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I stare down at the tablecloth, my fingers tracing the rim of my water glass, wondering if I should ask the question that has been nagging at my mind for days now.

Andrei looks up at me, mismatched eyes trained on me. “I can hear the wheels turning in that head of yours.”

I bite back a smile. It still amazes me how easily he reads me, like I’m an open book he’s memorized cover to cover.

As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking again, he adds, “You have your tells.”

My brows lift. “What tells?”

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, studying me. “What are you thinking, plamya?”

The nickname warms me from the inside out. I smile despite myself. I’d looked it up weeks ago and learned it means flame in Russian. My flame. His flame. I love that he thinks of me that way.

I start fidgeting with the napkin on my lap, folding and unfolding the corner. Should I even bring it up? What if I imagined it? What if it was just a dream my heart wanted to believe?

“Plamya?” His voice is gentle.

I look up at him, meeting his steady gaze, and let out a slow sigh.

“The other night…”

“Yes?” he prompts.

I swallow. “While I was falling asleep… I heard you say you love me.”

The words hang between us.

When he doesn’t react immediately, panic creeps in. Heat rushes to my face. God, why did I even bring it up?

“I must have been dreaming it,” I add quickly, waving a hand. “Of course you didn’t say that. Just forget I—”

“I did say it,” he says calmly.

I blink, looking up at him. “Oh… okay.”

One dark brow quirks upward. “Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

I mimic his earlier shrug, trying to keep my composure. “I wasn’t sure I heard right.”

“And now that you do?” he asks, voice low, watching me closely.

My heart starts pounding. I want to tell him I feel the same, that somewhere along the way, without noticing, he stopped being just the dangerous man who turned my world upside down and became the man I can’t imagine living without.

But instead, I decide to tease him. I shrug again, lips twitching. “Okay.”

Before he can respond, the waiter returns, setting our meals down in front of us.

Andrei lets out a soft, dramatic groan, shaking his head at me, and I can’t help the small smile that spreads across my face.

After the waiter leaves, I can feel Andrei’s eyes on me, but I avoid his gaze and pick up my fork instead. I take a bite of my medium rare steak, and a soft moan slips from my lips before I can stop it.

“Oh my God… this is so good,” I murmur, savoring the taste.

I glance up at him, and he lets out a low rumble in his throat, eyes still fixed on me.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Instead of answering, he stands. I watch, confused, as he walks around the table and drags his chair closer, settling right beside me.