Chapter 12 #3
“See? It's easy to read.” She turns and looks at me, her thick lashes dotted with droplets of water. She moves closer to me. “God, so many things I wish I knew.”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
“Really?”
“Mmm.”
“Do you speak Russian?” she asks in Russian. “I've always wanted a man to speak Russian to me.”
“Konechno, ya delayu.”
Of course I do.
“Why do you want me to speak Russian?”
She hangs her head and takes a step closer to me. “I think it's hot. I've always imagined my husband would speak my native language to me. I think it's my Russian blood. Something about that calls to me.”
“Then why aren't you speaking Russian now?”
She shrugs and doesn’t answer.
“Have you been with a lot of women? It seems like a reasonable thing to ask someone who’s going to be your husband.”
She takes a step toward me and reaches for the bar of soap in my hand.
“No. Some, but they didn't need anything from me.” I sink a world of meaning into that response, unsure of how she'll take it.
Without a word, she washes my shoulders and my neck and my chest.
“Aren't you going to ask me if I've been with a lot of men?” I shake my head.
“I don't need to. All I needed to know was that you thought fucking Yudin was worthy of your time and attention. I’ll remedy that. He didn’t love you and wasn’t worthy of you.”
Her eyes flash, and she snorts.
“And this is what real love looks like? This is the real deal, right? Who are you kidding, Viktor?”
I shake my head.
“You need to know that I fucking hate him, and I'm going to kill him. And I'm not going to lie to you about that. I thought by now you would've seen who he was.”
She shakes her head and turns away. “I'm starving. Let's get out of here and get something to eat.” I’ll have to remember she changes the subject when she gets uncomfortable.
We rinse and towel off, not saying a word to each other. I show her where Polina left some clothes, and I pull on a pair of boxers. The whole time I'm wondering, what does she think of me? Does she still think that asshole was worth her time?
I show her to the kitchen. She wears soft flannel pajama shorts and a little tank top. They fit her perfectly.
“These are nice. I'll have to thank Polina. Do you have a dining room?”
I shake my head again.
“I eat in the kitchen. I'll show you.”
In silence, we quietly get paper plates and napkins out.
“Do you like pink lemonade and Diet Coke?”
I shake my head. “I don't give a shit. My housekeeper got those.”
They are her favorite drinks. She's smart enough to know why they're there. She eyes me curiously and takes a bottle of water, leaving the lemonade and Diet Coke there. It feels like a moment of calm before a storm of emotions is about to hit. Lydia burns as hot as the fires she sets.
She's grateful right now. She had a shower, and I ordered her favorite foods. But she doesn't like the control over her life, and that's going to come to a head eventually.
We sit at the kitchen table, the food spread up before us. Lydia takes a large slice of pizza and eats slowly, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Oh my God, this is so good,” she says, savoring her food. I watch her. I love making her happy.
We eat until we’re full.
“Soon you'll meet Aria, Mikhail's wife. These were her favorite when she was pregnant.”
I put the rest of the food away as she throws the paper plates in the trash.
It's simple and comforting, but we're both mostly just tired.
When our eyes meet, an unspoken understanding passes between us.
Maybe she's trying to reconcile the fact that I know so much about her, and yet I'm still a complete stranger.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Mikhail
They lied or he was warned. No Yudin.
Lydia shifts in her seat, drawing my attention back to her. Her gaze is intense, her lips slightly parted. “Who was that?” she asks, her voice soft but probing.
“Mikhail,” I reply, my voice low.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Do you always handle your problems with violence?”
I step closer, the air between us charged with tension. “I do what needs to be done to protect those I care about.”
Her breath hitches, and she doesn't back away. Instead, she stands, closing the distance between us. “And what about me, Viktor? What do I need protection from?”
“From anyone who would hurt you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “Including yourself.”
Her eyes flash with defiance. “I don't need a protector.”
“Maybe not,” I murmur, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you have one anyway.”
She shivers at my touch, a mixture of anger and something more in her eyes. “You think you know everything about me,” she whispers, her lips inches from mine.
“I know enough,” I reply, my voice husky. “Enough to want to keep you safe. Enough to want you.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, we just stand there, the tension between us electric. Then she steps back, breaking the spell.
“We'll see,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “We'll see if you really know me, Viktor.”
I shoot Mikhail another text.
Keep looking.