Anya blushes and looks down, stepping back, but not before her gaze catches mine again. Her brown eyes are curious, uncertain, and in them, I see a question I can’t afford to answer.
I down my vodka.
In the end, she’s still my father’s ward. Still too young. Still untouchable.
The applause fades, replaced by the clinking of glasses and Nadia’s shrill voice cutting through the air again.
“Time for cake!” she announces, already steering the crowd toward the dining room.
I stay back. I’ve played the dutiful son long enough for one night. While I want to leave, my father has instructed that my brothers and I stay the night. But that doesn’t mean I have to act like I’m happy to be stuck here. Especially with who’s in attendance. My father’s guests are drunk on fake charm and expensive vodka, pretending not to notice the cracks spreading through his empire.
I step to the bar and refill my glass. I notice Sergei from the corner of my eye, starting to leave his spot in the shadows, so I signal to him not to follow me. He nods once, immediately blending back into the darkness like he was never there. Sergei is actually one of the few men that has unlimited access to me apart from my brothers, doubling as my bodyguard and personal assistant. But sometimes, like now, I just want some breathing space.
I slip out the patio doors before anyone can corner me. The night air is cold, cleaner than inside, though it still smells faintly of kerosene from the lit heaters scattered along the terrace. I roll my shoulders, take a long pull from the glass, and finally let my guard drop for a moment.
For a while, it’s quiet, just the dull bass of laughter and music bleeding through the walls. Then the door creaks open behind me.
When I turn, she’s there.
Anya.
She holds a small dessert plate, her fingers tightening around the edge like she’s not sure if she should be out here. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes uncertain but determined.
“I noticed you didn’t get any cake,” she says softly. “So I brought you a piece.”
The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself. “That’s very thoughtful,zayka.”
Her eyes brighten at the nickname, one I haven’t used since she was a child. She holds the plate out to me, and I take it, mostly because it would be cruel not to. The frosting is smeared, a little crooked. She must’ve plated it herself.
I set the vodka down on the railing and take a bite, more for her sake than mine. “It’s good,” I say. “How’s your birthday going?”
Her lips curve shyly. “Better now.”
The answer is quiet, but it hits me in the gut like a blow.
I clear my throat. “You sang beautifully, Anya. Where did you learn?”
She shrugs one slender shoulder, looking down at the garden lights below. “I’ve been taking lessons for years. Mama used to tell me I had a gift. I…I want to study music. Maybe perform someday.”
There’s a pause, fragile and warm. I set the cake aside and step closer. She doesn’t move away.
I reach up without thinking, my hand finding the loose strand of hair by her temple. I tuck it behind her ear. Her breath catches, her cheeks coloring slightly.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman,” I say quietly. “Your mother would be proud of you.”
Her eyes shimmer. “You really think so?”
“I do.”
Something changes then. The air thickens. Her gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes and back again, and before I can step away, she whispers, “I love you, Alexei. I’ve loved you for years.”
“Anya—”
She’s already moving. Rising onto her toes, she presses her lips to mine, soft, hesitant… trembling. I should stop her. I know I should. But her taste, her warmth…unravels something inside me I’ve kept locked for too long.
I kiss her back. God help me, I kiss her back.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. Her back hits the wall with a quiet thud. Her fingers clutch my jacket, and when I deepen the kiss, she sighs, a small, broken sound that sends heat coursing through my veins. I angle her chin up, mouth slanting over hers firmer this time, greedier, desperate for more of what I can’t have.
