“Olga, you will share with Irena,” he says in English, probably for my benefit.
Olga’s mouth does something weird but she nods.
“Would you like to rest?” Viktor asks in English. Then he changes to Russian and everyone starts to nod. He turns to me. “They are hungry. We’re going to have something here at the hotel and then I’ll take my father to pick up his rental car.”
I nod. “Of course.”
He smiles warmly, slowly leans in, and presses his lips to mine, letting them linger.
And I kiss him back.
Because my heart skipped a beat.
Because my stomach did a funny little flip.
Because it was incredibly sexy. Far sexier than such a chaste kiss should have been.
It’s all an act, my subconscious mind reminds me, ruining the moment.
But I paste a happy smile on my face, let Viktor take my hand again, and he leads us into the restaurant.
The place is quiet since it’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner. We settle around a table and everyone digs in when the waiter brings two baskets of warm rolls. Viktor is beside me, one arm slung casually over the back of my chair and I lean a little closer, so that our thighs touch. His hand moves, warm fingers slowly stroking the side of my arm. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He’s obviously a much better actor than I am. Or maybe not. Because I lean into his touch, a faint smile playing on my lips as we eat and chat. The conversation goes back and forth from English to Russian, with Viktor or Olga translating. She speaks excellent English, so she’s involved in everything.
“What do you do?” she asks me, eyes focused on me.
“I have a master’s degree in finance,” I reply.
“Wall Street?” Mr. Maslak asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I was with a firm in downtown Atlanta, but I took time off to plan my wedding. And after the break-up, I wanted to see if I could find something that didn’t require me to commute downtown every day. I don’t know if Viktor has ever mentioned it, but Atlanta traffic is horrible.”
My mother glances at him. “No, I don’t think he has.”
“And what about you?” I turn to Olga politely, even though I know I’m going to hate the answer.
“I’m in medical school. I’m going to be a plastic surgeon.”
“How exciting,” I say, hoping it doesn’t come out as sarcastic as I’d like it to be.
“Many years of schooling,” she says, lifting one shoulder. “Dedication.”
“I’m sure.”
“She is very dedicated,” Mrs. Maslak says, beaming. “Very smart.”
Olga smiles back at her.
Viktor just continues to trail his fingers along my shoulder, my arm, almost to my collarbone, and then back again. It’s really quite lovely. Honestly, it’s starting to make me relax.
We order food and conversation turns to hockey.
“I won’t have much time,” Viktor says quietly. “Tomorrow is game one in New York. We leave early.”
“We are also leaving early,” his mother says. “I will do the shopping in New York.” She turns to me. “You will come?”
“Of course she will,” Viktor interjects before I can respond.
