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I make a face, hoping she’ll take the hint and change the subject. It works.
“Speaking of guys, I think Basile has met someone!”
“Who?”
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question! I heard him being all sweet with someone on the phone. I made fun of him, and when he saw me, he hung up real fast and refused to talk to me about it.”
“Hmm, that means it’s serious.”
“Yeah, I think he’s head over heels in love!”
“Basile in love and you single? Just goes to show, anything is possible,” I say with a laugh.
It sounded forced.
“Alma… Go see Vadim. Maybe his head has cleared by now?” My sister tries again, in a quieter, more subdued voice this time.
“I’m dying to, but I just can’t. I’m too scared he’ll tell me he doesn’t miss me,” I admit, my throat tight.
“I don’t believe that for a second, Alma. This torture has gone on long enough! If you don’t make a move, I’ll have to go in your place!”
“Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“No, I’ve already heard that excuse. You’re going to talk to him tonight! Chop-chop, to your closet—now!”
She reaches both hands out and hauls me off the couch, where I’ve practically taken root. I follow her, but quickly start to regret it.
“What if he’s not there? He’s not exactly the type to hole up at home on a Friday night!”
“Then you’ll wait for him in the lobby until he gets back. Understood, Lancaster?” she orders, rifling through my dresses.
“Nothing sexy, Lily. Jeans will do just fine.”
“Oh yeah, and what else? Pigtails, sweatpants, and Uggs?!”
***
I’m as surprised as he is when the dark wood door opens and our eyes meet. Those gray eyes, with all their subtle shades… I could get lost in them for hours. Vadim gives me a faint smile and steps aside to let me through. I sigh with relief. With an easy stride, he walks over to the bar and takes out a bottle of scotch. He nods at me, as if to confirm that I’ll join him, but I decline with a wave of my hand.
No more alcohol, ever…
Neither of us has uttered a single word yet. From across the room, I watch Vadim take his first sip. He’s wearing well-cut, light-colored pants and a partially unbuttoned white shirt. He’s barefoot, with tousled hair. I get the feeling I woke him up, even though it’s barely 10 p.m.
“Were you sleeping?” I finally ask, popping the bubble of silence that had formed around us.
“Yes. I’ve been having trouble sleeping… Insomnia.”
Him too?
“If I’m disturbing you, I can…”
“No, stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Alma, don’t leave.”
The look he gives me stops me in my tracks. His gaze is filled with emotion, tenderness, and vulnerability. Then his attention shifts, and I can breathe again. He downs a second sip of whiskey with a slight grimace and sets his glass back down on the marble surface of the bar.
