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“The main topic of conversation today was Mariya trying to convince me to let you get out of the house and get some air. Any thoughts on who might have given her that idea?”
“I never said anything like that to her,” I insist. “I swear. I’ve never complained to her about anything. She was the one who gave me her phone to call Kayla. All I did was mention it had been a week since I’d spoken to her. Mariya came up with the idea on her own.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not surprised. My sister has always been determined. When she gets something in her head, she doesn’t stop pushing until she gets her way. And right now, making sure you’re being treated right is her goal.”
I duck my head. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she knows I’m content here and?—”
“You and I are going on a date. Tonight.”
I snap my mouth closed and look at him.
“Somewhere ‘intimate,’” he says with a faint trace of sarcasm. “I can bring extra security with us, but only an idiot would try anything while I’m with you. They all know they won’t survive the attempt.”
Yakov and I have done a lot more than date. I sleep in his bed every night. We share body wash. But for some reason, this feels like a big deal.
It isn’t. He’s only doing this because his sister wants him to. It’s for her. Not you.
I can’t convince my pounding heart of that though. I swallow down my nerves. “Can’t wait.”
46
LUNA
I’m getting emotional whiplash from how fast things are moving. Just a few hours after he suggested the idea, Yakov and I are tucked into an alcove of the prettiest restaurant I’ve ever seen.
Private nooks line the main dining room, each one set apart by an archway covered in trailing vines, delicate white flowers, and flickering candlelight. Large windows at the back of each alcove offer a view of the city below, the streets like black waterways full of glowing fish.
Toto, we’re not at Olive Garden anymore.
“This doesn’t seem like the kind of place that does spaghetti and meatballs,” I whisper.
Yakov shifts closer, his knee pressing against my thigh. “If you’re hoping I’ll slurp up the same noodle as you so we can meet in the middle for a kiss, I’d suggest the lemon ricotta linguine.”
Unless there’s an X-rated version of The Lady and The Tramp floating around out there that I don’t know about, I don’t think a plate of pasta is going to lead to what I’m hoping for.
“If memory serves, you’re the one who had to trick me into our first date, Sergey.”
He runs a finger over the rim of his glass. “I didn’t have to trick you into an orgasm, though.”
Yakov lets his eyes linger on me and I might as well slip the thin straps of my red dress off and let it puddle around my waist, because that’s where we’re inevitably gonna end up tonight. My skin is burning. We haven’t even made it through appetizers and I’m ready for dessert.
I shift in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs. I try to pretend I’m reading my menu, but my eyes keep slipping up to sneak glances at Yakov. He’s in a forest green knit shirt that might as well be a sign demanding that everyone he meets must gaze lovingly into his matching green eyes. The blazer thrown over top emphasizes the broad sweep of his shoulders and the natural taper of his waist. He looks good.
Good enough that I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t a real date, no matter how much it may feel like one. He’s only here to earn brownie points with Mariya.
I’m in the middle of waxing quixotic about the many virtues of his square jaw when he suddenly looks up at me.
“Luna?”
I blink. “Yes?”
“She asked what you’d like to order.”
His throat shifts with every word. I’ve never seen an attractive neck before, but here it is. “Who?”
He arches a brow and sighs. “My date will have the lemon ricotta linguine and the beef braciole.”
I peel my eyes away from him to see our waitress is standing next to the table. While I’ve been undressing Yakov with my eyes, the waitress has been looking at me like she might need to have the chef pre-cut my food in the kitchen and remove any sharp utensils from my reach. I can’t even blame her.
