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— CHAPTER 19 —
CLARA
Tension lingers between Markus and me the next day as we each go about our own business, avoiding interaction.
Grigory is supposed to come for dinner in the evening, and I’m both ecstatic and unnerved by the prospect. This will be the first time in three months I see both men simultaneously. So much has happened since the three of us talked here in Markus’s apartment, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go about the three of us being together. Markus is my boyfriend, but these days, I feel closer to Grigory. And with the rift lingering from yesterday, I don’t think I can put on a smile and act like everything’s okay.
Markus comes into the kitchen while I’m preparing dinner. Standing behind me, he sets his palms on the counter on each side of me and leans down to press his lips to my hair. “I’m sorry you feel like I’m using Grigory as a replacement.”
I stop peeling potatoes and let my hands fall to the counter surface.
“I’ve been going over my schedule,” he continues. “If I move a couple of appointments, I’ll have an entire month here in Berlin after New Year’s, so you can come stay with me. I’ve told Lucia I’m not joining her on tour.”
Turning around between Markus’s arms, I gaze up at him with hopeful eyes. “So you’ll be here for my audition?”
“I will.”
A weight lifts from my chest, allowing me to draw a deep breath. Usually, I’d hate him passing up job opportunities for me. Touring with a renowned singer like Lucia would be great for his career, but I need this badly. So I smile and nod eagerly. “I’d like that.”
“There’s that pretty smile.” His lips tip up in a smile of his own, his eyes lighting up as he watches me.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you too, sweetie.” He dips his head to press his lips to mine in a tender kiss that melts away the lingering tension between us.
***
Half an hour later, the doorbell rings. 6:00 p.m. on the dot. I’m busy making sauce by the stove, so Markus goes to open the door. He’s been sitting by the kitchen island, chatting and snatching bits of food since our talk, and the atmosphere is bright.
My skin buzzes with excitement as if I haven’t seen Grigory in weeks even though it’s barely been two. The feeling intensifies, a shivery sensation running down my neck, when I hear him approach. His steps are unmistakable—firm and sure.
Suddenly too nervous to do anything, I freeze, unable to turn and face him.
Large, warm hands curve around my hips, and my pulse speeds up at the tickle of a hot breath on my neck. “It’s good to see you,devochka,” he murmurs in a husky voice, only for my ears.
A soft hum is all I can muster as I release the whisk.
Grigory reaches in front of me to shut off the stove. I watch as the same hand pushes the pan away from the hot surface. Long, strong fingers and distinct veins remind me of hours at the piano, gentle touches, and hard spankings.
The hand returns to splay over my hip, and I let out a soft moan at the delicious feeling.
Charged intimacy crackles in the air around us, and I’m glad Markus didn’t follow Grigory in here. It would feel wrong for him to see this. I can’t help arching my back, my entire body humming with awareness of the powerful man behind me—opening up for his touch and craving his dominance.
Ever so slowly, Grigory leans in to press his lips to my neck. My sensitive skin blazes beneath the brush of his lips, goose bumps erupting down my arm.
I lean back into him, needing to feel more than his hands—to be engulfed by strong arms and fierce power.
Grigory picks up on my urge and wraps me in a firm grip, clasping my arms as if to restrain me. But his embrace does the job more than sufficiently. No, what his hands reflect is the same urgent need to be close as the one thrumming in my veins.
We stand there, locked together, for several minutes until a set of steps enters the kitchen.
I’m the one to burst the bubble as I straighten, and Grigory lets me, though one of his hands remains on my hip—discreetly possessive.
“Would you like a glass of scotch while Clara finishes dinner?” Markus asks, entirely unaffected by the display of intimacy he walked in on. Since he’s my boyfriend, this threesome dynamic should probably affect him the most, but he seems to be the least concerned of us.
Grigory’s hold tightens on my hip. I think he’s reluctant to leave, but he follows Markus to the living room for a glass of his most beloved drink.
I smile at the thought of the expensive bottle of scotch that now has a permanent place in my cabinet. Grigory offered me a sip one night, saying it was a very fine scotch. My contorted grimace made him erupt into a delicious rumbling laughter. I’d take a sip of the revolting liquor any day if it meant I’d get to hear that laugh.
