The air in my lungs freezes.
One throwaway line blurted in the middle of a breakdown. A simple wish for real food: halibut and real, fresh vegetables.
He remembers those words and is literally offering me what I want on a silver platter.
Because I can’t trust my voice not to shatter, I just nod.
“And lots of vegetables.” Kirill’s eyes never stray from me.
My hand trembles as I grab the wine glass. This gesture, while minor, strips something raw and tender inside me.
I feel naked. Unmoored.
Seen.
Tears prick my eyes, and I gaze up at the cathedral ceiling to keep them from falling. Subtle geometric patterns blink back at me from the pale plaster.
Kirill’s brow furrows. “So…no vegetables?” He chooses his words carefully, like he’s navigating with a map he’s never read before.
A helpless laugh boils over, and I dash the tears away. “No, I want them. Lots. All you can find.”
He addresses the server. “Every vegetable side you have.”
A pause. “All of them, sir?”
Kirill’s cold, knife-like stare sharpens. “Did I stutter?”
“No, sir. All the vegetables. Right away.” The woman vanishes, almost tripping over the air in her haste.
I know how places like this work. Sides are à la carte and cost upward of twenty dollars a plate. And Kirill just ordered the whole garden without a second thought. Because I mattered enough for him to remember.
A comfortable silence descends. The layers of thick fabric on the chairs, walls, and decorative hangings from the alcoves buffer the sounds.
I cradle my wine glass, turning it by the stem, examining how threads of light weave through the crystal. There’s still one question burrowed in me, a kernel of dread I can’t let go.
“Ashley. My friend. Is she?—”
“She’s safe.” Kirill waves the question away. “I called off the men following her.”
I stare, struggling to process the news. “When?”
“After the detective came.” His gaze stays flat as glass. “And went.”
After I protected him and chose him over my freedom. Loyalty for loyalty. A balance restored.
I still don’t understand. “Why?”
He drops his eyes and lines up the silverware. A tiny, needless correction. “The detective left.”
And that’s all the explanation I’ll ever get. This is the closest this man who lives in commands and silences can come to softness.
I nod in acceptance. The ball of fear that’s sat in my chest since the night he walked into my apartment begins to unravel. My mind races as I sip more wine.
Maybe this changes everything. Maybe he can be different.
Maybe I can be too.
The servers return with their arms full of plated halibut drizzled with a lemon butter sauce and dish after dish of vegetables. Perfectly roasted asparagus, sweet and glossy carrots, creamy mushrooms, and some complicated ruby thing I can’t even identify.
