriff, minuscule denim cut-offs, and rhinestoned cowboy boots.
I don’t have to question whether she knows the effect her outfit has on me; her defiant smirk says it all.
She lowers herself into the seat across from me.
“I dressed up, just like you requested. Since we’re posing as an American couple, I thought I should look the part.
” Liar. She just didn’t like me telling her what to wear.
“But this”—she gestures at the petal explosion all around us—“is disturbing.”
Her glossy hair tumbles around her shoulders, but it’s her lips I can’t tear my eyes from. Full and lush, they’re painted a vibrant, bold, take-no-prisoners kind of red. It feels personal.
I just shrug nonchalantly, popping an olive into my mouth. “Maybe this is what a man does when he’s head over heels. Maybe you need to find a man who truly understands the meaning of romance.”
“Oh please. Like this flower disaster is romantic.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “And I’ve been with plenty of romantic guys. Paris is the city of love.”
Except it hasn’t been for her. I’ve made sure of that.
“Okay.” I raise my eyebrows. “What’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you?”
Holding eye contact, she reaches for my glass and takes a long hard swallow. I’d say she’s buying herself some time. “Took me dancing.”
I take my drink back, positioning my lips directly over her lipstick stain, chasing the taste of her on the glass.
Dancing guy? I remember that loser. He took her to one lousy salsa dancing class and nearly shit his pants when Matis told him to get lost. Broke up with her by text if I recall.
“If it’s dancing that you want, I’m sure Genevieve can arrange for that.
Would be nice to slow dance under the stars, wouldn’t it? ”
She rolls her eyes, her lips setting into a thin line. “Not with you.” Running a finger over the rim of her water glass she adds, “You know what’s not romantic?”
I pause with the glass halfway to my mouth and brace for impact. She leans forward. “Packing my vibrator.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lungs. “I disagree. I think it was a very romantic gesture. I’m making sure your needs are taken care of.”
Truth is big romantic gestures are not my thing.
I’m a believer in the small things. Like how Aly and I used to drag blankets up to the roof of the estate to watch the stars or go for spontaneous motorcycle rides along the coast. Just her and I and the open road.
Fuck candles and roses, it didn’t get more romantic than that.
But that was then, and this is now.
“Not sure I’m going to need Bob,” she answers lightly. It takes me a minute to catch on that Bob is her battery-operated boyfriend. “Jack seems pretty nice after all.”
A snarl escapes from my lips as my hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the napkin under my grip.
“Are you trying to provoke me? Because I warn you, butterfly, that’s a very dangerous game to play.
On this boat you belong to me.” Not only on this boat.
In my heart, in my soul. Just not in this lifetime, my father made damn sure of that.
“And if you need a reminder of how your body still responds to me," a slow smile grows on my face as I watch her nipples hardening beneath her thin shirt, "I will be happy to provide one. "
A beat passes, and I wonder if she’ll argue. But instead, her stained-red lips twist in amusement. I have a feeling I just played into her hand. “So easy to rile up, Leonid. What happened to that easygoing boy I once knew?”
“Long gone,” I say. Left the day Alyona flew to Paris, and I got my vory stars. Silence fills the space between us until it’s interrupted when a server appears by our table.
“Good evening. My name is Becky, and I’ll be serving you tonight.” A young woman with blonde hair in a neat bun introduces herself before reaching for the bottle of Veuve chilling in the ice bucket beside the table.
“Nice to meet you, Becky,” Aly offers. “I don’t think we’ve seen you before.”
“This is my first trip out. I’m still getting my sea legs,” she admits, her smile wavering as she goes about her task. Sweat beads form on her forehead, and her grip on the champagne bottle is unsteady. Aly and I exchange a look; something is not right.
“I think I might be …” Becky swallows thickly while attempting to work the cork out of the bottle. “A little seasick.”
With a loud bang, the cork escapes the bottle, ricocheting off the canopied sun cover and landing with a thud on the deck.
The champagne gushes out in a fountain, dousing the table and drenching Alyona, who jumps up and starts to pat at her sopping clothes while Becky looks on mortified.
But more than mortified, Becky looks green.
“I’m … I’m so sorry,” she stammers as she lunges towards the side of the boat, retching into the water below.
Aly abandons her napkin to the floor and approaches the sick woman to hold back her hair and murmur words of comfort.
My chest squeezes. This is the Alyona I grew up with.
The girl with a tender heart who wasn’t afraid to show the soft side of herself instead of hiding behind the steel shield she holds up all the time now, pretending nothing can ever hurt her again.
When the sounds of retching stops, Aly escorts Becky back into the cabin as a flustered, wild-eyed Genevieve comes bounding up the stairs, a look of frozen horror etched on her face.
“Oh, mon dieu,” she mutters, her eyes closing in a slow blink. “I’ll have this all cleaned up for you and back to—”
“It’s okay.” Alyona’s voice echoes from behind Genevieve, who startles before turning around. Aly’s got two bottles of beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “I got it covered.”
Genevieve bites her lip, looking terribly apologetic. “We ruined your romantic evening.”
I bark out a laugh, because oh, the irony of it. “Not at all, we’re good,” I assure her. In fact, I can’t think of anything more romantic than swigging a beer and sharing a bag of chips with Aly.
Fifteen minutes later, Aly is changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt with her hair piled into a bun on the top of her head. I’m still wearing clothes that are two sizes too small for me, but I’ve abandoned my jacket and tie and popped the first few buttons on the dress shirt.
Now we’re sitting on the ground cross-legged, our backs pressed against the bow of the ship, a perfect view of the vast, star-studded sky. Neither of us has said much, but the mood has changed. It’s less charged, more relaxed.
Aly expertly twists the cap off the beer bottle and hands it to me. She then does the same with her own bottle and raises it in a toast. “Za tvoye zdorovye!” I respond, clinking my bottle against hers.
When she takes a swig, the tendons in her neck work as she swallows, and fuck, the view makes my dick twitch.
In fact, being near Aly in general is making my damn dick ache.
I’ve been sleeping on the couch in the office—not an easy feat for a man my size—because I find the little sleep sounds she makes arousing.
Well, that and she made it clear we would not be having a slumber party.
“Oh my god,” she gasps, pulling the bottle from her lips with a satisfied sigh. “I needed that.”
The full moon casts a white light across the water, making it sparkle like glinting diamonds. As beautiful as it is, that’s not the most breathtaking view afforded to me. Not even close.
“I hope that wasn’t the only pair of cowboy boots in the closet. They suited you.” As did the crop top and itty-bitty jean shorts.
Alyona turns towards me with a smile, the first genuine smile I’ve had for a damn long time, and a tingle works its way up my spine.
Her blue eyes sparkle, crinkle at the corners, and her cheeks bloom with a soft blush.
“I’ll see what I can find,” she promises.
A wince crosses her features momentarily.
“Poor seasick Becky. Talk about an occupational hazard.”
We exchange a look, and like when we were younger, that’s all it takes for both of us to explode in a fit of laughter.
When we get going, we really get going. Alyona throws her head back, her body shuddering.
I haven’t laughed like this for as long as I can remember, and it feels good to let loose, especially since things have been so tense.
A warm rush spreads through my chest. A tangible reminder of how much I’ve missed the easy banter, the inside jokes. This is what we were, what we had.