And of course, behind the wheel sits Maksim.
Face hard and unreadable, wearing Dark shades that hide those mysterious eyes of his. One hand gripping the steering wheel like it owns the road, the other draped lazily over the door like he’s in his own car commercial.
By the time he pulls up beside me, there’s already a little crowd pretending not to gawk. He turns his head toward me, and even through the sunglasses, I can feel the weight of his attention. Then his lips curl into that smirk—the one that exists purely to press people’s buttons.
“I’m not sitting with you in a convertible,” I say before I can stop myself. I’d planned on staying silent and not using my voice with him, but the disbelief slips out with a healthy dose of frustration. Because, of course, Maksim would find a way to make me roll my eyes a thousand times before today is over.
“The roof closes,” he says smoothly, then with a grin like he’s about to show me a magic trick, he presses a button. “See?”
The roof begins its slow mechanical ballet, folding and shifting with all the urgency of a snail on vacation. Onlookers are already lifting their phones, taking photos like they’ve stumbledonto some street performance. By the time the final click seals it shut, my eyes are twitching, but I still get in.
The leather seat swallows me whole, buttery-soft, smelling freaking expensive. God, I’ll never get used to rich people—especially not this family. But apparently, I can’t escape them.
“I’m sure Alex is fuming in his balls that you’re hanging out with me today,” Maksim says, sounding way too entertained as he pulls away.
I pull out my phone to type a reply, and he sees it and groans.
“Oh, come on, talk to me,” he says, shoulders slumping like I’ve denied him candy. “I see you talking more these days. It’s good, so do that with me too. I’m not sure I have the patience to read everything you type.”
The way he says it—spoiled, dramatic, and entirely too comfortable— makes a laugh slip out of me before I can stop it, his head turns, catching it, and he grins like he just won something.
“You’re acting like you didn’t practically beg Alex to let you spend time with me,” I finally say, my voice quiet but pointed.
“Yeah, yeah,” Maksim waves it off, grinning. “He threatened me to bring you back in one piece. Unless he’s planning to feed me to the pigs, in which case—”
I smile despite myself. The threat probably wasn’t even a joke, and yet it never seems to faze Maksim.
“What happened to your other car?” I ask because that’s the car I’ve seen him in more times than I can count.
“My baby needed to rest,” he says casually, like cars are people with sleep schedules. “So I bought this beauty last week. You’re basically the first person to sit in that passenger seat. Lucky you.”
I roll my eyes. Eye roll number one. With Maksim, there’s always a count.
***
Maksim’s idea of hanging out? An arcade. Yes, an arcade. He swears he loves them, claims he hasn’t been to one in a year, and insists I should feel honored to be the first person he’s dragged along since his so-called “Arcade break.”
I could swear Maksim was dropped on the head as a baby, probably in a gold-plated crib.
And he’s so competitive. The kind of competition that makes you want to strangle him, but also… somehow makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.
He beat me in almost every game we played—racing car simulator, bike race, bowling, basketball hoops—you name it. He swore he’d “go easy on me” at the air hockey table, but apparently, Maksim’s version of “easy” is smirking every time he scores and watching the permanent scowl on my face like it’s his favorite movie. Not that the scowl lasts long. He’s so infuriatingly funny that I end up biting my lip to stop myself from laughing… and failing, usually doubling over when he curses in Thai and Russian if things don’t go his way.
I did manage to win at whack-a-mole, which he dramatically accused me of cheating at, complete with fake outrage, before “taking revenge” by obliterating me in laser tag.
Now we’re sitting in one of the coolest retro diners I’ve ever been in. The neon lights hum softly—at least, I think they do. My hearing aid picks up the clink of cutlery, the low thrum of chatter, the kind of warm noise that makes the place feel alive. The ambience is perfect, like stepping into an old movie, and the desserts on display are dangerous enough to make saints sin.
When the food arrives, we dig in like starved kids. I’m halfway through my burger when Maksim glances at me over his milkshake, eyebrow arched.
“Are you even supposed to eat that much?” he asks, straw still between his lips.
I blink at him, swallowing my mouthful. “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you the bottom in your relationship?”
I stop mid-chew, staring at him in both disbelief and bewilderment, my cheek already burning.
“I take fiber pills, and I also dou—” I cut myself off, narrowing my eyes. “Why am I even explaining my routine to you?”
