I lift my chin. “Yes.”
He watches me for one long second, then asks, very quietly, “Then where is he?”
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
“The father,” he says. “Where is he?” He takes one step closer, crowding me again without touching me this time. “Why is he not here to protect you?”
My pulse starts to race all over again.
He keeps going, voice low and dangerous and far too controlled. “Why is he not the one making sure you get home safely?” Another step. “Why is he not the one stopping me from touching you?”
My breath catches. Because he knows.
Maybe not everything. Maybe not in words.
But he knows enough.
“It’s Jake,” I hear myself say. The lie comes out too fast to be convincing, but it is all I have.
He stills. “Jake,” he repeats.
I nod once. “Yes.”
“Your ex-boss.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
For one split second, real surprise flashes across his face. Then it’s gone. He recovers so quickly another person might have missed it.
Not me.
He tilts his head. “Interesting.”
It is not interesting. It is a disaster.
I can feel the shape of the lie already collapsing under its own weight, but he doesn’t call it out. Not yet. Instead, he does something worse.
He nods once, as if accepting it. “Fine,” he says. “Then I’ll deliver you to him.”
My head jerks back. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“Oh?” His mouth curves faintly. “Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“No,” he says. “Because you’re uncomfortable.”
The truth of it makes me furious.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says.
That panic in my chest sharpens immediately. “No.”
He notices. And there it is again, that infuriating calm satisfaction. The comfort he takes in the fact that I am rattled, because to him my discomfort is proof that my lie is weak.
“What would he think,” Aleksei murmurs, “if he found out you came apart on my mouth in the hallway?”
My whole body goes hot. I swallow hard.
