“We didn’t always live here.” I laughed. “My parents are new to their fortune. We come from Tournon-sur-Rhône, France. There is no comparison when it comes to stone fruit.”
“Is there really that much of a difference?”
“Of course!” I gasped. “How could you say such a thing!”
He held his hand and glass up in surrender. “Fine!Fine. What is so special about them?”
I settled back down and took a long sip of the wine. “Well, what makes wine good? It’s all wine, is it not? So why is one expired grape worth more than the next?”
“Well, for one, all apricots grow in the same span of time. You don’t have to wait a handful of years before you eat it.”
“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s something as simple as being too sentimental. Extended family sends me dried fruit often. It is better than any candy.”
“Is it the sweetness that you like?”
“It is half of it.” I finished my glass and reached over to place it on the table. “Do you not have anything that reminds you of home? The one before this one?”
He leaned back against the sofa, a genuine thought stirring. “Certain foods bring back the faintest of memories, but it’s as fleeting as the smell of a cigar from a passerby.”
“Was it so desolate that you cannot remember a single sweet moment?”
“I am afraid my memories are bland, utilitarian at best,” he joked, but I could sense it was only half a ruse.
I sat up, folding my arms over my bent knees as they tented over his legs. “You don’t talk about your family.”
“There is none to speak of.”
“You are being dramatic.”
“I am being honest.”
“Siblings? Mother? Cousins?”
“Orphaned.”
He didn’t look at me, but I stared anyway. A deflated, sinking feeling bloomed in my gut, guilty of being too nosy.
It never occurred to me that this could be the case. I half expected a second family or estranged relatives, but not once did I think he was without. His desire for stability might go deeper than fortune, the support of having a family at all enough for him to accept this horrid arrangement.
“Arkady,” I slurred, grabbing his jaw and twisting it my way, “I am your family now, andyouaremine.”
He chuckled at the gesture, pushing my hand away. “I’m not sad. I can’t remember anyone to be sad about.” He smoothed his hand over my leg. “Konstantin is the closest I have to what you are asking about. He is like a brother to me, we shared the same foster home.”
“Ah,like a brother,” I repeated, the epiphany only a couple hours late. I leaned forward, sliding myself into his lap as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
He raised a brow, setting his glass down on a side table cautiously.
I wanted to kiss him. Now that we were nose to nose, I didn’t know if I could do it. Like walking to the cliff, only half expecting to make it to the edge, not knowing you’d have to decide whether or not to jump.
With trembling hands, I touched his shirt. Dust and pieces of clay were rough under my palms, and I was hesitant to touch his skin like it would burn me. His breathing was shallow; his chest rose and fell against my hands.
When I glanced at him, he looked at me strangely. Lord, his eyes were such a thing to get lost in. It almost made me forget that he was some mysterious, unreachable, unknowable creature.
I’d like to pretend he wasn’t. That he was something attainable.
I tipped closer, though it may be I was swaying from intoxication, a fruity delirium that maybe my husband would find it in him to hold me, to touch me.
“Kiss me.” My lips brushed against his as they formed the words. “Please.” My voice strained.
