16. Adriana
16
ADRIANA
I’m nibbling at the plate of delicious food but trying not to spill any on the dress, so I’m not really enjoying it. I’m also feeling increasingly self-conscious amongst this close family of which I'm not a member, when the outside door opens, and heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway.
Dimitri and the older man he left with stride into the room.
I'm so relieved to see Dimitri that a grin breaks out across my face.
This man is quickly becoming my safe space, and that won’t do.
“Come eat with us,” Jacob says to both men. “Virgil, you look like you’re tired; come take a load off.”
Virgil looks at the table groaning with food and smiles. “Don't mind if I do. It looks delicious.”
Jacob finished grilling about ten minutes ago, and Dimitri’s mother, who has instructed me to call her Vera, has made a large salad and vegetable side dishes to go with the meat.
Dimitri takes the seat opposite me at the table, and his gaze locks on mine as he studies me. I'm wearing the dress that Nataliya put me in and feeling rather overexposed in it. The straps are thin spaghetti straps, and one of them keeps falling down my shoulder, so I'm constantly hiking it back up. His gaze drifts all over my face, as if seeing it for the first time, and then down the column of my throat to my decolletage where it hovers for a beat, before snapping up to meet my eyes.
“Doesn't she look nice, Dimitri?” Nataliya smiles cheekily at her brother as she glances between him and me.
“She certainly looks different,” Dimitri says.
My heart sinks. I had hoped that he'd see me and find me absolutely ravishing in this fancy dress and with a face full of makeup.
“She looks wonderful,” Vera says. “I've been telling her what an absolute stunning girl she is. Like a fairy tale princess.”
Something flashes across Dimitri’s face, almost a look of anger. It's gone as fast as it appeared and is replaced by his usual stoic expression.
“Fill your plate up; it all needs eating,” Vera instructs Virgil, breaking the tension.
The conversation begins to flow again. I drift into my thoughts and let the conversation hum around me. It’s pleasant letting the chatter of others wash over me, knowing that I don't have to try to join in. At one point they lapse into talking in a different language. Russian, I think. Nataliya bangs her hand on the table.
“English please, people. We don't all speak your language. So rude .”
I smile at her. She's feisty and funny. I think if I got to know her better, I'd really like her.
As the meal progresses, I'm increasingly aware of Dimitri’s heavy focus on me. He keeps glancing at me, his eyes roaming my face. I don't look at him, but I'm all too aware of his scrutiny. I can sense it on me even when I can't see it. It's heavy somehow, expectant, full of something that I can't quite name.
When everyone has eaten their fill, Vera demands that we stay a little longer and partake of dessert. I haven’t eaten much of my meal, and I'm afraid of seeming rude. However, she clears my plates away without saying anything and offers me a friendly smile as she does so. Then she passes around smaller plates, each holding a slice of pale colored cake on it.
“Lemon cake, yummy. My favorite.” Nataliya claps her hands in delight. It’s something I’m realizing she does often.
I've never eaten lemon cake before, and I pick up my spoon and take a small bite. It's absolutely delicious. Sharp yet sweet. Light and fluffy, yet moist. I swallow and turn to Vera. “Did you make this yourself?” I don't think it's what she was baking earlier because that's still in the oven.
“Yes, I baked it two days ago. Do you like it?”
“It's delicious. It’s probably the nicest cake I've ever tasted.”
“It really is gorgeous, isn't it?” Nataliya says.
“You’re eating sugary desserts, and yet you didn't eat any salad or protein,” Jacob observes.
My face flushes, and for a moment I feel fear creeping in. This man is the head of a very powerful family, and I didn’t mean to offend him or his cooking.
He must realize my fear because he immediately places a hand very briefly on my forearm. “It's not criticism; I'm just making an observation. Didn't you like the food?”
“I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. The food was delicious, but I've been feeling queasy on and off for days now. When I feel sick, I find it hard to eat, but somehow, I can always eat cake or cookies. I don't know why.”
