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It’s not that I haven’t asked. It’s that she has this amazing ability to wriggle out of any line of questioning.
She fidgets with the edge of the table. “Yeah, well, there isn’t a lot of time to talk when you’re waiting on a full dining room for five-percent tips.”
I groan. “Don’t even remind me.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’re going back to waitressing anytime soon.”
“Oh—Er, I guess not.”
“You guess not?” she asks.
I chew on my cheek before I remember I’m on video and slap on a smile. “Probably not. I just hadn’t thought about it yet.”
They are going to hate me when I waltz back into work in a few days and tell them this whole thing was a ruse. If I can even tell them that. To explain what Ivan and I are doing… It would reveal a lot about who he is, who his family is.
Maybe I’ll never be able to tell them the truth.
“Hmm. Well, if you’re as bored as I am, you probably have nothing but time to think.”
I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says quickly. “I just don’t have a big, strong man to keep me company in here the way you do. I’m actually looking forward to going back to work.”
I don’t have a big, strong man to keep me company, either. So far, it seems like Ivan is doing his best to avoid me as much as I’ve been avoiding him.
“I’ll live vicariously through you two. What have you been doing? Do you have any plans?”
I want to make something up, but I can’t. Because I want it too much. A safe place, someone to love me, a world away from the running and scraping by I’ve been doing. I’ve seen enough to know Ivan Pushkin isn’t the knight in shining armor girl’s dream about, but for a broken girl like me, he feels awfully close.
My throat is closing up. Francia is staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer what should be a simple question, but I can’t find a single word.
Then there’s a knock on my door.
My salvation.
“Oh, sorry, Fran—someone is at the door.”
“I’ll let you go, then.” She waves. “Talk to you soon.”
I close out of the call. It feels like stepping off stage. The lights are off of me, the curtains are closed. The performance is over and I can breathe again.
The lies are for their own safety,I tell myself.I’m doing everyone a favor.
“Just a second,” I call out. I straighten my shirt and pinch my cheeks, trying to force some color back into my face. I feel exhausted and frail, but I don’t want to look like it, too.
Someone knocks on the door again. Harder this time.
I have a feeling I know who it is.
30
CORA
Ivan is leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. “A wife should never make her husband wait.”
He’s wearing short sleeves. For the first time, I can see his arms. The black tattoos that peek out of the collar of his shirt and snake up and down his muscled biceps and thick forearms.
I suppress a shiver and turn to saunter back across my room as if I could care less that he’s standing in my doorway.
