“You have a hotel?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Booked by the fiancé?”
I wince at the word. “Technically.”
“Then no.”
“No?”
“You’re not going there.”
I lift my head. “I’m not?”
“No.”
I stare at him, caught somewhere between amusement and outrage. “You have a habit of deciding things very quickly.”
“I have a habit of being right.”
“That must be exhausting for everyone around you.”
“It is.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. His expression softens by the smallest amount, and I get the strange feeling he’s been waiting for that sound.
I settle back again, but I don’t close my eyes. “So what am I supposed to do? Sleep at the airport?”
“No.”
“Wander Moscow alone with one bag and no plan?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then what?”
Roman’s gaze holds mine, steady and unreadable. “I will show you Moscow.”
My breath catches.
It’s not a grand declaration. He doesn’t say it dramatically. He says it as if the matter has already been settled somewhere in his mind.
I blink at him. “You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to show me around Moscow?”
“You wanted to see it.”
“I did.”
“Then you will see it properly.”
Something warm spreads through my chest, dangerous because it feels too much like comfort.
“You don’t have to do that.”