“I'm exactly the same,” Vera says. “There's something about nibbling at sweet food that’s just easier to manage. When I was pregnant with Dimitri, all I could eat was cake for the first few months. I put on a lot more weight than pure baby, let me tell you. I was stuffing my face with cookies, cake, and chocolate. So much chocolate. Dry crackers too, but very little else. The idea of eating meat or fish, oh my goodness. It made me feel quite unwell.”
“I’ve just realized something profound,” Nataliya says. “We three all have something in common.” She points between herself, me, and Dimitri.
“Oh?” Dimitri spares her a glance.
“Yes, we all have a dead parent.”
“Daughter,” Jacob snaps. “This isn't dinner table conversation.”
“It's true, though, Daddy.” She pouts at him. “I lost Mommy, and Dimitri lost his father, and Adriana has lost her mother. It’s something we all have in common. I wasn't trying to be flippant about it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dimitri snaps. He grabs his napkin and wipes his mouth before dropping it on his plate and covering the rest of his uneaten cake. He grabs the bottle of white wine, pours half a glassful, and downs it in one go.
Then he pushes his chair back and holds his hand out toward me. I stare at it for a moment, confused, and he beckons me by flicking his fingers at me as if I'm some sort of dog. I want to tell him to get lost, but I don't want to make a scene in front of his family. Instead, I glance around at them, unsure of what to do.
“We're going,” he announces to the table. “I'll call you later.” He addresses this to Jacob. “Virgil will fill you in for the meantime, if that's okay with you, Virgil?”
“Of course,” Virgil says.
Dimitri looks at me again, cocks his head slightly to one side, and flicks his hand at me once more. “Are you coming?”
Well, at least he's giving me a choice .
“Dimitri, I didn't mean to say anything to upset anyone.” Nataliya looks genuinely upset now. This isn't the pout she gave her father, but real remorse on her face.
“It's fine,” Dimitri says. “We just need to get back. We don't want to be traveling in the dark.”
“He’s scared of ghosts.” Nataliya tosses me a cheeky wink.
“More like scared of men with guns.” Dimitri holds her gaze, and she flinches.
“Dimitri, don't frighten your sister.” Vera wipes her hands on her napkin and fixes her son with a stern look.
“You know I love her to bits,” Dimitri says as if she's not in the room, “but sometimes she needs scaring. The girl lacks common sense.”
“The girl is right here,” Nataliya snaps.
Dimitri crosses over to her and kisses her forehead. “I love you, sis, but just be careful right now. It’s not safe, and I need you to take that seriously.”
“I know,” she says. “I am. I swear. I haven’t gone out in days because Daddy says it isn’t safe. I’m not going to put myself at risk again. Not after … not after last time.” She looks down at the tablecloth.
“Okay. Good. I just worry.” Dimitri kisses the top of her head again and then kisses his mother’s cheek.
I observe him like this. A little softer. A tiny bit more human. But then he straightens and his inscrutable mask is back in place.
“Come, Adriana. We need to be going.”
I sigh but take his hand and let him lead me out of the room. When we reach the door, I pause, tugging on his hand slightly to make him slow down. I turn back to the room. “It was lovely to meet you all.” I try not to forget my manners despite Dimitri’s lack of them. “Thank you for the food, Vera and Jacob. And thank you for keeping me company, Nataliya. I had fun. I'll make sure to return the dress to you tomorrow.”
“Keep it,” she says. “It looks way better on you than it ever did on me.”
We speed walk down the hallway, Dimitri still holding my hand and walking so fast that I struggle to keep up in these heels. I stumble, pitch forward, and can’t recover.
I hurtle toward the floor, barely having time to think and brace myself for impact when a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me upright. My back is flush to his chest, and his arm is a tight band around my middle. “Careful, Littleblue,” he whispers in my ear. “Don't go taking a tumble now.”
