It was brief, but it was the most genuine reaction that hinted of any warmth I’d seen from him.
A clearing of the throat broke our moment and a blonde woman in a pink sleeveless sheath greeted us. Her hair was puffed up in a shaggy bob.
“Mr. Zahkarov, Miss De Lucci.”
We acknowledged her with brief nods, but I had to pinch Kirill’s side because he was still grinning like a fool.
“I’m Carol, and I will be your hostess today. This way, please.”
Carol led us down a few steps into a brightly lit room with ivory paint and gold trim. A curved window gave us a view of the sidewalk that was slightly above us. I imagined that when it rained, it would be so peaceful to sit in here, sip tea, and eat pastries while watching the rain slide over the glass and pedestrians walk by with different colored umbrellas.
Kirill held out a chair. His face was more relaxed after our banter earlier. Maybe he wouldn’t be intolerable to be married to, and all we needed was to get used to the other’s moods.
Carol handed us menus. “May I start you with cocktails?”
It was eleven a.m. after all.
“I’ll have the passion fruit mimosa,” I said.
“Sir?”
“Just water.”
When Carol left, Kirill turned to me. “My apologies if I was crude earlier.”
“I’m sorry too. I was just as crude,” I sighed. “You just…I don’t know.”
“Clashing personalities. It certainly won’t be a boring marriage.”
I made a humming assent but didn’t exactly agree.
He frowned. “I frightened you with the babies comment?”
I looked around us and leaned in. “That’s the thing, Kirill, we never talked about the physical side of marriage.”
“But we did. The night of the formal engagement dinner. And I stand by it. I would never force myself on a woman. We’ll have sex when you’re ready. And if a year passes and you’re not ready…” He shrugged. “Then we’re not meant to be.”
“Okay.” I exhaled a ragged breath of relief.
“But…” he added.
I caught my breath on the next inhale.
“It doesn’t mean I won’t seduce you.” His voice was husky.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“You think you can resist me forever? You come alive beneath my touch, Lusenka, and that’s with a bare minimum...”
“Why, you arrogant…”
But Kirill was saved from my wrath…or indignation because Carol swept back into the room with our drinks. Well, mine. Kirill seemed content with fancy bottled water.
“Won’t the passion fruit interfere with the tasting?” I asked.
“All the drinks on the menu pair well with our offerings. We’ll start you with a vanilla mousse cake and end with a rich dark chocolate.”
“I hope you have a sweet tooth, Kirill.” I was still fuming from his egotistical claim. He wasn’t wrong, but did he have to point it out? I knew when I was at a disadvantage, so I pretended to dismiss that moment by clapping my hands in anticipation of the sugar coma.
