“My parents went to Barcelona when they were pregnant with me. There are pictures of my mother out to here,” I say, gesturing as if I had an enormous belly, “and looking so happy. Eating, and walking and enjoying everything that the city had to offer.” I swallow back a suspicious lump in my throat. “I wish I could see her like that,” I tell him, because somehow I think Andrei would understand.
“I know.” He leans in and kisses my neck. “I get it.”
We’re both still for a moment, chasing our own thoughts. Finally, I turn to him and ask the one question I’ve been dying to know. “What does krasotka mean?”
He barks out a laugh. “You’re telling me in all your time snooping in my home you didn’t figure it out.”
“If I had access to a computer, and could google it, it would be much easier.” I feign irritation, swatting Andrei on the arm.
“Is that a subtle hint, krasotka,” he says, dragging out the syllables.
“Nah, I don't even care about that anymore. But I am curious.”
“It means beautiful woman. Quite fitting for you I think.”
After we’re both stuffed full of sushi and buzzed on fine wine, we take a walk on the beach, enjoying a sunset for the ages. We come together like no time has passed. Conversation flowing easily between us. We talk about the progress I’ve made training, and I am grateful for this halter dress which lets me show off my increasingly toned arms. Andrei laughs as I flex my muscles, impressed at the results of my Krav Maga training.
I know better than to ask Andrei why he was away on business—he’s made it clear the less I know about bratva the better—but we talk in generalities about his work, and he seems more relaxed and at ease than he’s been in a long-time.
When we’re back in the car, he turns to me. “I have something for you back at the house. Also, have I told you how fucking sexy you look tonight?” His eyes leave the road to rake over my body with unrestrained heat.
“You may have mentioned it once or thrice.”
“Because it’s true.” He takes my hand in his and presses a kiss to my open palm as he parks in the circular driveway. Before he leaves the car, I stop him with a hand on his arm. If Piper has picked up on our relationship, that means Andrei’s brothers have as well.
“What do your brothers think?” When Andrei raises his eyebrows, I add, “About us. They seem wary of me.”
He shakes his head. “My brothers know better than to stick their nose in my business.”
“But isn’t this their business too? I mean, I’m here to help you find Kira. It concerns them as well.”
“I don’t care what they think. What anyone thinks,” he says more forcefully, before gentling his tone. “I just want to enjoy this, being with you. I trust you. I know who you are and what you are capable of. I may not see eye to eye with my brothers all the time, but they have my back and they trust my judgment.”
God, this man. He always knows the right things to say. Maybe it’s a mob boss thing.
Andrei reaches for my hand, and we go into the house, heading towards a back staircase that takes us straight to the third floor. With my hand tucked firmly into his, Andrei leads me down a long hallway to a far wing of the house I’ve never been to. Finally, he pauses before a door. The naughty smile he flashes me is enough to make butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“What is this about?” I blurt, but he puts a finger to my lips and draws me inside the room.
It takes me a moment to register what I am seeing. It’s a cozy room, small by the standards of this mansion, but it has an enormous bay window facing the faraway beach. The light is fading fast outside, but I can imagine how spectacular the view is during the day.
My heart drums in my chest as I look around. Two separate easels are set up in front of a window, different sized canvases stacked up along one wall, while a table on the far side of the room is loaded with all the paints, brushes and painting supplies one could ever want for.
Andrei comes up behind me, his lips graze my neck as he murmurs against my skin, “It’s for you. A painting studio.”
Emotion clogs in my throat, and to my horror, I have to stifle a sob. I swallow hard before I can speak. “Why?” I ask him. Why would he give me this when my time here is so limited? The moment Oleg comes out of hiding, I’ll be packing my bags, so this just feels like a tease. A taste of a life I can never have.
Andrei spins me around to face him. “So you can finally learn how to paint. I want to give you that—a gift—before you move on.”
Sadness unfurls inside me even though I try to school my features. “Of course,” I say, wiggling out of Andrei’s hold. I need to put space between us before I mistake this gesture for something it’s not.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, krasotka.” Andrei runs an agitated hand through his hair.
I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’ve let him under my skin. Inside of me. Allowed the excitement of the last few days to make me forget what this really is. Business. And it will end soon.
Sitting down at the stool in front of the easel, I allow myself the pleasure of picking up a brush and running it over the blank canvas in front of me. “Thank you,” I say, composing myself. “This is the sweetest gift anyone has ever given me.”
He sits on the stool opposite me—legs spread wide, elbows resting on his knees. Regret tinges his expression. “I should have thought it through, I didn’t think—”