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“Are you done?” I asked, struggling not to be hurt.
“No, actually,” he continued. “Does Kristina know? She’d be furious. She’d kill you. God, Ev, gross. How much older is he?”
“Twenty years,” I said quietly.
“Oh well, at least he’s not Papa’s age. Close, though.”
“I don’t care about the age difference. You know you’re the only guy our age I’ve ever liked. He’s a gentleman and mature and—”
“Stop,” he interrupted. “I can’t deal with this.”
“You better learn to deal with it, or I’ll put the bullet back in your leg and a new one in your gut.” We stared each other down in silence, which I finally broke. “He makes me happy, Leo.”
He made a retching noise, but I could tell he was teasing me now. “I knew you were acting way too giddy about being held against your will.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ll try to keep an open mind, and I won’t shoot him, but that’s all I can promise for now.”
“Okay,” I said, leaning over to kiss the tiny spot on his forehead that didn’t have a cut or bruise. “I’ll take it.”
“Go,” he murmured. “I don’t need you to hover around. You did a great job fixing me up, but I need to rest for now. I should be ready to go in the morning.”
“We can stay longer if you’re not up to it,” I assured him.
He shook his head, eyes still closed. “The guys who grabbed me only wanted to know where you were, and I know they used me to get you out in the open.”
“That’s what Mikhail said.”
“Well, he was right.” Leo groped around for my hand. “Listen, they’re not going to stop until you’re dead, so the quicker you’re back in the Everglades fortress, the better.”
A few seconds later, his hand loosened, and he was once again fast asleep. I left to look for Mikhail in the cheery, orange-speckled Formica and oak-paneled kitchen. He was no longer in there, but a bowl of chicken salad was in the olive-green fridge. I put my hand on it but decided I was more tired than hungry and wanted to be with Mikhail.
I went down the hall to the second bedroom and pushed open the door, ready to fall into bed after the exhausting day. He sat in an armchair staring at the floor, his dark expression a sharp contrast to the bright floral bedspread next to him.
“Leo woke up,” I said, hoping that would bring a smile. “He thinks he’ll be ready to leave tomorrow. He says he just needs sleep.”
“Good,” he said, not looking up.
I chalked it up to the awful day and went to put my arms around him. Instead of drawing me closer, he stiffened. Something about his face wouldn’t let me ask what was wrong.
Instead, I peeled off my top and stretched my arms over my head, about to pop out of my bra and waiting for him to notice. “Speaking of sleep,” I said, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Normally when my top came off, his eyes came up, among other things. “Um, I can’t wait to get in bed. Are you joining me?”
He finally looked up, his eyes darkening to see I was getting undressed, but instead of reaching for me, he shook his head. “We need to stop this, Evelina.” His voice was rough, and he looked down again.
“What?” I asked, physically getting knocked back by his words. “Stop what?”
He shook his head. “Don’t. You know.”
I stared at him in confusion, which quickly turned to anger. “But I told my brother about us.”
He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “I really wish you hadn’t.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, then held up my hand before he could answer, listing all his reasons in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re too old; I’m your daughter’s best friend. You’ve known my father for too long.”
“Yes, all of that,” he said, ignoring my anger, which somehow worsened it. “You can dismiss it all you want, but those things are very real problems.”
“Kristina wants you to be happy,” I argued. “My father wants me to be happy.” I paused, unsure he deserved to hear it, but I blurted it out anyway. “You make me happy, Mikhail.”
He looked at me with eyes full of pain. As if he longed to drag me onto his lap and hold me tight. Or maybe that was what I wanted.
“It’s not that simple. And that’s not how fathers think, believe me.”
