Chapter 4
LEAH
Viktor watches me as I savor a bite of burrata with a seared peach, thick, syrupy aged balsamic, and salt and pepper—it’s heaven, and I treat it like it is.
He chuckles. “You appreciate good food.”
I take a moment to think about my reply.
“I like anything that makes me feel happy.
I enjoy traveling, but it doesn't have to be to an exotic place. It can be upstate in a little town with an art scene. I like to read for the same reason. I enjoy attending all the local festivals in Philly and in Jersey, you know, to discover new things.”
“I see,” Viktor says, a smile hovering on his mouth again.
“For example, last month, my daughter, my best friend, and I went to the Smithsonian Folk Festival. We saw all different kinds of folk music and got to try all kinds of food. It was our vacation this summer, and we learned a lot and had a ton of fun.”
I smile, thinking about how much fun Eliza, Suzie, and I had together. We even splurged on an upscale hotel and ordered room service every morning, just because we could. Even a month later, I still find myself going through the camera roll on my phone.
“So tell me about your daughter.”
A grin breaks out across my face. “She’s seven, in the second grade.”
One of Viktor’s eyebrow quirks. “I take it you're divorced, then?”
“No.” I might as well be honest. “She is the result of bad judgment on my part, but I don’t regret having her for a single second.”
Viktor doesn't say anything, and I reach for my glass of wine and take a long sip to steady myself.
“I was nineteen and in my first year of college. Her sperm donor took off as soon as I found out I was pregnant, and he hasn’t contacted me since, which is okay, because my daughter doesn't need someone in her life who doesn't want her.
That's part of the reason I broke it off with my ex, too.
He was in a car accident, and it changed his personality.
I mean, who wouldn't have issues when they're paralyzed from the waist down?”
My run-on sentence and flood of information gets a reaction from Viktor, though I'm not sure how to read it. His attention on me sharpens, and he leans forward, his food entirely forgotten for a moment. I try not to shrink from the full weight of his attention.
“Paralyzed in a car accident?” There’s something cold to his voice, and I don’t know why.
“Yeah. It was really terrible.”
“And you left him when he needed you the most?”
There's an edge of judgment to Viktor’s pointed question, one that makes me want to recoil. And I do, sitting back against my chair and gripping my wine glass tightly.
“No, of course not. I stayed with him through the hospital, through physical therapy, through surgeries, through it all. I was right there with him. But he was so angry, as he had every right to be,” I add quickly.
“But he took the anger out on me, and more importantly, he took it out on my daughter before admitting to me he’d always believed I loved her more and that she was coming between us.
It's the same excuse he used when I found out he’d been cheating on me with the woman who died in the same accident. ”
I down the glass of wine, wondering why the hell this story is coming out now. Isn't this six-month-in territory? It's certainly not first-date worthy. But I've already shot myself in the foot, so why not continue? This is officially the worst date in history after the worst day in history.
“They were having an affair. Actually, he'd been having affairs from the beginning of our relationship. He tried to blame me, saying I wasn't enough for him because I spent too much time with my daughter, so he had to find someone to satisfy his needs elsewhere.”
Even the exceptional wine feels like chalk on my tongue, turning sour with the remembered hurt. It's not like I hadn't suspected, but some part of me wanted to believe I was paranoid. I desperately wanted to believe a man I thought I loved so much would never hurt me like that.
“I guess, in the end, I didn't know him at all. The sweet, thoughtful guy I knew wasn’t real, and what was behind the mask wasn’t someone I wanted in my life. I certainly didn't want my daughter around him. So I broke it off.”
I expect Viktor to get up from the table and leave. Instead, he regards me with a look of something akin to respect.
“I'm sorry.” The soft-spoken words surprise me, and my gaze flicks immediately to his face. However, I don't see frustration, disgust, or boredom; I only see understanding. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and force my hand away from my glass.
“It was.” I sigh deeply, the wound that has never quite healed scraping against the rawness of the memories.
“It was awful for me, but it was worse for my daughter.
