Chapter 46 Bastian
BASTIAN
mac·er·ate: /?mas??rāt/: verb
Every day, Eliana loses a little more of the world.
Every day, I find myself trying to give it back to her.
It’s as I stand behind her in my apartment kitchen and watch her cook that I realize just how fucked I am.
She’s making risotto by herself and she’s concentrating so hard that her tongue peeks out between her teeth. The wooden spoon moves in slow, steady circles through the heaps and valleys of arborio rice. Steam rises from the pan, rich with the aroma of white wine and chicken stock.
“Like this?” she asks me without looking up.
“Almost,” I say. “But you don’t have to stir quite so hard. The rice doesn’t owe you money.”
She laughs and gives me the middle finger.
I’ve been teaching her everything I know. She’s a good student when she wants to be, which isn’t always. Sometimes, she’ll meet me in the parking garage after work—our new little ritual—and announce without preamble, “You’re cooking tonight. Ya girl is tired.”
I don’t mind in the least. It’s been nice to be back in the kitchen, cooking for someone who appreciates it. Sage is going through a phase of consuming nothing but protein shakes and ground beef, so he doesn’t give a damn about my coq au vin or my homemade basil oil.
But when I make it for her, Eliana puts a spoonful of red wine sauce in her mouth, closes her eyes, and sinks back into her seat.
She sighs as the flavors melt across her tongue, a soft little exhale of contentment that makes twenty years of burning my hands to shit in thankless, hot-as-hell kitchens feel like it was worth every stain and scar and drop of sweat.
It’s moments like that that are killing me. Moments like this one, too, as she turns back to the risotto. She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts. It falls to the tops of her thighs, just long enough to hide the curve of her ass. I can’t help sneaking up behind her to steal a kiss and a grope.
We haven’t slept together yet and we haven’t acknowledged that fact. But this, these stolen little seconds and touches, have become part and parcel of my daily existence. I don’t remember what life was like before I had them. I don’t want to.
Work has become oddly manageable. Project Olympus is accelerating toward the May 15 launch, and every day brings new crises, but I find myself navigating the chaos with unexpected calm.
Because she’s there.
Patricia commented on it yesterday. “You seem different,” she said carefully, like she was afraid I’d rip her head clean off her spine for noticing.
I’d shrugged and told her I was just focused on the launch. But that’s not it. That’s not it at all. The truth is simpler and exponentially more devastating: I’m happy.
I refuse to name it as such, though. “Happy” is a dangerous word. Instead, I just tell myself what Eliana whispers from time to time, just before we fall asleep:
Isn’t it nice to lie to ourselves?
It is. It really fucking is.
“Eat shit, Bautista!” Eliana shouts. She pumps her fist as her ball trickles down the lane at the speed of a snail.
We’re on a double date at a bowling alley in Logan Square—Zeke’s choice, naturally.
The man has never met a terrible idea he didn’t immediately embrace with both arms and kiss on the mouth.
I’m sitting at the table, nursing a beer and watching Eliana trash-talk my best friend.
She’s wearing the wide-brimmed sun hat I bought her and a pair of black, leather combat boots, and she looks absolutely fucking absurd.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.
“Let me know when your ball actually reaches the pins!” Zeke calls back. He slides into the seat beside me, his own beer dangling from his fingers. “So,” he says to me, “how’s things?”
I take a long pull from my beer. “Fine.”
“‘Fine,’” he repeats in a half-assed mockery of my voice. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“For starters, I want you to admit you’re in love with her.”
I nearly choke. “I’m not—”
“Oh, please.” Zeke mimes zipping my lips. “You look at her like she’s the last meal you’re ever gonna eat. It’s honestly kind of disgusting.”
“Says the man with a hickey the size of the fucking lake on his neck.”
His grin widens. “My girl’s enthusiastic in the sack. What can I say?”
“You can say literally anything else. I’d prefer it, actually.”
“Fine.” He takes a sip of his beer, eyes tracking Yasmin and Eliana as they high-five and cackle together at the lane when Eliana’s ball takes a forlorn plop into the gutter and rolls out of sight. “But for real, man. You doing okay?”
I consider the question. The honest answer is too complicated for words.
From a certain perspective, I’m not okay at all.
I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Petya since I attacked him at his apartment, which is theoretically good.
Maybe he actually heeded my warning and skipped town.
But Aleksei hasn’t shown his face, either, which is worrisome.
Still, I’m disinclined to go hunting for him so long as things remain normal and no black sedans come lurking along my streets.
Olympus continues to trundle along, and with lots of hard work from myself, Eliana, and the team at Hale Hospitality, we’ve been slowly shaving off days from Frank’s projected delays. At this rate, we might actually make our initial launch date, which would be an absolute fucking miracle.
Eliana and I continue to stubbornly ignore the concept of a future. We grab ass and kiss in shadowy corners and cook together damn near every night. It’s a farce, but goddammit, it’s a beautiful one.
So no, in many senses, I’m not okay at all.
But what comes out is, “Yeah. I think I am.”
Zeke nods and punches me in the shoulder. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Speaking of which, you nail down your plus-one for the gala yet?”
My hand tightens around my beer bottle. “A what for the what?”
“Oh, do you not remember?” he drawls sarcastically. “You’re investing three billion dollars in the biggest development in the city of Chicago this century. There’s a little kickoff party. May 14th. Black tie, champagne fountains, the whole nine yards. Maybe your invite got lost in the mail?”
I slug him back in the shoulder in retaliation. “Asshole,” I mutter. “No, I don’t have a date. Haven’t thought about it.”
Zeke shoves his face into my field of view so I can’t brush him off. “C’mon, bro, don’t be skittish. You gonna take Eliana or not?”
