If his restraint was the first pleasantly shocking moment, his comforting embrace was a close second. It was the last thing I’d have expected from a man like him. Even Viola’s celebrated, romantic boyfriend kept repeating comforting words when she lost her sister, when all she wanted was ‘a tight, comforting embrace.’
Who could have thought a man who kidnapped me for my dad’s debts and forced me into marriage would be the one to give me that warm experience?
Well, the embrace turned out to be the tip of the iceberg. I hadn’t the tiniest clue of how far things would progress later that night.
Our first lovemaking was a testament to an unprecedented bliss that would forever remain seared into my memory. It was all care, comfort, and euphoric bliss.
Despite my being sore last night, I knew I wouldn’t have refused him if he had initiated sex. That was how much I had come to…
Okay, that’s enough.
There’ll be plenty of time to think of Viktor.
What’s keeping Mina, by the way?
My answer came swiftly as the door opened.
But it wasn’t Mina who stood in the doorway, balancing a small tray consisting of a plate and a bottle of ketchup on something I couldn’t see from where I sat.
It was Viktor. Looking breathtakingly handsome in a crisp black shirt with rolled-up sleeves and black pants that hung low with a black belt. I was still in bed when he left earlier in the morning, so I didn’t see much of him except for a close-up view of his face when he leaned over to kiss my forehead in farewell.
“I have a delivery for a Mrs. Emilia Lobanov,” he announced, a smile playing around his lips as he came to the sofa.
“Really?” I remarked as he took a seat beside me and placed the ketchup on the stool where my fish and chips sat. “Emilia Lobanov, hm?”
“I’d have loved Emilia Viktor Lobanov better,” he answered, shrugging. “But, we’ll take it one step before the other. We have time.”
I sat more upright, picking up the ketchup bottle.
“Thanks,” I remarked.
“Don’t mention it. I’m here to eat with you; bringing the ketchup was only circumstantial.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
Is that what it means to feel the heat of someone’s gaze?
I shook out the ketchup over my french fries and dared to look to the side. His gaze didn’t waver like that of someone who had just been caught staring; it was unflinching. But that was not all. There was something warm and tender in those gray eyes.
Swallowing, I asked, “D’you want…”
“I don’t like ketchup,” he cut in, chuckling.
“Of course,” I remarked, placing the long bottle back on the stool. “Explains why it’s not commonplace here.”
He chuckled again as I swiped some ketchup with a french fry and placed it in my mouth.
“What?”
“What?” he deadpanned, bringing his fork to his mouth.
“Really?”
“You’re shy.”
I raised my right eyebrow.
“I think you’ve always been. But since we…”
