I take a slow, deep breath, trying to watch her leave withoutwantingher. It’s impossible.
Our plates start to arrive, and the empty glass in my hand is suddenly a perfect excuse. “I’ll be back,” I murmur, tipping the glass toward Liev. “Do you want one?”
He shakes his head, clearly still trying to navigate trying to talk to his own daughter in his head. I get up and head toward the bar.
But that’s not where I’m going; I knew that the moment the idea popped into my head.
No, I need to find her.
I do. It’s so easy to locate her; it’s as if we’re tied together. Like a compass buried somewhere in my non-existent soul points towardher.
She’s in a small hallway near the bathrooms, tucked away. The space is narrow and dim enough that when she turns; she does it quickly enough that we almost collide.
There’s nowhere for either of us to go. No way to avoid the way her body brushes against mine, her hands coming up to grip my forearms and steady herself.
“Oh,” she says, cheeks going pink as I wrap a hand around her hip.
The air between us feels thick. Charged.
“Happy birthday,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches, just slightly. The sound sends a jolt straight through me. “Thank you.”
I lean in closer than I should, lowering my voice. “I’m sorry you have to spend it with old men.”
She laughs. “You don’t have to lump yourself in withhim.” Her eyes dart down my body, from my throat to my hips, and I watch her swallow. The boldness of her words surprises me, and something dark but pleasing stirs in my groin.
“Is that so?”
She tips her head, meeting my gaze with a steadiness that she seems to be practicing. “You know it is. You’re different.”
For a moment, the line between us feels impossibly thin; stretched tight by restraint. I’m acutely aware of how warm her skin is under her bunched dress. My mind visualizes what itwould look like pulled up around her thick waist. What kind of underwear she has on. The sound the fabric would make when I rip it and bury my face in her hot breasts.
Instead, I straighten slightly, letting her go. “I hope you’re able to enjoy tonight.”
Alyona hesitates, then nods, slipping past me and back into the restaurant.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversation and laughter that I participate in, but only from the outskirts. My focus is divided between maintaining appearances and monitoring Aly’s every shift and smile.
Liev loosens as the wine works its way through him, relief settling into his posture as he watches his daughter laugh, engage, and exist in a way that feels like progress to him. I recognized the look immediately. It’s hope; dangerous and unguarded. It’s the type of hope that convinces a man he is getting something back that was never fully his to begin with. This night matters to him more than he will ever say aloud, and knowing that bothers me because I am the one contaminating it.
When the evening ends, we stand together just outside the restaurant, the low glow behind us painting everything in gold that feels undeserved. Aly lingers instead of leaving immediately. Devin is a few steps ahead, but her back is turned with deliberate tact. Aly leans in close enough that I feel the heat from her. She is so close that I know just how easily I could take her chin again and guide her exactly where I want her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, in her soft, intimate voice. “For the other night.”
The memory of that night flashes sharp and vivid in my mind. The way her body responded to me in that alley, the knowledge that she is capable of that kind of surrender seared itself permanently into my mind. My jaw tightens, and I force myself to remain still.
She hesitates, then adds, quieter, as if trying to reclaim something. “It was a mistake.”
The word lands wrong, thin, and insufficient. I study her face: the faint tension in her mouth, the uncertainty she tries to disguise as certainty. I nod sharply once, because any denial would be a lie, and any agreement would be an insult to what passed between us.
Liev steps out after paying the bill and lights a cigarette on the balcony, offering one to me. We stand shoulder to shoulder as the women walk away. His gaze follows Aly with warmth and relief. He’s a man allowing himself to believe that something is mending.
“I think things are turning around,” he says quietly. “With her.”
I say nothing. My attention is fixed on the street below and the way Aly pauses briefly before disappearing around the corner. Her body etched into my awareness. She doesn’t look back, and I tell myself it is restraint, not disappointment, that tightens my chest.
Movement catches my eye then, so subtle that most men would miss it.
