Chapter 12 - Riley
I cannot believe how normal Viktor is with his siblings. It is just surreal. I saw it at first when Anya came over last night, but now I've seen him again with Anya and with his twin Anton, and I have to say I'm really surprised. He is just like every other guy, not a ruthless mobster like I pictured. I mean, Gwen told me how normal they were, but I didn't believe her. I thought she was just drinking the Kool-Aid. How could a Bratva family be normal? And yet I had a fantastic day, exhausting but fantastic, and I finally got some comfy clothes to wear. Take that, Viktor.
I take my time sorting through the designer clothes already in the closet, tossing everything into a pile that I don't want, so I can give it to Rachel. I don't care what Viktor has to say about that. Rachel deserves it after all the extra work I give her. She can wear it or sell it off for some cash. I don't know how much Viktor pays her, but I suspect he does at least pay her well.
I pack my new clothes into the closet, folding the tracksuits and T-shirts and hanging up the jeans—just the way I like it. I should have bought some sneakers, but I still have mine from the night I left Roman's house. They'll do until our next trip. I hope there is another one. I had so much fun with Anya. Maybe Gwen, Anya, and I can do one next.
I sit on my bed, knowing Anton and Viktor are having a serious conversation. I don't want to disturb them, so I take out my study materials and start going through some coursework. Make-up exams are coming up, and it's my only chance to raise my grade back to what it was. I get lost in studying domestic policies until I hear a splash. Curious, I go to the window and look out. Viktor is swimming in the pool that my room overlooks. He looks really good. It seems like he has tattoos, but I struggle to see from so high up. He glides through the water, and I watch him do lap after lap until he stops and goes to the edge of the pool. To my horror, he looks up at my window, and I duck away. God, that's so embarrassing.
I bury myself in my pillows. I can feel I'm blushing. I can’t go to dinner now. I can’t face him. When Rachel comes upstairs to knock on my door, I pretend to be asleep and listen to her receding footsteps. I lie there in silence trying to figure out what I'm going to do. Eventually, I get up and have a hot shower to wash away the embarrassment. Then, I switch on the cold water to cool down. I brush my teeth and get into bed.
I toss and turn through most of the night and when I check my clock beside my bed. I see it's just past midnight. My stomach rumbles and I regret not going to dinner. I get up and put a dressing robe on over my pajamas. I sneak out of my bedroom and downstairs. The kitchen light is on and I can hear noises coming from in there. I peek in and see Viktor rummaging inside the fridge. I turn to leave, but he looks up and calls my name.
“Riley? What are you doing up?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, crossing my arms over myself.
“I was hungry,” he says simply. “I wanted to make something to eat.”
“I was also hungry,” I admit. “Do you have snacks?”
“Snacks won't do,” Viktor chuckles. “Let me make you something to eat.”
“What are you going to make?” I ask.
Viktor looks back in the fridge. “Pasta with some sauce,” he finally says.
“I'll help,” I say. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Well, you can dice up some tomatoes.” He reaches into the fridge and pulls some out. When he passes them to me, his hand brushes against mine, and I involuntarily blush. He's shirtless and very muscular. He has intricate tattoos all over the top half of his body, and I briefly wonder how far down they extend.
He takes out some herbs and points to the sink. “There's a chopping board under there. I'll get you a knife.
I give myself a mental shake and try to get my mind out of the gutter. I walk over to the sink, get two chopping boards out, and set them on the counter with the tomatoes next to the herbs. He comes with two knives and holds one out to me. “Be careful. Don't cut yourself.”
Our hands brush again as he passes the knife and I can't help the small smile that crosses my face. He's so gentle and caring. It's a side to him that doesn't normally show. He comes across as a bit ruthless, but this last week I've been seeing a different side to him—when he isn't annoying me.
I start to dice up the tomatoes while he rummages around and puts some pots on the stove. He fills the one with water and turns on the plate so the water can boil. He adds some salt and oil to the pot before he moves over to stand next to me. Our arms touch as I dice tomatoes and he starts to chop herbs. “I have some minced meat that will make a nice Bolognese.”
