24. Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Actually, bilingualism is linked to enhanced cognitive skills, improved academic performance, and better communication abilities,” Aurora interjects smoothly.
“It also delays the onset of dementia and cognitive decline,” she adds, not even bothering to look in their direction.
“And it provides greater cultural understanding and sensitivity.” This time, she stares directly at the woman.
I can’t help but let a smile spread across my lips. “Misha, what did you need?” I ask, shifting my focus back to my son before I’m further tempted to pull Aurora closer and kiss her.
“Ya ne hochu eta,” he says, pointing at the extravagant dishes before us.
“I figured you might not want this. I got you chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes in the kitchen,” Aurora responds, her tone warm and reassuring.
My whole body goes still. “You understood what he said?”
“Yes,” Aurora says, dropping her gaze. “I’m able to pick up on some phrases here and there.
” She looks up at me, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“I’ve been studying in the evenings and on weekends.
I’m not great at speaking, of course—Russian pronunciation is tricky for me—but I can understand some things. ”
I try to suppress the comparison that springs to mind, though it’s difficult.
Alessia never made an effort to learn Russian.
Whenever I spoke to Misha in our language, she would roll her eyes or insist I translate into English.
She was determined to be a part of every aspect of his life, and the idea of him sharing a language that connected me to him alone made her uncomfortable.
Instead, Aurora has embraced and even encouraged Misha’s connection to his roots, learning Russian to support him. To support… me.
My chest warms with an unfamiliar emotion that spreads through my body. Without realizing it, my hand slides under the table toward hers. The urge is irresistible, like a moth drawn to a flame. I brush her fingers with mine.
At the touch, Aurora jolts, her leg bumping against the table and capturing everyone’s attention. “Excuse me,” she murmurs, pushing her chair back. “I need to get his food.”
“I can ask—” I begin to protest, but she’s already halfway to the kitchen. I drop the napkin on my plate and stand. My attention fixed ahead, I walk with purpose, ignoring the other guests and the noisy room. It isn’t until I reach the kitchen door that I stop, frozen in place.
Aurora stands there, her stunning gown draping elegantly over her curves, starkly out of place against the mundane task of placing chicken nuggets onto a plate.
The kitchen is empty except for us. The servers are still in the living room attending to the guests.
Trays of food line the countertops—some still brimming with an array of hors d’oeuvres, others bare, their remnants either devoured or cleared away.
A stack of empty wine glasses sits in another corner.
The air is rich with the mingling scents of fried onions and baked potatoes.
I take a hesitant step toward her, knowing that I shouldn’t.
Another step.
Then another.
I know the exact moment Aurora senses my presence. Her breathing turns shallow, each inhale audible in the stillness of the room. I step behind her, close but careful to leave a small gap between us. Her hand halts midair, clutching the fork as I place my hands on the island, subtly enclosing her.
“You look… absolutely…” I whisper, each word threatening to unleash the torrent of everything I want to say to her, everything I want to do to her.
“Ravishing…” Yet the word falls short to describe Aurora’s beauty tonight.
Even with two languages at my disposal, I’m unable to find a way to do her justice.
I drag in a deep breath of her essence—lavender mingled with something fruity and sweet.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the counter, my fingers straining to stay put, fearful of the consequences if they move.
I lean in, my lips inches from her neck.
I take pride in my willpower, but each breath she takes chips away at my resolve, threatening to shatter my control.
“Sergei…” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she turns, placing her hands on my chest but keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.
I can’t tell if she’s going to push me away or pull me closer. “Rora…” My voice comes out raspy as I close the short distance between us, my arms moving from the counter to her lower back.
She lifts her head, her clear blue eyes meeting mine, and I swear I can spend my whole life staring into them. Her lips are a soft pink, drawing me closer like a siren’s song. I hold my breath, waiting, praying, hoping. She lifts her chin, an open invitation to claim her lips.
She wants this.
She wants me.
I lean in slowly, brushing my nose against hers and dragging it across her cheek.
My fingers rake against her gritty dress, feeling her body flush with mine.
