I lean forward and say, "Two bedrooms, please."
Ilay cuts in immediately. "One room is fine. Your friend can sleep in the lobby. She loves tents."
There is a beat of silence. Then Tessa's head whips around so fast I think she'll get whiplash.
"Excuse me?" she says, her voice dangerously quiet. She was so shocked she dropped her English.
Ilay doesn't even look at her. "I said what I said."
Tessa takes a step forward, fists clenched. "You arrogant, broke-shaming piece of---"
I jump in between them, hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Tessa, calm down." I’m looking around the lobby area and thankfully nobody except the innkeeper saw what was happening.
"Calm down?" She points at Ilay. "This asshole just---"
"I know, I know," I say quickly.
Ilay mutters behind me, "What's the point of getting two rooms? You could stay in one with me. And Save us money."
I spin around. "Are you serious? You're a billionaire and you're whining over a few hundred dollars for a three-day stay?"
He raises a brow then switches to English speaking loud enough for the Innkeeper to hear. "You could save the money and still enjoy my company. And not worry about the cold night air."
The innkeeper, a sweet-looking older woman, chimes in helpfully. "Oh, sir, we have a working heater. All our rooms are quite warm."
Ilay frowns. I shoot him a triumphant look. "I'll take the cold night air and my sanity, thanks."
Tessa snorts. "You two argue like an old married couple." She says in her broken English. I take that as a sign that she’s let the issue go and give a sigh of relief.
The ginger-haired man behind us chuckles. "I was just thinking the same thing. Are you two dating or something?"
I wave my hands. "No! No, no, no. Definitely not.” I have to stop some kinds of rumours from spreading. “He's just... someone I unfortunately know."
Ilay clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me. Truly."
The stranger laughs again, then offers a hand. "Name's Roman."
I shake it and say in my broken English, "My name is Iris."
"You have an accent. Where are you from?"
Before I can answer, Ilay jumps in. "Why are you prying into our private life?"
Roman turns to him and smiles coolly. "You didn't introduce yourself, sir."
Ilay straightens. "Ilay Ivanovich."
Roman's eyes light up with genuine recognition. "Ah, Russian! No wonder. I'm Russian too," he says, switching seamlessly to our native tongue.
My face lights up instantly. "You speak Russian?! Oh my God! Finally, someone who understands me without me butchering English."
Roman grins. "Your English isn't that bad."
"It's terrible," I laugh. "But thank you for lying."
Behind me, I can feel Ilay's mood darkening like a storm cloud rolling in.
Roman doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care. "What brings you all the way out here?"
