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Her eyes narrowed. “That sounded dangerously close to an order.”

“It was an invitation with efficient wording.”

“Your invitations need work.”

She crossed the kitchen and took the stool beside the counter, wincing slightly as she sat. I pretended not to notice. Her gaze moved over the food, then toward me as though breakfast might be another interrogation technique.

“You cook?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“I’m going to eat too.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

I put a plate in front of her. “Why don’t you eat something, Alessia?”

The faintest hint of a smile touched her mouth. “That was much better. Very warm. Almost human.”

I poured coffee into her cup. “You slept well.”

“You know that because?”

“I closed the guest-room door at five minutes after eleven last night and it remained closed until eight this morning.”

“That answer managed to be both reassuring and creepy.”

“And incredibly efficient.”

She tore a corner from the bread and dipped it into the eggs. For several minutes, the only sounds were cutlery against ceramic. Then Alessia shifted on the stool. Her movement was slight. Careful even. Almost imperceptible.

I saw it anyway.

Her eyes remained fixed on her plate. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

“Yes.”

She waited as I took a drink of coffee.

Her eyes lifted. “Was that the entire conversation?”

“No.”

“Good, because I was beginning to think Russian emotional development stopped at one-word answers.”

“It often does.”

That surprised a small laugh out of her. It faded quickly, though, and her fingers tightened around the fork.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” she admitted. Her face turned slightly pink.

“Then don’t say anything.”

She stared at me. “You’re not going to make some smug comment about whether I learned my lesson or whether I need another trip over your knee?”

“No.”