“What did you say your name was?” I asked.
“I didn’t.”
I opened my eyes, suddenly curious to see what he looked like up close, but as soon as I did, the world spun so fast I feared I was going to be sick. So, I closed them again and let this stranger carry me down the hall.
“I hope you’re not taking me somewhere to take advantage of me,” I murmured against his chest. “I’m a virgin, you know. It wouldn’t be very much fun for you.”
“I don’t know about that,” he drawled.
When I was set on a bed, I curl
ed up on my side, heaviness pulling on my consciousness.
My voice was a whisper. “I’ll make him love me, you’ll see.”
A thumb skimmed across my cheek. “If anyone can do it, it would be you . . .” His voice was soft and rough. “Moya zvezdochka.”
And then it went black.
MY SHOPPING CART SQUEAKED AS I pushed it down the cereal aisle, absently knocking two boxes of Count Chocula into the basket. That score would have been the highlight of my day a week ago, but now, I couldn’t find any excitement in it because my mind was still stuck on my revelation from the night before.
“How could someone ever forget your face?” I’d asked him once.
For some reason, he thought that was funny.
I felt like an idiot. Though it wasn’t only that. It seemed he was always going out of his way to do nice things for me. Sure, it felt like he’d walk a mile to make me miserable as well, but ever since I’d stepped foot in New York eight years ago, he’d been picking me up off the floor—literally.
I could still hear the words he pressed against my ear after I’d announced he’d been at my wedding.
“I’m glad to see you remember, malyshka, because there is nothing I have ever forgotten about you.”
And then he’d dropped me to my feet and walked out the door.
I was halfway out of the store when I realized I’d only come for one thing and almost left without it.
With a bag on each arm, I sighed and turned around.
I needed eggs because I was teaching Elena how to make pasta dough today. And while I might have told Christian to expect my pilfering of his refrigerator the day I’d moved into his building, I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
My body was still reeling from last night with this breathless, nervous energy he always seemed to bring out in me. I’d told Aleksandra I wasn’t interested in him and then hours later sucked his fingers on command. Maybe the model and him weren’t exclusive, but they’d seemed comfortable enough around each other for me to believe they’d slept together. That thought alone made me sick to my stomach. And I wasn’t ready to analyze why.
“Mommy, Mommy, can I have it? Puh-lease, Mommy?”
I paused with an egg carton in hand to look at the tiny dark-haired girl who seemed so eager to have a . . . single banana. The answer must have been yes because the girl smiled real big and hugged the fruit to her chest. I drew my eyes to the mother, who was cooing at the cutest little giggling baby.
Warmth set in, yet a strange pressure ached in my chest.
I stood there for too long, watching the happy trio until they disappeared around the corner.
I swallowed, confused at the feeling that stopped me in my tracks. A feeling that bloomed like hope and, at the same time, wilted like despair.
Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight, I’d forgotten what longing felt like.
“Mamma mia, Elena! Are you trying to burn the place down?” I put out the small fire on the stove by smacking it with an oven mitt. Grabbing a corner of the incinerated cloth from the gas burner, I turned around with a frown. “Towels don’t cook very well, I’m afraid.”
She bit her lip. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”
“I pride myself on being a positive person and would normally have something uplifting to say here, but . . . I think it’s time you hire a cook before you kill someone.”