"Yeah." I study her face. The way she's looking at me with something that feels like understanding. "What about you? Any family besides your charming father?"
Her mouth twists into something that's not quite a smile. "My mother died when I was five."
"I'm sorry."
"It 's ok. I barely knew her. The nannies raised me, mostly." She pauses. "She died in the most bougie way possible. Skiing in the Alps."
The bitterness in her voice is subtle but unmistakable.
"No other family?" I press. "Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?"
"Not close ones. My father's an only child. My mother's family is somewhere in Europe. We never had contact." She shrugs. "It's just been me and Arthur. And he's not exactly father of the year material."
"That's not true," I say, aiming for playfulness. "I'm sure he tried."
"Oh, he did." Her voice is completely deadpan. "He made sure to drop me off and pick me up from school, every time."
I wait. There's a punchline coming.
"Every semester," she continues. "At boarding school."
The delivery is perfect. Dry. Self-deprecating. Funny in the most tragic way possible.
We both laugh. The sound fills the kitchen, chasing away some of the heaviness.
We're close now. Sharing space in a way that feels natural despite how complicated everything between us has become.The bag of peas is still pressed to my face, her hand holding it there. My hand has somehow found her waist.
"I'm dying to kiss you again," I tell her. No filter. No game. Just honesty slipping out because she makes me forget to guard it.
She looks up at me. Her breath catches slightly.
"Then do it," she whispers.
I don't need to be told twice.
My mouth finds hers, and it's like coming home to a place I've never been. Her free hand slides into my hair, careful of my injuries but not pulling away.
The kiss deepens. Her lips part, and I take advantage, exploring her mouth with my tongue. She makes a small sound that goes straight to my groin.
I pull her closer. The bag of peas falls to the counter, forgotten. Both my hands are on her now, one at her waist, one cupping the back of her head.
She kisses me back with equal hunger. Equal need. Like she's been thinking about this as much as I have. Like the memory of our first kiss has been haunting her the way it's been haunting me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are dark and unfocused.
Then she steps back. Puts distance between us that feels like a knife to the chest.
"This is confusing," she says quietly. Her hand lifts to her lips, touches them like she can still feel me there. "This thing between us. Between you and me and Maksim and Zakhar."
I force myself to stay still. To not reach for her again even though every instinct is screaming at me to close the distance.
"Maybe we could talk about it tomorrow," she continues. "When my head is clearer. When I can think without..." She trails off.
Without wanting me. Without feeling pulled in three directions at once. Without being terrified of what this means.
I get it. I do.
Doesn't make it easier.
