“Drive.”
Lili bites her tongue, holding back a response.
Cobblestones roll under the tires, as the car pulls away from the curb.
Beside her, Aleksandr is silent, staring out the window as if she’s not in the car with him. Lightness fades in her chest.
It’s a short drive, five minutes. Unease grows in her stomach.
She gets a similar reaction from Louis when he sees them enter the building foyer: surprised warm welcome, cheerful attempt at a greeting as he rushes to hold the front door open, “—away on vacation? We haven’t seen you—” but Aleksandr brushes past, ignoring him.
He doesn’t look back to see if Lili follows.
It’s a cold light, in the loft. The kitchen counters are clean, a discarded copy of theFT, an iPad. Nothing in the fruit bowl. On the dining room table, there are two glasses. Remnants of red wine, smudges of fingerprints.
Signs of someone else here, last night. The nausea in Lili’s stomach seizes tighter. Sanaë,Sanaë—these signs of how she might be fitting into his home, his life.
Footsteps, and she glances over her shoulder. Aleksandr’s gone: down the hall, towards his bedroom.
She hesitates, and then follows.
He’s shrugging his suit jacket off as she walks in. He throws it on the bed, sheets made. Lili tries not to see whether another woman’s details—hair ties, favorite lip balm, half-read books—are on the nightstand, or if extra clothing hangs in his closet—
“Take off your clothes.”
He’s looking straight at her. Standing by the window, his gaze is unkind.
Lili hesitates.
She feels like there’s something about to be ruined here.
But she lets her tote slip off her shoulder. It hits the ground with a soft thud. Her skirt comes undone with a whisper of its zipper, the drift of silk falling to her feet.
Lili holds his gaze. And there’s—nothing for her, there.
Nothing that betrays any past familiarity or previous affection. Nothing but hardness—tight hate, growing anger—as if with each piece of clothing she sheds, he wants to hurt her more.
She glances at the floor, swallowing back rising panic.
Breathe, Lili,she thinks, as she kicks off her shoes. A refrain from another continent; could it get her through this, too? This pain of him touching her, without wanting her?
With unsteady hands, she pulls her sweater and shirt over her head; in that moment of blindness, he grabs her arm, pulling her towards him.
Surprised, she almost trips over her discarded shoes, falling against him, “—sorry—” as he throws her sweater aside, disorienting her, before the heat—sudden, unexpected; that first real touch of skin—of his hand down the front of her underwear.
“Not even wet yet,” he mutters, hard teeth. “When will you stop wasting my time?”
His fingers move against her, pushing her onto her toes to accommodate his reach. It feels like a release of the tightest knot, even too rough. Lili inhales, grip tightening in his shirt. By instinct, her mouth tries to find his.
Sudden pain sears across her scalp; Aleksandr tugs her face away from his, grasp hard in her hair, to keep her from kissing him, and the burst that wants to break in her throat, like a sob—as she watches, blinking away tears, the work of his jaw, dark spite in his eyes—
He spits on the ground, like it disgusts him to kiss her. Her fingers curl in his shirt.
“Fine,” he grits out. “You wanted to apologize? Get on your knees and beg?”
She hesitates. But if this is all he’d allow her—if this is what he wants—if this is all he needs, from her—
Lili nods, restricted movement under his grip in her hair.
