“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, “but I keep getting sidetracked from it.” Her eyes finally met mine.
I waited.
“I still don’t know your name.”
I was surprised at how…soft her voice was.
Calm. Not defensive. Just…curious.
She lifted her brows. “I mean, shouldn’t a girl know the name of the man who saved her life, kidnapped her, and”—she paused, clearing her throat—“took her virginity?”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Most people call me Nik.”
Her nose wrinkled slightly. “Nik? That’s it? All this time, I was imagining something impossibly Russian. Like…” She squinted. “Vladyslav…or, I don’t know, Igor Petrovich Skullcrusher.”
“Vlah-dee-slahv,” I corrected, still smirking. “But I like the Skullcrusher part.”
She sat up straighter. “Vlad-ee-slave?” She butchered it again, especially the third syllable.
I chuckled low in my throat. “Good enough for a country girl.”
She grinned.
“It’s disappointing, in fact,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass. “Nik sounds so…American. I mean, the stalker-hacker-bratva-overlord guy has a name that sounds like he should be driving a Jeep and grilling steaks on Sundays.”
I laughed—actually laughed.
It was strange. Sitting here, watching her make jokes with her knees tucked under her, like the last twenty-four hours had never happened.
But ithad.
And yet…here she was asking questions. Wanting to know who I really was.
She leaned back and regarded me seriously.
“So…about earlier.”
I didn’t say a word, allowing her to steer the conversation.
She let out a quiet exhale, then lifted her eyebrows as though she were forcing herself to push through the next part.
“I went a little…stark raving mad, didn’t I?”
The corner of my mouth rose slightly.
“You could say that.”
She let out a small, embarrassed laugh and looked down into her wine. “Yeah, well, that’s not me. I’m not like that. Screaming. Throwing stuff. Acting like a lunatic.” She sighed. “That’s not who I am.”
I stayed silent, letting her go on.
“I’m sorry,” she added, more softly this time, “for putting you in such an awkward position. I—” She glanced back up at me, a little more guarded now. “I was dealing with a lot. Still am.”
I glanced down at my fingers but didn’t speak. This wasn’t a moment to interrupt.
She sat forward slightly, drawing the throw pillow into her lap.
