I glance at my outfit. I’m wearing his T-shirt, which looks ugly on me, but I had no other option apart from sleeping naked. I check on my dress, which I washed yesterday. It’s still wet. I guess I have to look ugly for a few more hours.
Next, I check my underwear. It’s wet too. Not a big issue, I found a new set of boxer briefs in his wardrobe. They’re so comfortable they feel like shorts.
Yes, I invade his private space like I have a license to do that, but why not? He could break my heart, and I can’t even breakinto his closet when he’s the one who brought me here? Fuck that person who says it’s wrong.
I reach downstairs after freshening up and taking a long shower using his products. Right now, I smell like I’ve bathed in him. In short, I smellawful, the same level of awful I look now, wearing one of his dark blue shirts and my heels. Thanks to my long hair, which covers my breasts, hiding the clear need for a bra.
He’s in the kitchen. I ignore him and make my way to the main door.
“I’ll drop you to your new apartment. Your phone and bag are on the table,” he says behind me.
I move to the dining table, pick up my phone and bag, and turn back.
“Did you not hear the first part of my sentence?”
“I decided to ignore it. I’m leaving,” I say, walking toward the door again without turning.
I grab the knob and pull it, but it doesn’t open like last night. I glance around for a button or something, but there’s nothing. I frown and turn to look at him. He’s placing food on plates with a smile.
I grit my teeth. “Open this door,” I say loudly, so it can reach him, the kitchen isn’t close to the door.
He picks up two plates and sets them on the dining table.
“First, eat,” he says.
I stomp toward him. “I’m not hungry. Open the door. I’m getting late for my seminar.”
He sits on a chair, relaxed, completely in a good mood. “If you finish early, you’ll be able to leave early.”
He starts eating his pasta. My mouth waters at the sight of the plate. I’ve only eaten a few strawberries since yesterday afternoon. I sit down on a chair and start eating. I’m only doingthis because I don’t want this delicious-looking pasta to go to waste.
My eyes close at the first bite. No matter how bad this man is, he cooks well. Good food has always been my weakness. Nana Irina says it’s been this way since I was inside my mom.
After finishing my plate and drinking a gulp of water, I get up. He has already finished his larger portion and has been watching me the whole time. He also gets up and starts walking toward the door. I follow him. He opens the door after pressing his thumb on the knob. I follow him out into the lift.
He leans against the elevator wall, watching me up and down, making my skin prickle with unease. How can he stare at me so openly, so shamelessly?Does he really believe he has that right?
“In Russia, if you look at a woman for more than five seconds, you go to jail.” I look at him. “I think there’s some law like that in America too.”
He smiles smugly, standing tall. “I don’t break laws, Angel. You know why?”
He steps closer. I move back, and soon enough I’m cornered again.
“Because I’m above them. The law closes its eyes when it sees me.” He bends in front of me. “Like a rabbit closes its eyes when it sees a tiger.”
“That’s pigeon and cat,” I mutter absently, already losing my grip on myself under his third-class seduction. I’m sure no one apart from me could find these meaningless actions of this man seductive. Blame last night’s drugs.
He clicks his tongue. “Nah, birds are Zo’s thing, not mine. I like rabbits more.” He twirls one of my curls between his fingers, letting it slide from my cheek down past my collarbone to the tip resting near my breast. “Small creatures with beautiful blue eyes.”
I gather my melting willpower and push him with my finger. “I’m not interested in knowing what animals you like or don’t like.”
I press the elevator’s open button. It has already landed in the parking lot somewhere between our discussion of pigeons and rabbits.
My phone rings in my hand. It’s my dad.
I pick it up and press it to my ear. “Hello, Papa.”
“Moya kroshka. How are you?”