She didn't understand why we were leaving the only man she'd ever known as a father, even if he was pretty crappy at it, to be honest. I mean, how do you explain that to a little kid? I’d been so careful, too. I didn’t introduce them for almost a year, until I was sure he was it for me.
“He put on quite a show at first, pretending to be the Father of the Year with my daughter.
Then he got bored, and I don't know for sure, but I think she's held onto a little bit of that, wondering why he wasn't interested in her after a while.
That's what hurts most of all, that I involved my daughter and she got hurt, too.”
Now I do grab my wine, swallowing it to push down the lump of emotion forming in my throat. Viktor remains silent, but not in judgment. I still see the understanding in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, and I wonder if he's been through something similar.
“You do an admirable job with your daughter, I’m sure,” Viktor says, and I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“I'm really trying. It's honestly tough being a single mother, though I wouldn't change it for anything. I'm not going to make my kid pay for my mistakes. I brought her into this world, and I'm going to teach her how to be strong and give her the best life I possibly can.”
“Just that desire in and of itself tells me you're an incredible mother. It may surprise you, but not everyone shares your perspective. Some people see their children only as chess pieces to be used to further their ambitions.”
I think I’m a pretty good parent, even with the doubts, and I don't need the praise. But there's something about the way it comes from Viktor, with warmth, respect, and honesty, that sends it straight to my heart.
I smile, and he smiles, a breathtaking lift of his mouth that smooths those lines at either side of his mouth into one of the sexiest smiles I've ever seen.
Heat pools in my stomach, then lower, and it's not just the warmth of the restaurant and the open kitchen. As if he can sense it, Viktor’s eyes darken with a flame I can only read as desire.
More food comes out, more wine is poured, and dinner continues.
But the heat doesn't stop. It crawls its way through my entire body, until I'm flushed with it, until I want to take an ice cube from my water and rub it on my neck just to get some relief.
But an ice cube is not the relief my body craves.
Dinner is over too soon, though we linger over tiny cups of espresso and chocolate mousse brightened with fresh summer raspberries.
“Come.” Viktor's voice is as smooth as the Port that arrived with our last course, coating my insides like velvet. “Iliya will drive us back to your apartment.”
I'm grateful Viktor isn't telling Iliya to drive me home alone.
However, I'm not sure if a car ride together is a good idea.
I'm almost certain I'm not the only one feeling the electricity between us, the dance of attraction over my skin swirling in my chest, hot and cold and exciting, the feeling growing until my breath is shallow.
And I swear I see Viktor glance my way more than a few times as the city lights drift across his features, his angular cheekbones, a jaw that looks chiseled from marble, the salt and pepper of his perfectly tousled, wavy hair.
It's all I can do not to immediately jump on him as soon as he helps me out of the car. The sultry summer night, humid and airless, have nothing on the heat inside me.
“Do you—” I catch my breath, then push forward, because what have I got to lose?
Certainly not my dignity—I’ve lost that multiple times today.
“Do you want to come up to my apartment?
It's probably a lot smaller than you're used to, and it's not super clean because it's summer break and we're kind of lax during the summer—”
“I would love to.” Viktor’s reply is a purr and a growl all in one that sets my blood blazing. “Is your daughter not home?”
“No.” I look over my shoulder as I let us into the building, and can't quite believe Viktor is following me, his enormous shadow taking up the entire doorway behind me.
“I got a text about an hour ago asking if she could have a sleepover at the babysitter’s because they're having a Disney marathon.”
Something flares deep in Viktor’s eyes, something that ignites an answer deep inside me, something primal and forceful.
We’re both quiet as we climb the stairs, but my heart is hammering in my chest. I’m intensely aware of the man following closely behind me, of his strength, of his enormous presence, of his cologne, of the way he stirs a part of me I thought dead and buried, and long turned to dust.
The key slides in the lock, loud in the quiet hallway, and I twist it, hoping Viktor doesn’t mind a little bit of a mess.
The apartment is dark, save for the ambient light from the windows facing the street coming in through the curtains, and I don’t turn on any of the lights. I don’t have time to, because as soon as I step into the apartment, Viktor engulfs me from behind, his lips at my neck.