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I'd even tried.
He'd taken me to see a play, something dark and tragic, a love story gone wrong. It had been dark and close and intimate. His hand had rested on my thigh above my knee where my skirt had slipped up when I had crossed my leg.
I had placed my hand over his, tried to guide it upward.
But his fingers had slipped between mine, curled, caged them in, and held them there.
It was as daring as I could have gotten. I knew the words would never have been able to come to my lips.
So, it seemed, I just had to wait for him to make the next move. Even if it was killing me.
But I tried to tamp down the disappointment as I got home from work, running a cool shower, carefully shaving, lotioning, doing my makeup, drying my hair, picking out my dress, putting on perfume he'd told me he liked.
Never before had I put quite so much effort into my personal care routine.
But, I figured, any night could be the night.
And I wanted to look, feel, and smell my best for that possibility.
Besides, tonight was special.
He was taking me to Levon's House to tour the potato cellar project that got out of control.
And, what was even cooler, he had somehow managed to get us a private viewing. No tour guide or anything. When I'd asked who he had pulled that off, he had told me that he 'knew a guy,' with a silly little eyebrow wiggle, his attempt at being silly and mysterious.
It was cute.
I know I wasn't supposed to be thinking that anything about a full-grown man was cute, but, well, it was.
Things at my new home were much the same as always. The staff buzzed around, a little hive of people with jobs to do, who got them done efficiently and without much fuss. The household was a well-oiled machine, kept immaculately cleaned for people who were almost never around.
My uncle worked a lot.
Then had meetings that kept him out late.
My aunt had luncheons and shopping and spa days and travel. I'd maybe seen her a handful of times in the weeks I had been in the house.
There was a certain amount of freedom in it, though, now that the loneliness was no longer a factor.
It wasn't like living at home where, no matter how old I got, my parents were still my parents. And so long as I was under their roof, I had to live by their rules.
My uncle treated me like an employee who just so happened to be a house guest. Nothing more. He didn't try to dictate anything - aside from my work wardrobe, and that was less about making sure I was not looking slutty and attracting male gazes, but more about wanting me to fit the aesthetic of the business he had spent his life building.
He didn't ask what I did with my free time, demand I be home at a certain time, wonder who I spent my time with.
It was the first real taste of adulthood I had maybe ever known.
I knew I would be out late.
Maybe I wouldn't even get home at all if things went the way I was hoping they might. And I didn't have to worry about frantic calls to my cell, or parents sitting up waiting for me with disapproving frowns.
I could just... enjoy myself.
"He here," Ani, the housekeeper, told me, giving me a sweet, motherly smile as she looked over my simple black maxi sundress with oversized white lilies printed on it.
When I had first arrived, Ani could only greet me and say the word 'eat' like a question. Back before Mikhail, I had been bored, stuck at home, helping Ani - who was by all means an eager student - brush up on her English while she taught me a little bit of Russian she had picked up here and there. Mostly curse words and food items, but I would take what I could get.
"Thanks," I said, knowing my smile was silly, girlish, excited, and not particularly caring.
"He handsome."
"He is," I agreed, nodding, placing a hand on my belly where nervous little butterflies fluttered around.
"He good?"
It was a motherly question, something that made me miss my own mother a bit, made me feel guilty because I had never even mentioned Mikhail to her when she called to check in. I didn't know why, but for some reason, I wanted to keep him all to myself.
And, well, Ani too, I guess.
"No," I told her, watching as her eyes went suspicious. "He's the best," I told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, grabbing my purse, and rushing out.
There he was.
In another of those fancy suits that fit him perfectly, that, when paired with his somewhat long hair, his scruff, the wicked look to his eyes, always made him look like he was up to no good.
