16. Blair
Blair
“ W here’s Niko?”
I peek over the top of my book at Andrei as he leans against the door jamb, eyes assessing.
“It’s Thursday,” I shrug. “He’s at Mila’s.” He’s quiet for a moment, and I go back to my book, assuming the conversation’s over.
“When will he be back?”
“At the normal time.”
“Which is when?”
His brows are furrowed in confusion, and if I weren’t so annoyed with him, it’d be endearing.
“I typically drop him off with her in the morning,” I say, sliding my bookmark between the pages.
“They like spending time together and it’s nice to have a day off from being a parent. I’ll go pick him up after dinner.”
I kept Niko home last week, wanting to keep him close with so many things changing at home, but I couldn’t refuse to take him to Mila’s again .
Andrei doesn’t reply, but I don’t expect him to. Instead, I’m treated to the sound of his footsteps as they fade down the hall.
I shouldn’t have expected sleeping together to have changed anything between us, but, apparently, I did. When I woke up the next morning, Andrei was long gone, the sheets where he’d been were cool to the touch, and I was left pretending I wasn’t disappointed.
That disappointment slowly turned to anger as the day went on.
It’s not that I expected him to wake me up with breakfast in bed or anything, but it would’ve been nice if he hadn’t rushed away at the first opportunity.
He didn’t need to make his regret so obvious.
I try to tell myself that he did his good deed in defending me against Pavel, and he got what he wanted out of it. And I try to ignore the little voice in my head that’s so eager to point out that when I looked up what zolotse meant, it did, in fact, mean exactly what he said: Precious.
It doesn’t matter if that doesn’t align with something a man who just wanted to get laid would say.
Accepting he might have cared about me before that night would mean I have to accept that sleeping with me changed things for him, and I might not be enough for him, either.
And I’m not ready for that. Not now, and maybe not ever.
I just have to accept things as they are and hope Andrei doesn’t turn his back on me when this arrangement gets inconvenient .
If I felt a flicker of hope things would be different when I fell asleep in his arms, that’s on me, not him. It was a foolish mistake, and I don’t plan on letting it happen again.
My thoughts stop dead in their tracks when Andrei storms back into the room and drops a gift bag from one of the fancy shops downtown in my lap, knocking my book out of my hands.
“What’s this?” I ask hesitantly,
“Open it,” he prompts. With shaking hands, I remove the delicate tissue paper to reveal a stunning dress that’s nicer than anything I own. I sit it up straighter as I pull it from the bag, holding it up so I can see it fully.
Deep blue silk flows through my hands like water while I examine the details, from the thin halter straps to the plunging neckline.
I stop to admire the button detailing at the bottom of the backless design.
Everything about it, from the color to the way it’s cut, is stunning, and I’m not sure if I want to put it away somewhere so I can look at it when I need a pick-me-up, or sprint upstairs and try it on immediately.
“Andrei, this is beautiful.”
“Go get ready. I’m going to take you to dinner.”
“You’re what?”
He shrugs, looking me straight in the eye. “If I had known you built date nights into your schedule, I would have taken you out last week, too.”
Wait, what?
“What’re you—”
He turns around to leave, cutting me off before I can figure out what I’m trying to say .
“Just wear the dress, Blair. It’ll look nice on you,” he calls over his shoulder, leaving me even more confused.
I haven’t been on a real date since before Niko was born.
Wait, is this even a real date? Or some sort of work event? I want to think that Andrei would give me a heads up if he was taking me out somewhere where I might run into his colleagues, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about him.
And what did he mean when he said he would’ve taken me out last week, too? Does Andrei want to take me on dates?
How long do I have to get ready? What if we’re going somewhere that requires a reservation?
I check my phone for the time. A quarter to six.
I sprint upstairs for the bathroom so I can put on makeup and do my hair in time to comply with the unwarranted deadline I’ve set for myself.
So I don’t make us late. For the dinner I wasn’t expecting.
Maybe I’m over-thinking this.
Taking a deep breath, I force my shoulders to relax. Andrei called it a date, but it’s probably just another chance to make a public appearance. There’s no reason for me to get worked up over nothing.
Half an hour later, I pull on a pair of silver heels that complement the dress I’m still not convinced is real.
I might not be a dispatcher anymore, but apparently, I can still work well under pressure.
Regardless of what happens tonight, it won’t be my appearance that embarrasses me.
For once, I don’t look like a frumpy mom.
Instead, I look like someone who actually belongs at Andrei’s side .
The dress hugs my curves like a dream come true. The open back leaves me with no choice but to pray gravity looks kindly on me, and when I look in the mirror I had to stop and convince myself that he actually bought this for me and this isn’t some cruel joke.
I haven’t been this dressed up since my first wedding, and part of me is excited to go out and have a chance to show off.
Andrei waits for me downstairs, and when he sees me his mouth quirks into a pleased smile. The butterflies in my stomach break free of their cages, tearing apart the locks I’ve used to bar them shut and fluttering through my chest, tickling my ribs.
He’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, and his silence is a compliment I don’t know how to accept.
I want to tease him and tell him to pick his jaw up off the floor, but my confidence is still too shaky.
“So, where are we going?” I squeak out while I pick up my purse. I nearly jump out of my skin when I stand up again and find Andrei right behind me. He doesn’t say a word, just places one of his strong hands on the back of my neck and twists me around until we’re standing chest to chest.
“You look stunning, zolotse, ” he whispers before he leans down, slotting his mouth over mine for the first time in nearly a week.
