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I reach over and graze her thumb. She gasps slightly, her eyes darting to my fingers and then back to my eyes. I stare at her parted lips, and the seconds feel like hours as I inch forward ever so slightly.
Kiss me, I pray to myself. Kiss me, god damn it.
Instead, she breaks into a smile. “I am happy, Boris. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her words, meant to reassure me, break me instead. She wouldn’t have it any other way? I pull away, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
She’s happy with this arrangement as it is. Us in separate bedrooms, living together yet leading separate lives. A couple who don’t make love, who don’t declare their passions.
She wants this arrangement to remain as it is, and I, like a fool, want more.
The realization scares the hell out of me.
"Robin, I..." My voice falters as I search for an explanation, an escape from the intensity of the moment.
"Is everything alright?" Concern furrows her brow, and I feel a pang of regret for causing her distress.
"Actually, I just remembered that there's an urgent business matter I need to attend to." It's a blatant lie, but I can't risk allowing my desires to dictate my actions. "I'm sorry, Robin. We'll have to cut our dinner short."
Disappointment flashes across her face, but she nods slowly, trying to mask her hurt. "Of course. I understand."
"Thank you." My voice is barely a whisper as I stand up and help her out of her chair. Our fingers brush once more, reigniting the spark that threatens to consume me. I pull my hand aside.
Dropping her in the care of my trusted drivers, I remain in my office, shutting the door behind me. Alone in the dimly lit room, I lean against the door and close my eyes, grappling with my emotions and the truth of our relationship.
It’s just a convenient arrangement, and I must stop hoping for it to be anything more.
Chapter 16 - Robin
I sit in the back of my black sedan, surrounded by half a dozen other similar ones, staring out the tinted window at the dim streets of Philadelphia. Boris's "urgent business" cut our dinner short, leaving the tiramisu I'd been eyeing untouched.
His excuses are getting thinner than the lies he feeds me. I'm not an idiot. Something tells me that there was no emergency.
In the short time I’ve known the man, I’ve learned that Boris doesn’t forget things. He’s conscientious. In fact, I sometimes think he doesn’t even need a secretary because his calendar is etched into the back of his mind.
So, what was that all about? Did he not want to spend more time with me? Is what little he does just out of forced obligation? My nails bite into my palms.
The sedan slows, pulling up to the curb of his—no, our—home. My door opens, and I step out into the chilly night, the lingering scent of Boris's cologne on my coat tormenting me.
"Good night, Mrs. Zolotov." The driver gives a curt nod before the door slams shut.
I stand alone on the sidewalk, the old familiar ache of abandonment settling into my bones. How foolish I was to think Boris would be any different from all the other men I’ve known.
My father abandoned us, never to be seen or heard from again. My uncle isn’t a stand-up guy. And now Boris? He comes and goes as per his whims.
One minute he’s hot, and the next? Cold.
I walk into the house with a lump in my throat. Every time I feel like he and I are making headway in the rightdirection, he disappears. It’s like dangling a treat in front of a child to torment them.
I push down the wave of hurt and frustration, refusing to let it consume me. Boris may be a puzzle with pieces I can't quite fit together, but I won't let his actions dictate my worth. Striding through the quiet house, I head straight to my room and prepare to go to bed.
A mother’s mood affects her unborn child’s development. For the sake of the child I carry in my womb, I will not allow self-pity to consume me. At least, not tonight.
***
The next morning, I walk into the office, coffee in hand, and stop short. Perched on the edge of Boris's desk is his new secretary, Suzannah. She was hired to assist me, but it seems like she’s interested in offering some other kind of assistance altogether.
My hands go clammy, and I feel my blood rushing to my head in anger. Her skirt is hiked up halfway above her thigh, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders as she bats her eyelashes at Boris and reads over some papers.
