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“Right. Moscow. What time is it there?”
“Ten hours ahead. It’s mid-afternoon for her. But it’s the middle of the night for you.” He pulls the comforter up under my chin.
I frown. “I don’t sleep in that late.”
“Later than I do. You’ve missed breakfast the last couple mornings.”
After he put his phone away, Yakov left his arm around my waist. I’m afraid to move in case he realizes and pulls it away, so I have to work hard to rein in my shock. “Excuse me? Are you telling me that you’ve been making me breakfast and I missed it?”
I’m not usually one to sleep in at all, but there hasn’t been much for me to do. Sleeping kills some time. When I do get up, Yakov is nowhere to be seen. No sign of him in the kitchen and no lingering scent of fried breakfast foods.
Now, I find out I could have been eating blinis and drinking white mochas every morning?
“I made myself breakfast, with enough leftovers in case anyone else wanted any,” he clarifies. “You never showed.”
“You should have woken me up! I would have gotten up for pancakes. Even if it meant you had to see me with sleepy face and crazy hair and bad breath.”
He nods. “Next time. Now, go back to sleep.”
“You promise?” I jab a finger in his rock solid chest. “If I fall asleep, you won’t sneak off and eat pancakes without me?”
“Scout’s honor.”
I snort. “You were never a boy scout.”
“No, I wasn’t. But you have my word.”
“Good,” I mumble, scooting ever-so-slightly closer to him and closing my eyes.
I try to go to sleep. I really do. But it doesn’t matter how long I lie here, my brain won’t turn off.
Yakov is in bed with me. My neck still tingles from where he kissed me. It’s all so domestic and weird and wonderful that I’m afraid to go to sleep. What if it really is all a dream?
I peek my eyes open and Yakov isn’t sleeping, either. He’s staring up at the ceiling.
“Are you close with your mother?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move except for a small smile that creeps across his lips. “I knew you weren’t asleep.”
“Blame your mom.”
He scratches his fingers through his hair. His bare arm flexes and reflects the light in a way that should be illegal. It’s mesmerizing and I’ve forgotten I even asked him a question until he starts answering it.
“We were close when I was growing up. It’s harder these days. She’s so far away.”
“Your sister is there, too, right?”
He nods. “That’s what she was texting me about this morning. Mariya is giving her trouble again.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventeen.”
I wince. “Teenage girls are a beast.”
“Which is why my mother wants me to bring Mariya here.”
“Like, for a visit?”