She lets out a soft moan when I place a whisper of a kiss on the nape of her neck.
The kiss is like a gentle knock against the gates of heaven, and I’m on my knees, begging for entrance.
Because I’m not a good man. I’ve done bad things in my life.
I don’t deserve her. But she makes me want to be better, to do better, to hope for better.
I draw away from her, searching her eyes to see if what I’m feeling is what she needs too. I inch closer to her face, lowering my lips onto hers…
“Aurora?” Misha bursts into the kitchen, followed closely by a breathless Nadia.
“Wait,” Nadia calls after him.
Aurora springs away from me as if we are the same poles of a magnet.
“Sorry, sorry. Here it is,” Aurora says quickly, grabbing the plate and hurrying out of the kitchen.
“That kid is getting too fast for me,” Nadia says apologetically, clearly aware of Misha’s untimely arrival.
The interruption clears the enchantment that Aurora’s presence cast on me. I pick up one of the leftover chicken nuggets and crush it in my hand.
I took care of the photos from the gas station, but anyone could have easily walked in just now.
A board member might have kept their mouth shut, not wanting to disrupt the hotel’s success, but I don’t want to be at their mercy.
And who knows what a server or a cook might have done for the right price.
I’m a level-headed person with clear goals, focused and driven to achieve them. Yet, when it comes to Aurora, all common sense evaporates, and logic melts away in the heat of my desire for her. My blood abandons my brain, pooling in less appropriate places.
I take a few more minutes to collect myself before returning to the party, already knowing this will be the worst New Year’s ever.
Hours later, when most of the guests have departed, I find myself growing weary of pretending to be a gracious host, repeating the phrases Nadia prepared for me: “Thank you for coming,” “It was wonderful to have you over,” “We should do this again,” and other similar sentimental lies.
I pretend to mean it, and they pretend to believe me.
Perhaps they choose to do so, seduced by compliments like children lured by the promise of candy.
According to Nadia, the night was a success. The board members were appeased by my warm, nurturing personality, their vision and hearing clearly impaired by the consumed buckets of alcohol, preventing them from noticing the cynical tone that accompanied my every word.
But none of this matters. The only person whose opinion I care about hasn’t paid any attention to me since our moment in the kitchen. The uncertainty of what she’s thinking and feeling drives me to the edge of my runway, like a plane at full speed, unable to take off, doomed to crash.
“Sergei,” Dasha says, approaching with practiced grace, her fingers brushing my forearm in an overly familiar way.
I glance down at her hand, and though she catches my stare, she doesn’t move it. “Dasha. I didn’t realize you were here.” While my tone is sincere, it’s possible that my honesty stings more than I intended.
Her brief flash of hurt quickly shifts to a mask of confidence. “Georgiev Petrov invited me,” she says, referring to a board member who barely made the guest list.
I decide not to mention that to her.
Tilting her head upward, she exposes her neck to me, pressing her breasts together in a way that is meant to make them more appealing. “You haven’t needed me in a while,” she murmurs, leaning in closer.
“I’ve been busy,” I say and press my lips together.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers in my ear, her chest brushing lightly against my elbow.
I pull away from her. “We’re done, Dasha.”
“Got yourself a shiny new toy?” She smirks, her tone dripping with spite, finally dropping her facade of seduction.
“I guess it’s a toy for your son. Though the way you stared at her tonight…
” She steps closer to me again. “You couldn’t have been more obvious, watching her like a predator stalking its prey.
” She switches to Russian, and my jaw tightens.
“No, you haven’t played with it yet. If you had, you’d have broken it by now.
Losing control is dangerous with someone who doesn’t understand what you need—what you require, what you desire.
” Her dark green-tipped nail trails across her cleavage.
The distant sound of a door closing catches my attention, and I glance away from Dasha, realizing she’s the last guest of the party.
“I think your date is waiting for you,” I say, nodding toward Georgiev, who’s slumped against the wall by the elevator.
“You’ll come back. They always do.” She drags out the word “always” with a final lingering look before she walks away.
Fucking New Year’s.