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“Why did you?” I’m genuinely curious now. I’d expected him to double down, to tell me to shut my mouth or threaten me in some way, but instead he’d said he was sorry.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me—”
“Enough, Lidiya.” His tone hardens slightly, and I back down.There it is.“I said I was sorry. Let’s not drag this conversation out any further than it needs to be—”
I’m tempted to retort something else, but there’s a knock at the door then, and Levin goes to open it, rolling in the room service cart. I can smell the food from here, and my stomach rumbles so loudly that I know he can hear it. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast—and that ended up on Grisha’s wife’s shoes.
“Well?” Levin looks sideways at me. “Are you going to come and eat?”
He’s standing next to on the lacquered coffee table in front of the uncomfortable-looking couch, and I inwardly balk at the idea of sitting next to him, eating dinner like two normal people sharing a hotel room—a normalcouple, even.
“Oh, you’re right.” Levin straightens, looking over at me. “We’d probably be more comfortable eating in bed, in front of the tv.”
“That’s not what I—” I start to protest, but he’s already moving the cart near the bed, picking one of the silver trays up and setting it atop the soft white duvet like that’s a perfectly ordinary thing to do. I walked right into that trap, and I can see that Levin is doing exactly what I tried to do a little while ago with the room service and the quip about being his wife—make me purposefully uncomfortable to see if he can get under my skin.
Under other circumstances, it could have been playful—fun, even. These aren’t those circumstances, but it makes me wonder what Levin is actually like, as a person. Is there a side of him apart from the scary man who scoops women up out of train stations and abducts them back to hotel rooms? Who blackmails people, tracks them down, probably kills them or worse? The idea of a man working for some shadowy organization out for Grisha’s blood doesn’t match up with the man climbing tipsily onto the bed next to me, trays of gourmet food arranged in front of us as he reaches for the remote.
“Hey.” I snatch it away from him. “I picked this show because I like it.”
“This is practically a soap opera.” He rolls his eyes. “Give that here.”
I try to pull it away from him, but he’s too quick. He snatches the remote out of my hand, flipping through channels.
“Here. This is a good movie.” He keeps the remote just out of reach long enough for me to see that he’s settled onJohn Wick.
I glare at him. “Isn’t that a little on the nose? I don’t want to watch this.”
“It has Keanu Reeves in it. All women love Keanu Reeves.” Levin narrows his eyes at me. “Are you telling me you don’t find him attractive?”
I let out a sharp breath. “Of course I do. But I don’t want to watch a movie about a Russian assassin while I’m trapped in a hotel room with a—well—” I wave my hand in Levin’s general direction.
“John Wick is Belarusian, not Russian. And I never said I was an assassin.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
Levin smirks. “Seriously.”
“About the John Wick part or the assassin part? Or both?”
He shrugs. “Take your pick.”
I’m not sure I believe him about the assassin part. I’ve been thinking for as long as he was gone about who he could really be, and what, and I don’t think he’s working for the government. I could be wrong–he could be KGB, after Grisha for money laundering or because he has dirt on some politician, or some shit like that. But I don’t get that feeling from him. I don’t have any proof, of course—just a feeling.
“Let’s compromise.” I stop grabbing for the remote, but I pin him with a pointed look. “No romantic shows, no John Wick. Something in the middle.” I reach for one of the dish covers, my stomach rumbling all over again. “You scroll, because I’m starving.”
“I know.” Levin smirks. “I could hear your stomach from the other side of the room.”
I swat him on the shoulder, and it’s like hitting a brick wall. “Jesus,” I mutter, shaking out my hand. “You’re built like a fucking bull.”
Levin raises an eyebrow, and I glare at him. “Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” He starts scrolling through the channels again, finally landing on a comedy special as I reach for a truffle fry.
I realize, with a strange feeling in my stomach, that for a moment I’d almost forgotten that he’s keeping me here against my will. In the last fifteen minutes or so, I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in a while, even with Grisha.
Grisha pampered me and spoiled me, and I enjoyed spending time with him—he’s articulate and intelligent, easy to carry on a conversation with, and interested in my field of study…or pretended to be, anyway. But Levin is different.
