I don’t expect Ilya to agree, but he nods.
“Of course.” Ilya lifts his grocery basket—filled with yogurt and several kinds of fruit—higher. “Now come, pretty Micah. I’m very good at making parfaits.”
My cheeks flush red at his words. “I… Okay.” I nod, following him to the self-checkout after a quick stop in the small home goods section.
Adam hates self-checkouts. He thinks it makes cashiers lazy when all they have to do is watch us do their work for them. At least, that’s what he says. I’m pretty sure he just likes being able to lord over people.
My thoughts about my boyfriend aren’t very flattering, I realize as Ilya pays for his groceries. I wince. Maybe I’m still not quite over the other night. I have every reason to still be upset by the way Adam had thrown me into the deep end, only to then hunt me down and drag me home for doing the job wrong.
Is it even “home” anymore?
It doesn’t feel like a home.
It hasn’t in a long time.
I don’t want to think about it right now, not when I have Ilya at my side.
With him there, I almost feel safe, and it’s so ludicrous that I don’t know how to reconcile that with the truth. I should never feel safe with someone as dangerous as Ilya Zima.
There’s a small park near the grocery store, and Ilya leads us to one of the picnic tables. A few office workers are sitting on the edge of the central fountain while they eat their lunches, but other than that, the area is fairly empty.
Ilya sets out the plastic champagne flutes he’d bought and grins at me.
It’s surprisingly disarming, and I find myself smiling back.
“Presentation is everything.” Ilya starts layering the yogurt, fruit, and granola, and I watch in fascination. Adam hasnever done anything fun like this with me. The extent of his contribution in the food arena is grilling.
When the champagne flute is full, Ilya adds the plastic spoon and pushes it at me. “Here you go.”
“Fancy,” I say, taking it from him. I push the spoon into the top layer, scooping out a little bit of the granola with a taste of the coconut yogurt. I don’t get anything with chocolate very often either because Adam isn’t a fan, and?—
Fuck.
My thoughts keep circling back to him. Adam is right about me being obsessed with him, isn’t he? Otherwise, I wouldn’t keep thinking about him over and over again when he’s not even around.
But no.
It’s only because I love him, because I want to do good things for him and make him proud — which is why I’m doingthis.
It’s definitely not because I’m enjoying this venture into something unfamiliar.
Ilya makes his own parfait with the plain vanilla yogurt. He holds up the flute to me. “A toast, then. To our re-acquaintance.” He smiles warmly. “I’m very glad I ran into you, Micah.”
I try my best to focus on my mission, but my gaze lingers on his smile. It’s nice.
It’s different.
But I have to remember that he’smafia, that I’m doing this because I have to and not because I want to. He isn’t a warm teddy bear. He’s dangerous. He has to be.
So why am I enjoying this?
I savor my yogurt, then tell him, “I’m glad too. It’s… It’s nice to see you.” It’s nice to think that in another universe, we could be friends.
More than friends,a little voice taunts me in the back of my mind.
No. There would be no “more than friends” with someone like Ilya Zima.
He’s a violent criminal who takes advantage of others.