I catch my breath and smooth the dress down, trying to compose myself. “How about you don't go galloping off at one hundred miles an hour when I'm wearing heels. I'm not used to walking in these damn things.”
His gaze runs down the length of my body. “They suit you,” he says.
“Don't get used to it,” I snap. “I much prefer my sneakers.”
He laughs. “Of course you do.”
When we reach his car and climb in, I turn to him. “What's the plan now? What did you find out? Why were you so angry in there? Was it your sister, or is there something else going on?”
He ignores my questions, guns the engine, and rolls off down the drive.
Finally, after a long beat, he speaks.
“My sister is a pain in my ass sometimes, even though I love her dearly. My mother was giving you googly eyes, and I don't want her planning our wedding in her head. Jacob and Virgil need to talk. And I want you back on the boat before it gets dark. Does that answer your questions?”
All I can focus on is that he said he doesn't want his mother planning our wedding. Not that I want to marry this arrogant man, but the idea that he doesn't see anything like that in our future at all, well, it kind of gets to me. Before I have a chance to really examine why that might be, he glances over at me.
“You look fucking incredible in that dress.”
His words are complimentary, but the tone is angry.
“Why does that bother you? You sound as if me looking nice is something that I should be ashamed of.”
“It's not something you should be ashamed of, but I can't help getting the feeling that you're tempting me.”
Oh my God, the arrogance!
I swivel in my seat to face him.
“Listen to me, buddy. I had no idea your sister was going to dress me in this getup. She basically dragged me out of the kitchen and upstairs to her bedroom. She threw her clothes at me and then decided she was going to put this makeup on me. It wasn’t for you. Not everything I do is for you, or any man for that matter. None of it was my choice. And frankly, when she gets going, your sister is just as overwhelming and forceful as you are.”
“You think I'm overwhelming?” is what he comes back with.
“On every single level,” I reply.
“You're not exactly underwhelming yourself. You look incredible in that dress. You look incredible in that makeup. Each time I tell myself you surely can't look any better, you go and prove me wrong.”
Again, with nice words but an angry tone.
“Is that a problem?”
“It is for me,” he replies.
Is he some puritan who wants women to dress like nuns? “Why don't you like women who look nice?”
“Don't be naive, Adriana,” he snaps. “I like you far too much, and you know that's the problem. I want to get you back on that boat, into my bedroom, and tear that fucking dress right off your body.”
I suck in a breath and don't reply, because what the hell can I say to that?
Do I want him to tear this dress off my body? The way my nipples peak says yes, yes, I do. The way my core throbs says hell yes, and the way my throat runs dry begs, yes, please .
I still retain some of my sanity, though, and I'm all too aware that he's an experienced man, a big, muscular, older experienced man. I'm not experienced at all.
“After you rip my dress off me, would you take it easy?” My hands tremble in my lap as I speak.
This is like that time I wandered out of the shallow end of the pool before I could swim.
“Do you want me to rip your dress off?”
“I think I do, very much so.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he says.
“As long as you’re gentle with me after, then I want you to rip my dress off.”
“Oh, I’ll be gentle after I rip that damn thing from you.”
I suck in air. “Then why do I need to be careful what I wish for?”
“Because I won’t be gentle every time after that.”
“There will be more times?” My voice is breathless at the thought.
He glances at me, his eyes glittering and intense. “You think I’m going to get a woman like you underneath me and be done with once?”
Holy crap.
“I might be bad at sex.”
He barks out a surprised laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“It’s your first time; it’s not your job to be good at it.”
“What is my job?”
“To enjoy it. And if you’re not enjoying it, or you need me to stop, then communicate that with me.”
“Like a safe word.”
He smiles, and it’s brief but gorgeous.
“You’re not going to need a safe word, Adriana.” Then he adds, “Not this time, anyway.”
I’m going to have sex with the man who is holding me captive. I’m going to have sex with a man who is a criminal. Me. The goody-two-shoes who was saving herself for a good man is about to let this beast rip my dress off.
I can’t wait.