Halfway through his first bite, Vasya freezes. He looks unsure whether to finish, but finally does, swallowing the ice cream with a grimace.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly, realizing I’m asking a personal question about the head of the Kucherov Bratva. Am I about to step over a line I don’t know anything about?
But Vasya waves away my hesitation and sets the ice cream bar down on its wrapper. “Not always, no. He was the only one who would talk to me when we came here from Russia, and I didn’t know any English. Ev was always a serious kid, but he lost his mom in a fire. He changed after that.”
So much in so few words, and it takes me a moment to process. I shouldn’t feel bad for someone who’s probably killed people, but having lost my own mother, I feel a pang of sadness.
“Is that where he—” I gesture to the side of my face.
“Yeah. You can imagine what those scars did to him as a kid. You think it’s bad when people treat you like a monster as an adult? Imagine it as a kid.”
Vasya takes a breath to say something, but his mouth twists, and something flashes through his eyes that sends a shiver through me. Then it’s gone, and he offers me a sad smile. “My parents died in that fire, too. It changed both of our lives.”
“I’m so sorry,” I manage, my throat thick with sympathy.
A shrug is all I get in reply, though Vasya’s gaze lands anywhere but on me. “And once Ev becamepakhan, and then CEO of Kucher Enterprises after his father passed away, he got even worse.”
“All the pressure?”
Another shrug, and Vasya picks up his ice cream bar again, taking another bite. “Something like that. He’s also just an asshole.”
I giggle, and a reluctant grin tugs at one corner of Vasya’s mouth. “But if you tell him I told you any of this, I’ll deny it.”
Dragging two fingers across my lips like a zipper, I pretend to throw away the key. “I won’t say a word.”
Vasya winks, then grabs his ice cream and Perrier, and he’s gone.
I clean my plate and stick it in the dishwasher, but I loathe the idea of going back to my room. And, I hate to admit it, I’m nervous about exploring the house again.
So instead, I grab a blanket from a couch in one of the living rooms and sit outside on a plush chaise lounge.
It’s hard to see all but the brightest stars between the city lights and the moon, which forms an undulating silver trail over the dark ocean. For a moment, I imagine myself crossing the path to the horizon and escaping this place.
I feel an odd pull in the opposite direction, and my conversation with Vasya slips back in. I stare at the moon and turn the little bit I discovered about Evgeny over in my mind, comparing it to what I know.
And everything I don’t.
The waves below are soothing, and I’m warm, wrapped up in the soft blanket. My last thought before I slip into sleep is of Evgeny’s body over mine, his green eyes glowing with desire for me, and the beauty of a face that bears a physical reminder of his past.
11
EVA
The first thing I register is light behind my eyelids, then birds, and the rush of waves. They sound too close to be outside my window. The air smells like salt.
Did I leave the window open overnight?
I shove my hair off my face. My hand comes back sticky with salty dew, and my skin feels the same when my fingers brush it.
Pushing myself up onto an elbow, I blink my eyes open and realize I fell asleep outside. I hadn’t meant to, but the sound of the waves had put me out like a light.
“Did you sleep well?”
I gasp and jerk around to find Evgeny seated on the other chaise, his gaze fixed where the water meets the sky. The waves catch the bright pinks and purples of the fiery sunrise, and the light makes his skin glow.
“I did,” I say, keeping a cautious eye on him as I ease into a seated position, the blanket sliding from my shoulders.
Evgeny keeps staring out at the horizon, a mug of coffee in his hands. Another mug sits on the small side table, steam rising from its dark surface.