I glance toward the lane, where Eliana is currently doing a victory dance after knocking down three pins. Yasmin is laughing so hard she’s doubled over.
Taking Eliana to the gala would mean making us public. Making us real. It would mean standing in front of investors and board members and the entire Chicago hospitality industry with her on my arm, declaring to everyone that she’s not just my project manager—that she’s mine.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?” he asks in exasperation. “You’re clearly together. Everyone at the office already knows something’s up.”
“We’re not—” I stop myself. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?”
“Ahh!”
I pull my gaze away from Zeke just in time to see Eliana’s ball knock down the last pin. She shrieks and spins around, her hat nearly flying off her head.
“Did you see that?” She’s running toward me, combat boots squeaking on the polished floor. “Did you see that?! I got a spare!”
She doesn’t wait for an answer before she throws herself in my lap. She straddles me right there in the middle of the bowling alley with Zeke and Yasmin and approximately thirty strangers as witnesses. Her hands frame my face and she kisses me hard.
I freeze for half a second. Old instincts about propriety and professional boundaries and keeping things private are screaming hellaciously in my head. But then her tongue sweeps against mine and those instincts die a quick and silent death.
My hands find her hips automatically and drag her closer. She’s grinning against my mouth, pulsating with glee.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are bright. “I’m a bowling goddess.”
“You got one spare,” I point out.
“That’s one more than you, asshole.”
Zeke wolf-whistles from somewhere behind us. I flip him off without looking.
Eliana laughs and kisses me again, softer this time. Like she has all the time in the world. Like we both do.
Zeke clears his throat. “Alright, alright, save it for the bedroom, please.”
“You’re one to talk,” Eliana retorts, scowling at him over my shoulder. “Do you not remember that I caught you trying to put your hand up Yas’s skirt at the concert in the park last weekend? Did you just Men-in-Black neuralyzer that from your brain?”
“Shooters shoot,” he replies unrepentantly. He reaches out and pinches Yasmin’s butt and she squeals and slaps him on the chest.
“Hands to self, Zeke,” she snaps. “We’ve discussed this.”
“Unfortunately, I’m a terrible listener. Too distracted by your effervescent beauty.” He grins and winks. Then he turns his attention back to Eliana. “Say, El, the big man here and I were just talking. Do you have a dress for the gala?”
I cringe as Eliana’s smile falters. “The what?” she asks, the exact same way I did.
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’m not the terrible listener after all. You and Basti here are exactly the same. The gala,” he says with extra emphasis. “G-A-L-A. Sort of a big deal. Kind of your whole job, really.”
“Oh,” she mumbles. “That.”
“Bastian needs a date,” Zeke continues, ignoring my death glare. “I was just asking if he’s taking you.”
Eliana laughs, but I know her well enough by now to see the excruciating effort that goes into making it seem natural. “Oh, no. That’s not— I mean, there’s no need for that.”
Something in my chest suddenly stings like a motherfucker. I turn my face so no one sees me wince.
“It’s a work thing,” she continues breezily. “Bastian should take someone more appropriate. Someone from the industry, maybe. I can’t work a room. Heck, I can barely see the person I’m talking to.”
“Eliana—” I start, feeling guilty as sin.
But she’s already standing. “I’m gonna grab another beer. Anyone want anything?”
Yasmin raises her hand. “I’ll come with you.”
They head toward the bar together, leaving me alone with Zeke’s knowing stare. “Well,” he says after a moment, “that went well.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if you want her there, you should probably, I don’t know, ask her.”
“She just said she doesn’t want to go.”
“No, she said there’s ‘no need’ for it. Which is girl speak for ‘I want to go more than life itself.’” Zeke leans forward and grabs my shoulder.
“Look, man. I know you’re scared. This whole thing with Eliana is fucked up and complicated and probably gonna end badly.
But if you keep pretending like it doesn’t matter—or worse, like she doesn’t matter—you’re gonna lose her before you ever really had her. ”
I shake him off. “Thanks for the advice, Confucius.”
I look up to see Eliana at the bar. She’s laughing at something Yasmin said.
But even from here, I can see that her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I step outside the bowling alley with Eliana’s hand in mine. The late April air is warm and balmy. Spring is finally here after what felt like an endless winter.
But a sudden chill races through me anyway.
Because when I look around, I realize with a start that I know this street.
The bodega on the corner with the faded Cyrillic lettering.
The liquor store two doors down that’s never bothered to fix its broken neon sign.
A rotting apartment building across the street with a fire escape that sags in the middle.
I know all of it because I used to stand on this exact corner every Sunday afternoon when I was a teenager, waiting for Aleksei to finish conducting “business” in the back room of Tolstoy’s.
We’re in Aleksei’s territory. Right in the heart of it.
My hand tightens around Eliana’s. She notices immediately. “Bastian? What’s wrong?”
Behind us, Zeke and Yasmin emerge from the bowling alley, laughing about something. Zeke takes one look at my face and his smile dies. “Everything alright, chief?”
I force myself to wipe the pallor off my face and grin. “Yeah. All good. I just remembered that I left something at the office. You mind running Eliana home for me?”
Eliana frowns at me. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the ride with—”
“No, no.” I wave her off, keeping my voice light. “It’s just some paperwork I need to sign. Won’t take long, and it’s already past your bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
She doesn’t look convinced. Her hand lingers in mine for a beat too long, like she’s trying to read me through touch alone. “Promise you’re okay?”
I stoop down and kiss her forehead. “Promise.”
Zeke claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” he says. There’s a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask it.
I nod once. He understands enough not to press further.
I watch the three of them pile into Zeke’s car—him behind the wheel, Yasmin riding shotgun, Eliana in the back. She waves at me through the window as they pull away. I wave back.
I wait until the taillights disappear around the corner.
Then I start walking.