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For a man whose hands would probably drip red if I could see all the blood he’s spilled with them, he feels refreshingly—normal. Almost fun.
When I’d woken up earlier, I hadn’t pictured myself eating room service in bed with him, laughing at a popular comedian while we dug into the food.
“This is excellent,” Levin says, taking a bite of his burger. “I can’t fault your choices.”
“Don’t you eat?” I glance at him. “I know this isn’t your first night here.”
“Usually at the bar. And never food like this.” Levin reaches for one of the sticky chicken tenders, glancing sideways at me. “I’m sure Grisha kept you well-fed, though.”
“He did.” I take a bite of my own burger, stifling an involuntary moan. It’s one of the best I’ve ever had, the rich flavor of it bursting over my tongue, the cheese sharp against the sweetness of the jam and the meaty flavor of the burger, and the bun is fresh. The fries are equally good—thin and crisp, my favorite, with parmesan cheese clinging to the truffle oil and lemon juice on the outside. “This is some of the best hotel food I’ve ever had, though.”
“This is the best hotel in Moscow.” Levin takes another bite of the chicken tender. “I almost like these better than the burger. Just spicy enough.”
“I haven’t tried them yet.” I reach for another fry, and look up just in time to see Levin directing the last bite of the honey sriracha tender towards my lips, his fork extended.
Automatically, before I realize what I’m doing, I take it. My lips close over the sticky bite, hot and sweet flavors filling my mouth all at once, and my eyes lock with Levin’s as I lick a drop of honey off of my lips.
“Delicious,” Levin says, his voice suddenly dropping an octave, and something throbs deep inside of me.
I jerk back, grabbing a napkin and wiping my lips. “It’s really good,” I manage to choke out, refusing to look at him again. I can feel my face flushing for reasons that have nothing to do with the spiciness of the food, and I can feel my breath catching in my throat.
I don’t think he did it on purpose. I can’t imagine that he did, it makes no sense. Levin seductively feeding me a bite of chicken is about the furthest thing from reality that I can imagine.
But I can’t deny that there’s a tension in the air now that wasn’t there before. And I can feel it wafting off of him, too, as he studiously goes back to eating his burger, his eyes fixed on the television screen in front of us.
I can’t help but think that he’s thinking the same thing I am—that for a few minutes, we weren’t a kidnapped girl and her captor, eating dinner in the room he’s holding her prisoner in. We were just two people having fun, eating stupidly expensive food in a soft white bed, watching tv and laughing together. If we were a normal couple, we’d clear away the dishes after and Levin would kiss the honey off my lips himself, tumbling me back into the thick, soft white comforter, undoing the belt of my robe before—
I shove that thought down as hard as I can. I can’t keep thinking of him like this—I’d told myself that earlier. He’s handsome, it’s true. He seems to have more depth to him than he lets on, and he seems to be—or want to be—a decent man at his core. But that doesn’t change our circumstances even a little. And it doesn’t make him any less of a danger to me and the only person I have left that I truly love.
Levin gets off the bed, setting his empty plate on the cart and reaching for the expensive bottle of vodka. He drops two ice cubes into one of the glasses, pouring the vodka over it and lifting the glass to his lips as he takes a deep drink,.
He looks over, catching the expression on my face, and smirks. “You just said I needed food to soak it up, not that I needed to stop drinking altogether. And besides,zhena, you ordered the vodka.”
I go very still, looking at him.Zhena. Wife.I’d told the front desk I was exactly that as a joke, trying to get under his skin, but it feels different hearing it roll off of his lips now, slightly fuzzed with drink, especially after he fed me that bite of food a moment ago.
“You shouldn’t call me that,” I tell him, pushing my plate away. I’m full, and even if I hadn’t been, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.
He shrugs, taking another drink. “You called yourself that, earlier.” He reaches over, alternating sips of his drink with taking the plates off the bed, piling them onto the cart and pushing it outside into the hall. When he walks back in, he’s holding the bottle of vodka and another glass.
He holds it out towards me, and I shake my head.
“No, I think I should probably stay sober.” I reach for the remote, flicking off the tv. “And we should probably both get some sleep. I think my head feels okay enough for me to sleep again.”
I push back the duvet, arranging a few of the pillows, and when I look up again, I see Levin’s ice blue eyes on me, watching me.
“You’re not at all what I expected, Lidiya Petrovna,” he says quietly. And then, without another word, he flips off the main light in the room, leaving only the faint glow of the lamp by the bed as he walks to the couch, stretching out on it still fully clothed with his glass of vodka balanced on his chest.
I climb into bed too and flick off the light, my heart beating far too hard for me to fall asleep immediately. Instead I just lie there, looking at Levin’s shape on the couch in the darkness, faintly illuminated by the outside light coming in through the window.
I’m not worried about him trying to get into bed with me in the middle of the night or touching me while I’m asleep. I probably should be, honestly, and Iwouldbe—if it were anyone else. But something about Levin tells me that even if I can’t exactly trust him entirely, I can at least trust him not to hurt me physically. I can sleep without one eye open.
I wonder, watching him as he lies perfectly still, without a single sign as to whether he’s asleep or awake, if he can say the same.
Levin
Ididn’t sleep well. I’d made sure to stay very still on the couch, behaving as if I were sleeping so as not to alarm Lidiya, but in reality I’d stared up at the ceiling for a long time, fighting off the thoughts of how close she was, just a few feet away in that big soft bed, and how easily I could be next to her.
I could hear the sound of her breathing, soft and even as she fell asleep, and it wasn’t just arousal that I had to battle. It was the thought of lying in bed with her, feeling her warm breath on my skin, her soft hair tickling my cheek and shoulder. It was the recent memories of how we’d laughed together over dinner, and how surprising it was.