“Sounds yummy,” I say.
We finish our cutting and he checks the water is boiling before he adds some spaghetti to the pot. He turns the other plate on and puts in some olive oil. Once it's heated, he puts in some mince and starts to chop it up with a masher. He makes sure it's small and browned before he throws in the herbs. He gets some spices from the cupboard and seasons the mince, smiling at me.
“My mother liked Italian cuisine,” he explains. “She taught us how to make some basic dishes.”
“That's nice,” I say, coming to look at what he's doing. I lean over and our bodies touch. I pull back and blush. “Sorry.”
“No, it's fine. Do you want to taste to see if it's seasoned enough?”
“Sure,” I say as he pulls out a spoon and picks up some mince. He blows on it gently and then holds it to my lips.
“Don't burn yourself now,” he says quietly.
I blow on the mince and taste it. “That's good.”
“Great, pass the tomatoes.” I pass him the chopping board and he scrapes the tomatoes into the mince and starts to stir.
The kitchen suddenly feels very warm, and I realize that we've been close to one another, moving around in each other's personal space for a few minutes now. He smiles to himself and scoops out a piece of spaghetti to taste. He blows on it and shoves it into his mouth unceremoniously.
He nods and gets a strainer out. “Can you hold this for me? I'll be careful not to burn you.”
“Sure,” I say, taking the strainer to the sink and holding it over there. He turns off the stove and brings the pot over. He carefully pours the spaghetti and water through the strainer. Once done, he sets the pot down and takes the strainer from me, balancing it on the pot. “Great, that's one thing done.”
I turn to walk back to the other side of the kitchen and bump into him. He looks down at me with heavy eyes and I let out a soft sigh.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, but he makes no move to get out of the way.
I nod and pull away slightly. He turns and goes back to the stove. He leaves to fetch a bottle of sauce from the pantry. He comes back and pours it into the mince, stirring diligently.
I fan myself slightly, watching him. He must also be getting hot from the cooking. His skin is glistening in the bright light. A bead of sweat forms at the back of his neck and drips slowly down his muscular back. I can feel a heat both in my face and in my panties. There's something about a strong muscular man sweating that is just appealing.
I turn to look away, not wanting to be distracted by him any more than I already am.
When he moves, I turn back and see him taking down two bowls. He comes over and hands me one. “Dish up your pasta and then you can dish up your sauce.”
I dish up for myself and he follows behind me. I'm acutely aware of how close he is to my back. I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I sit at the kitchen island as he gets us cutlery. He hands me a spoon and a fork. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” I start to eat and I groan. “That's so good. It really hits the spot.”
“I'm glad,” he says with a smile as he starts to eat. We're sitting beside each other and our legs are touching. I find myself glancing down at his legs more than once and I keep forcing myself to look at my food before he notices. He clears his throat and I glance at him. I meet his gaze and quickly look away.
“You okay? Your face is a bit red.” He reaches out and strokes my hair out of my face. “You have sauce on your cheek.” He reaches for a napkin and gently wipes my cheek. I lean into his touch and sigh again.
“Riley,” he says quietly.
“Viktor,” I reply, looking up at him with wide eyes.
He looks so perfect and I can't deny I'm attracted to him, but I realize he probably has a lot of experience with this. With sex. I'm a virgin. I've never even had someone go… down there. It suddenly becomes too hot and uncontrollable in the kitchen. I get up hurriedly.
Viktor stands up quickly. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I'm done.”
“You barely touched your food,” he says. “Is it not good? I thought it tasted nice.”
“It is nice. I'm just… I'm tired,” I stammer my words. “Goodnight, Viktor.”
“Goodnight, Riley,” he says. Is he amused?
I hurry out of the kitchen and up the stairs. My hunger is clearly forgotten, though I don't know how I'm going to sleep after all that. I take off my robe and climb into bed, shivering slightly. The room is so much colder than it was in the kitchen. I curl up in a ball to get warm and briefly imagine Viktor's arms protectively around me. That thought lulls me into a sense of safety and, once I warm up, I start to fall asleep.