The part of me that’s worked so hard to be mad at him is silent in the wake of his quiet affection. I lay a hand against his chest as I breathe in the warm, woodsy smell of his cologne .
Maybe it would be easier to hold onto my anger and indignation if I didn’t know how good it can be when I let myself give into him. Or maybe I just don’t want him to stop.
But he does, and I can’t help but whimper at the loss. He smirks and rests his forehead against mine, his minty breath wrapping around me like a physical embrace while his hands caress my hips.
“I don’t want to leave,” he murmurs against my lips. “But if we don’t, I’ll end up tearing this dress off you. And I want to show you off first.”
My thighs clench.
“Is it still an option later?”
He gives me a wicked smirk as he reaches around me to open the door. “If tonight goes well, you can plan on it.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” I chuckle, “let’s go.”
I’m still smiling when he guides me into the passenger seat of his car, his hand on my knee for the whole drive, making it hard to think of anything except for that singular point of contact.
It’s like he has a blueprint that tells him exactly how to get under my skin, and I don’t know how to get him out.
It’ll only end up hurting me, I know that, but I can’t figure out how to stop feeling like this. I like that he consumes so much space in my thoughts, not giving me room to worry about anything else. I like that there are little signs of him around the house everywhere I look.
A pair of shoes next to the front door. A jacket thrown carelessly over the back of a chair.
A notepad with his messy handwriting discarded when he’s forgotten about it.
They’re all little things, but they make me think he’s planning on sticking around for a while. And that’s a dangerous thought to have.
Because when he leaves—and he will, it’s inevitable with a man like him—I’ll never recover.
He parks the car and circles around the front to open my door, waving off the valet. With my hand in his, he reluctantly tosses his keys to the kid, face looming with unspoken threats that have the valet looking like he’s going to piss his pants.
His hand scorches against my back as he guides me into the restaurant.
“Mr. Voronov,” the hostess greets with a polite smile before he can announce himself. “Right this way.” Wordlessly, she guides us through the dining room, toward a private table softly lit by a trio of votive candles.
He surprises me once more, and like the gentleman I know he isn’t, Andrei pulls out my seat for me. I can’t keep my smile to myself. As he takes the seat across from me, I seize the opportunity to take him in.
He’s wearing a finely tailored suit with a crisp gray shirt that stretches tight across his chest as he settles into his own seat. It’s a welcome sight, but I find myself missing the casual outfits he usually wears around the house.
I look at the fine art in gilded frames hanging on walls, then at the delicately folded napkins decorating the table. Maybe his jeans would be frowned upon here.
Well, that’s their loss. They don’t even know what they’re missing.
Still, he manages to look right at home among all the luxurious details .
How often does he come to places like this? It must be pretty regularly if the hostess knows who he is by sight alone.
For all I know, maybe he owns this place. He’s never struck me as someone who’s bothered with running a legitimate business for the guise of respectability, but maybe he does. Or maybe he just happens to frequent a place that seems perfectly designed to woo a date.
God, I hope he’s secretly a business owner.
A moment later, a waiter appears, and Andrei takes the liberty of ordering for us both. I could be offended, but I feel so frazzled I don’t think I’d be able to pick something for myself if I tried.
The way he’s looking at me makes my cheeks heat, and I self-consciously fiddle with my rings as we wait.
“You know, you really didn’t have to take me out,” I eventually blurt, if only to deflect from the look in his eyes that I can’t begin to describe.
I cringe, hating how ungrateful I sound.
“Not that I don’t appreciate it! I do. I really do, actually, I just…
” I bite my lip to force myself to shut up, but Andrei leans back, looking amused.
“I guess I’m trying to say thank you. That’s all. ”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” He smirks, looking exactly like the smug asshole I should have known was lurking under his polished veneer.
“You kind of suck, you know that?” I mutter, but I’m smiling
He tilts his head from side to side like he’s considering it, then shrugs.
“Maybe, but I still got you worked up, didn’t I?” He smiles, and it softens the sharp angles of his face. The way the candlelight dances along the shadows of his brows and the scruff on his cheeks momentarily stuns me.
A man as dangerous as him has no business looking so handsome.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “This is a nice place.”
“It is,” he agrees easily, oblivious to the way I’m hardly able to tear my eyes away from his face.
“Seems like the type of place that would typically have reservations booked out months in advance.”
“Usually, that’d be the case.”
“Then how’d you get us in?”
“I know the owner.” He shrugs. “And he owed me a few favors.” I dread to think what those favors entail, but I don’t ask.
I don’t want to cross any sort of unspoken line and bring the night to an early end.
“And being here with you, especially while you look like that”—he pointedly looks me up and down—“is more than worth cashing in a couple of them.”
I’m mercifully spared from having to reply by a waiter delivering our food.
Truth is, I’m not used to getting compliments anymore. And I’m definitely not used to going on dates. Even when Daniil and I weren’t dancing around the issue of his infidelity, it got harder and harder to spend quality time together after Nikolai was born.
Andrei’s foot knocks against the inside of my ankle, pulling my attention back to him. He reaches out, holding my hand loosely and running his thumb against the delicate skin of my inner wrist.
“Where’re you at, zolotse ? ”
I half expect him to look offended that I’m already distracted, but he looks calm and collected, maybe even curious. I take a deep breath and squeeze my hand around his before I answer him as honestly as I can.
“I’m here. With you.”
As he chuckles, shaking his head while he smiles at me, it doesn’t feel like a lie at all.