His unfaltering gaze seemed to spur me on without words, so I went on.
“My dad couldn’t understand why his only child would rather stay locked in her room instead of talking about the latest high-fashion trends with the children of his political allies whenever they came to the house with their parents. He had a major problem with my dislike of accompanying him to prestigious balls and galas. But, I guess he liked that I was always doing okay on my own while he traveled around for work, so he couldn’t complain much. Eventually, he got used to it.”
“Did he ever ask you why?”
“Hm, nope,” I answered, shrugging. “He insisted on me attending classes from home when I got into college. Then he considered yielding to my preference, and I refused to let him find me an apartment.”
“One step forward, two steps back?”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Anyway, he ended up letting me do what I wanted. And that was how I moved out and into my apartment. It was the second semester in my first year.”
“Why?”
I blinked, trying to decipher what he was asking about and the meaningful look he gave me.
Then I knew what he meant. I didn’t know how I did, I just knew that I did.
“I’m happy with a private life, not a public one. I like it when I enter a room, and nothing is stirred up, you know?”
“That’ll be a room full of blind people,” he remarked casually.
“Stop it,” I playfully answered, chuckling.
“It’s the truth. I would stir if you walked into a room I was in, and I’m not the most expressive man.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I prefer simple things. Not cheap or tacky, just simple. I mean, I’m not averse to being admired or even shown off. I wouldn’t want to be shown love only in private. But I would hate for the only thing that can be deduced from my presence to be attention. I believe there’s more to life than that.”
“That’s a wholesome perspective. Not something you hear from a pretty 21-year-old woman,” he remarked. “I’m impressed.”
“Twenty-one, huh?”
“Your age was a part of the information collated about you,” he disclosed coolly.
“I don’t know your age,” I stated.
“Of course, you’re not the mafia boss who had his men gather information about a college student.”
“Don’t…say it like that.”
“That’s who I am.”
“You could just tell me,” I prompted.
“I’m old. Too old. I already crossed the 40 threshold,” he revealed, sighing.
“I would have thought you were in your thirties. You don’t look 40,” I uttered before I could pause to think.
He gave me a half-smile as he said, “I’m over 40.”
“Just tell me,” I whined, half-rolling my eyes.
“Moy zaychik,” he uttered, his voice a soundless murmur. “I’m 41.”
“What does that mean? Is it Russian?”
