AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I thought we might walk across the bridge for dinner—if your shoes will allow it.” He glances down at my wedged sandals peeking out from the bottom of my flowing skirt.
“Believe it or not, I’ve done more than a few miles in these babies. They’re quite comfy. And I’m always up for a walk.”
Efrem should know that. I used to join Pyotr and Ben on their adventures across campus and the city whenever they let me tag along. Those boys could cover some serious ground. And Val and Efrem were always there to keep an eye on Pyotr.
My brother’s warning from the other night flashes through my head unexpectedly. A warning that Pyotr’s family is mixed up in bad things, and that’s why his father was murdered. I’d always just assumed Val and Efrem were how Pyotr’s mother could live with letting her son wander New York City. It seemed like a reasonable reaction after his father was killed unexpectedly. And since my family uses some level of protective security because of my father’s job, I’d never given it a second thought until now.
“You are satisfied with the pictures you took yesterday?” Efrem asks, glancing at me from the corner of his eye as we walk.
Bringing my mind back to the present, I smile. “I think so. I haven’t had time to print them yet, but from what I could see, I think I have a nice set.”
It would have been nice to use my film camera. To me, nothing compares with images that I have to take the time to process and develop. Somehow, they seem to capture emotional moments so perfectly.
But I thought the digital camera would be a smarter option when it came to photographing little Isla. A hair too slow on my reaction time, and I could not only miss the perfect photo op but not even know it until I hung the images in my darkroom.
“You do not seem so pleased,” Efrem observes.
Surprised by his observation when I hadn’t even realized I was frowning, I laugh. “Definitely pleased with the end result,” I clarify. “Only, I was using a camera that’s not my favorite.”
“How come it is not a favorite?” Efrem’s gaze lingers on mine, sending tingles down my spine.
“I prefer using film. But that’s risky business when taking pictures of a toddler. They move a lot, and with film, I have to wait until it’s developed before I know if I got the shot I wanted.”
Efrem nods, his strong brow furrowing just slightly as if I’d said something thought-provoking.
His questions about my art don’t stop all the way to our destination. By the time he guides me into the fine seafood restaurant of Carne Mare, I find he hasn’t said more than a handful of words. Instead, he’s shown an impressive amount of interest in a passion I share with few people my age.
But what I find most refreshing—he hasn’t asked me a single thing about my father. I’ve lost count of the dates I had that turned out to be some guy’s attempt to get his foot in the door in the political arena.
Efrem gives his name to the host for our reservation, and as we’re led out to the patio sitting along the water’s edge of the East River, his large hand settles on the small of my back. Goosebumps explode across my flesh at the simple touch, and I have to fight to keep my knees from wobbling as I walk.
I settle into my chair with immense relief that I managed not to fall on my face. I barely take note when Efrem orders drinks and appetizers before the server departs. It’s a perfect evening to dine outside, and I glance at the water that reflects the city lights in a shimmering dance.
“What started your interest in photography in the first place?” Efrem asks as we’re left alone.
My eyes shift back to his masculine face and intense blue eyes, and once again, I find him watching me, his gaze studying me with apparent interest. It’s that same look that’s left me tongue-tied and fuzzy-brained every time I see him lately, and I wonder for the hundredth time if he finds me as appealing as I find him.
“I, um.” I laugh, recalling the memory from my childhood. “My brother and I used to go crazy for photo booths as kids. Anytime we saw one, we would beg our parents to let us use it,” I say, warming with affection as I think about all the goofy poses we would come up with.
I still have a wall full of the strips we’ve collected over the years.
“Then, for my Christmas present one year, my dad bought me a polaroid camera. And the rest is history.”
Efrem chuckles, low and throaty. It’s a sound I don’t often hear since he’s normally supposed to be silent and on guard when I’m with Pyotr, and I find the deep rumble entirely too enticing.
“He did not get one for your brother?” he asks.
I laugh. “Oh, no, he did. Ben broke his two weeks later trying to take an action shot while ice skating.”
Efrem’s lips spread into a wide grin as he shakes his head. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“What about you?” I ask, wanting to learn more about Pyotr’s mysterious bodyguard I know so little about. It seems odd that I’ve known Efrem for years, yet I can’t recall a single personal detail about his life.
“What about me?” he asks, his tone still amused, though his smile softens slightly.
“Any life-changing childhood stories or meaningful gifts from your father?”
For a fleeting moment, I can see the agony on Efrem’s face before it hardens, and his hands fist before he hides them beneath the table.
