Chapter Twenty-One #3
“I said romantic comedies influenced my career expectations. I did not provide a syllabus.”
“I look up classic.”
The effort caught her off guard.
He had searched for movies she might like.
The list was imperfect, a mixture of actual classics and newer films generated by whatever article he found, but that made it more endearing.
“Which one did you choose?” she asked.
Matvei highlighted Never Been Kissed.
Tessa’s eyes widened.
“You have never seen this?”
“I see nothing.”
“That one is one of my favorites.”
“List say about journalist.”
“She’s a copy editor who wants to become a reporter.”
“Like you.”
“Kind of.”
Matvei pressed play.
The studio logos appeared.
Tessa settled beneath the blanket, still looking at him.
“You really researched this.”
He did not turn from the screen.
“Yes.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Matvei’s attention shifted immediately toward her mouth.
“That was thank you,” she said.
“I know.”
The movie began before he could turn it into anything else.
Tessa had seen it enough times that she remembered lines before they arrived. Drew Barrymore’s Josie Geller sat inside a newsroom dreaming of a reporting assignment, awkward and desperate to prove she deserved more than copy editing.
The similarities to Tessa’s early career had once seemed profound.
Now she became increasingly aware of how absurd the premise looked through Matvei’s eyes.
He watched in silence as Josie received the undercover assignment.
Then paused the movie.
Tessa looked at him.
“What?”
“She is adult.”
“Yes.”
“She goes high school.”
“Yes.”
“She says teenager.”
“For the story.”
“She lies to teacher.”
Tessa could already hear the objection forming.
“It was made in 1999.”
“What changes?”
“People were apparently less concerned about ethics in romantic comedies.”
Matvei stared at her.
“That is your favorite?”
“One of them.”
“She is grown woman pretending seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“And teacher likes student.”
“He thinks she is a student.”
“That is worse.”
Tessa began laughing.
“It does not hold up especially well.”
“Hold up?”
“It means something that seemed acceptable when it came out looks bad now.”
“It was bad then.”
“You are not wrong.”
Matvei resumed the movie.
Five minutes later, he paused again.
“Her boss knows?”
“Yes.”
“He sends adult into school.”
“Yes.”
“For newspaper.”
“Yes.”
“This is criminal.”
Tessa laughed harder.
“You are ruining the magic.”
“No magic.”
“There is eventually.”
He looked unconvinced.
Despite his objections, he became deeply invested.
Tessa recognized the moment it happened.
Josie’s younger brother began helping her navigate high school, and Matvei stopped glancing toward her for explanations.
His body angled toward the television. He frowned when classmates humiliated Josie and muttered something in Russian when her editor pressured her for a story.
When the teacher appeared, Matvei became suspicious again.
“He likes her.”
“Yes.”
“He thinks child.”
“She is supposed to be seventeen.”
“Child.”
“He is not great.”
“You like this movie.”
“I know.”
Tessa rested her head against his shoulder.
Matvei lifted his arm and placed it around her without looking away from the screen.
The movie reached the scene where Josie reveals her identity in the newspaper and asks for her first real kiss on the baseball field.
Matvei read the article headline visible on screen.
“She writes about herself.”
“It’s a column.”
“Bad ethics.”
Tessa lifted her head.
“You are criticizing her journalistic ethics now?”
“Yes.”
“You spent half the movie criticizing the romance.”
“Both bad.”
“Do you want me to turn it off?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
Tessa smiled and rested against him again.
When Josie waited on the pitcher’s mound as the clock counted down, Matvei leaned forward slightly.
“He comes,” Tessa said.
“No talk.”
“You know how romantic comedies work.”
“He should come.”
The crowd began leaving.
Matvei’s hand tightened against her shoulder.
Tessa watched him instead of the movie.
He looked genuinely concerned.
Then the teacher emerged from beneath the stadium.
Matvei released a breath.
Tessa pressed her lips together to contain a laugh.
The final kiss filled the screen.
Matvei watched the entire thing.
When the credits began, he picked up the remote and turned down the volume.
Tessa remained against him.
“Well?” she asked.
“Bad journalism.”
“Anything else?”
“Teacher should know she is adult before he likes.”
“He finds out.”
“Late.”
“Anything else?”
Matvei’s mouth shifted.
“Good.”
Tessa lifted her head.
“You liked it.”
“No.”
“You were worried he wouldn’t come.”
“No.”
“You stopped breathing.”
“I breathe.”
“You were emotionally invested in Never Been Kissed.”
Matvei looked offended.
“It is fine movie. Classic.”
She smiled.
“You liked it.”
He set the remote aside.
