I sent a pin to our location, well aware Dmitri would kill me if he knew I was sharing one of the bratva’s hidden meeting places.
Me
Tell the courier to knock on the door and say it’s for Aleksandr.
Tristan
Why is she in a shit part of town?
Me
Get the fucking coat.
I didn’t like Eva’s willingness to accept my inattention when we were on a date. I slid my phone into my pocket and shifted so our knees knocked together under the table, just so I could see that cute blush spread across her freckled cheeks.
She didn’t shift away, though, just pressed her thigh into my knee.
Oh yes, Eva wanted something from me.
“Alek, what is this place?” she asked.
“Sir,” I said, my voice unexpectedly gravelly, wondering just how badly she wanted whatever it was she was going to ask me.
She pressed her lips into a thin line and stared down at the tablecloth.
“Baby girl?”
She took a big breath and stared at a fixed point on the wall in front of her. “I need your help.”
Before I could answer, an older woman with a scarf tied over her greying hair walked over to our table, her posture stiff and proud, despite her diminutive height.
“Aleksandr Novikov,” she pronounced in a thick Russian accent. “It’s been too long.”
“Babushka,” I said, rising from my seat. Eva did the same, but my adoptive grandmother quickly stopped her by leaning over and planting a kiss on her cheek.
“I should have known it would take a woman to bring Sasha back to us,” she said before bustling around the table to give me a fierce hug. “You,” she continued in Russian, “are an asshole. You stayed away too long. Does Nikolai know you’re back?”
“We’re here to eat,” I said softly, still in Russian, sidestepping the question.
Babushka looked at me with sharp eyes then said in English, “Sit, sit, sit, then. What would you like?”
Eva looked at me with confusion. There were no menus. I rattled off a list of my favorite Russian dishes, hearty comfort food I suspected she would like, and my adoptive grandmother smiled.
“I’ve ordered for us,” I said quietly, taking Eva’s hand and stroking my thumb across her skin to comfort her.
She withdrew it, holding both hands clasped together in her lap, and I knew I needed to get her to relax before she’d open up to me and tell me why she was doing this.
“Tell me about your med school applications,” I instructed her, drawing her right hand back to me and holding it on the table.
Her eyebrows flew to her hairline, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “I got three interviews so far, but they’re all going to require an overnight stay.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I can’t afford to travel overnight for interviews.”
“Is that what you needed help with?” I asked her, and she laughed, the gorgeous expanse of skin over her neckline drawing my eye as she moved.
“No.”
“What if I wanted to help anyway?”
“You can’t buy my forgiveness.”
