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Opening my front door, I catch a glimpse of Roman. Fuck me. Something about the way his eyes meet mine just sucks the air straight from my lungs.
“You shouldn’t just buzz people in,malyshka. You don’t know who you’re letting into the building.” Roman’s voice is hard when he steps off the stairs and turns to my door.
He shaved. Not completely, he still has his beard covering his chin and jawline, but it’s been cleaned up and trimmed. And he’s wearing a white scarf with a tailored suit that fits his body like it owns him.
“Did you hear me?” he asks when he’s at my door and I’m still gawking at him like a fool.
“What? Oh, yes. The door. Well, we don’t have a camera and the speaker thing hasn’t worked in months.” I step back into the apartment and let him in.
He comes inside and shuts and locks the door before he addresses me. And when he does, my heart sinks. After one quick look at me, he’s frowning.
“It’s not that bad,” I say defensively, whisking the loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“You look beautiful. You’ll be the most gorgeous woman in the restaurant,” he says, but his frown doesn’t budge.
“Thank you.” I smile. “But that makes you angry?”
“Other men will be staring at you,” he says, but it sounds like he’s talking to himself and not me.
“Other women will be drooling all over you,” I point out, trying to alleviate the blush I can feel crossing my face. I’m not really a blusher, but this man seems to know exactly what keys to turn to make it happen on the regular. “But that’s okay,” I rush to say. “Because this is all pretend.”
My comment only seems to darken his mood.
“Where’s the dinner at?” I decide to change the subject.
“Batoni’s. A friend owns it.” He goes to the small closet by the front door and pulls the door open before I can stop him. The ironing board falls out, nearly hitting him before he manages to step out of the way. He mutters something in Russian.
“Sorry. It’s a small closet and I have a bunch of things stuffed in there. Like my broom, the vacuum, and well, the ironing board,” I explain as he picks it up and shoves it back into the crammed space.
“If that’s where you keep those things, where is your coat?” He pushes the door closed until it clicks.
“My winter coat? It’s in my bedroom. But it doesn’t go with this dress. I have this jacket on. I’ll be fine.” I brush a piece of lint from the sleeve. The dress itself is pretty warm especially with the tights I’m wearing, so having the light coat over it is fine.
“Go get your coat.” He gestures with his chin toward the hallway.
“I don’t need it,” I argue. “It’s bulky. We’re not walking to the restaurant. I’ll be fine for the walk from the parking lot to the restaurant.” I grab my purse from the end table next to the couch.
“We’re not leaving until you get your coat.” He rolls his shoulders back, like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long wait.
I make a show of checking the thin watch on my wrist. “I don’t need it, and if you keep being so damn stubborn, we’ll be late.”
“I decide what you need, and I say you need your coat. Go get it, right now or we’ll be even later.”
I grit my teeth together. It’s really silly to be arguing with him about a coat, but I’m perfectly able to determine if I need it or not.
“You know I’ve been able to keep myself warm for the last twenty-five years. I don’t think I need you to do that for me now.” I’m standing my ground, even if it is shaking slightly beneath his dark glare.
He unbuttons his overcoat.
“What are you doing?” I step closer to the door. “Let’s just go.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You have one more chance to get your coat.” He drapes his own coat over the back of the couch.
“This is so stupid!” I throw my purse back on the end table. “Fine! I’ll get my fucking coat.” I stomp away from him, down the hallway to my room, and once inside, I slam the door shut.
It’s barely a second later that the door flies open, bouncing off the wall and nearly smacking Roman as he stands in the doorway. I take a step back from him with my jacket half off.
“Are you hell bent on a spanking,malyshka, before we go out tonight? Is that why you defy me? You slam doors like a naughty little girl?” His fingers stretch out at his sides, like he’s itching to give the exact thing he’s threatening.