Then he placed both hands around her waist and pulled her across his lap.
Tessa gave a startled laugh as the blanket fell toward the floor.
“That is one way to end the review.”
“You talk too much.”
“You chose a movie about a journalist. You had to expect analysis.”
Matvei settled her atop his thighs.
His hands remained at her waist.
“Movie ends.”
“Yes.”
“Now no analysis.”
He kissed her.
The first contact was playful, still carrying the warmth of her laughter. Tessa rested her hands against his shoulders and kissed him back, expecting the moment to accelerate quickly after the way he had pulled her closer.
It did not.
Matvei kept his mouth slow.
He kissed her as though there were nowhere else they needed to go, one hand moving along her back while the other remained at her hip. Tessa felt his body react beneath her, but he made no attempt to shift her against him or move beneath the sweater.
That restraint affected her more than urgency would have.
In Helsinki, every kiss had carried the uncertainty of whether it might be the last. The need had escalated because time kept narrowing around them.
Here, Matvei seemed content simply to kiss her.
His thumb moved over the fabric near her waist. His mouth traveled briefly toward her jaw, then returned to hers. When Tessa leaned closer, he answered without turning the change into a demand for more.
She liked that he wanted her.
She liked more that he was not treating sex as the inevitable conclusion of inviting her into his house.
Tessa’s fingers moved into his hair.
Matvei made a low sound against her mouth.
She kissed him again, deeper this time, testing the patience he had offered.
His hand slid to the center of her back and held her firmly against him. The pressure between their bodies increased, but he still did not reach beneath her clothes.
Tessa pulled back enough to look at him.
His breathing had become rougher.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is something.”
She touched the first button of his shirt.
Matvei watched her fingers.
Tessa opened it.
Then the second.
His eyes lifted toward hers.
“You sure?” he asked.
The question still carried the same weight every time.
“Yes.”
She opened another button, revealing the skin at the center of his chest.
Matvei’s hands tightened around her waist.
“This was a very nice shirt,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It survived dinner.”
“For now.”
Tessa smiled and opened the next button.
Matvei stood.
She barely had time to secure her arms around his neck before he lifted her with him.
“Matvei.”
He held her easily, one arm beneath her and the other around her back.
“What?”
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
He kissed her as he carried her toward the stairs.
Tessa laughed into his mouth.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“You are going to drop me.”
“No.”
He climbed without effort.
She wrapped her legs more firmly around his waist.
Matvei’s breath changed.
The amusement left his face.
“Do not do that.”
“What?”
“You know.”
Tessa moved against him deliberately.
A Russian curse escaped beneath his breath.
She smiled.
“I know that tone now.”
Matvei carried her faster.
His bedroom was at the end of the hall.
He pushed the door open with one shoulder and crossed toward the bed without turning on the overhead light. A lamp near the window cast a low golden glow across the room, enough for Tessa to see dark bedding, another bookshelf and a neatly folded stack of clothes on a chair.
Matvei lowered her onto the mattress.
He remained standing between her knees.
The open shirt revealed most of his chest, the fabric pulled loose from his trousers. Tessa reached for the remaining buttons.
Matvei watched her hands as she finished.
She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and it fell to the floor.
He bent and kissed her.
Tessa moved backward across the bed, and Matvei followed. His body covered hers without settling his full weight against her, one arm braced beside her head.
His mouth returned to the place beneath her ear.
She closed her eyes.
The familiar Russian word came when her hands moved over his bare back.
This time, she whispered, “God?”
Matvei stopped.
Tessa opened her eyes.
His expression showed surprise. She knew what he was saying.
“I looked it up,” she admitted.
“You research.”
“I’m a reporter.”
“Dangerous.”
“What else did you say?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“I can translate eventually.”
Matvei’s mouth moved along her throat.
“Then I say new things.”
The answer disappeared into her skin.
His hands found the bottom of the green sweater.
Matvei paused there.
Tessa lifted her arms.
The sweater came away and joined his shirt on the floor. Her jeans soon followed.
His gaze moved over her with the same open appreciation he had shown in the hotel room. This time, Tessa did not become self-conscious beneath it.
She reached for him.
Matvei caught her wrist gently and kissed the inside of it before lowering her hand to the bed.
“Wait.”
“For what?”
“I look.”
Heat moved across her skin.
He bent and kissed the center of her chest, then followed the edge of her bra toward her shoulder. His hand traced the line of her waist, slipping beneath her back to release the fastening.
The fabric loosened.
Matvei removed it slowly, his eyes remaining on her face until it fell away.
Then he touched her.
Tessa’s breath caught.