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“Oh please. Like this flower disaster is romantic.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “And I’ve been with plenty of romantic guys. Paris is the city of love.”
Except it hasn’t been for her. I’ve made sure of that.
“Okay.” I raise my eyebrows. “What’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you?”
Holding eye contact, she reaches for my glass and takes a long hard swallow. I’d say she’s buying herself some time. “Took me dancing.”
I take my drink back, positioning my lips directly over her lipstick stain, chasing the taste of her on the glass. Dancing guy? I remember that loser. He took her to one lousy salsa dancing class and nearly shit his pants when Matis told him to get lost. Broke up with her by text if I recall. “If it’s dancing that you want, I’m sure Genevieve can arrange for that. Would be nice to slow dance under the stars, wouldn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes, her lips setting into a thin line. “Not with you.” Running a finger over the rim of her water glass she adds, “You know what’snotromantic?”
I pause with the glass halfway to my mouth and brace for impact. She leans forward. “Packing my vibrator.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lungs. “I disagree. I think it was a very romantic gesture. I’m making sure your needs are taken care of.”
Truth is big romantic gestures are not my thing. I’m a believer in the small things. Like how Aly and I used to drag blankets up to the roof of the estate to watch the stars or go for spontaneous motorcycle rides along the coast. Just her and I and the open road. Fuck candles and roses, it didn’t get more romantic than that.
But that was then, and this is now.
“Not sure I’m going to need Bob,” she answers lightly. It takes me a minute to catch on that Bob is her battery-operated boyfriend. “Jack seems pretty nice after all.”
A snarl escapes from my lips as my hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the napkin under my grip. “Are you trying to provoke me? Because I warn you, butterfly, that’s a very dangerous game to play. On this boat you belong to me.” Not only on this boat. In my heart, in my soul. Just not in this lifetime, my father made damn sure of that. “And if you need a reminder of how your body still responds to me," a slow smile grows on my face as I watch her nipples hardening beneath her thin shirt, "I will be happy to provide one."
A beat passes, and I wonder if she’ll argue. But instead, her stained-red lips twist in amusement. I have a feeling I just played into her hand. “So easy to rile up, Leonid. What happened to that easygoing boy I once knew?”
“Long gone,” I say. Left the day Alyona flew to Paris, and I got my vory stars. Silence fills the space between us until it’s interrupted when a server appears by our table.
“Good evening. My name is Becky, and I’ll be serving you tonight.” A young woman with blonde hair in a neat bun introduces herself before reaching for the bottle of Veuve chilling in the ice bucket beside the table.
“Nice to meet you, Becky,” Aly offers. “I don’t think we’ve seen you before.”
“This is my first trip out. I’m still getting my sea legs,” she admits, her smile wavering as she goes about her task. Sweat beads form on her forehead, and her grip on the champagne bottle is unsteady. Aly and I exchange a look; something is not right.
“I think I might be…” Becky swallows thickly while attempting to work the cork out of the bottle. “A little seasick.”
With a loud bang, the cork escapes the bottle, ricocheting off the canopied sun cover and landing with a thud on the deck. The champagne gushes out in a fountain, dousing the table and drenching Alyona, who jumps up and starts to pat at her sopping clothes while Becky looks on mortified. But more than mortified, Becky looks green.
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” she stammers as she lunges towards the side of the boat, retching into the water below.
Aly abandons her napkin to the floor and approaches the sick woman to hold back her hair and murmur words of comfort. My chest squeezes. This is the Alyona I grew up with. The girl with a tender heart who wasn’t afraid to show the soft side of herself instead of hiding behind the steel shield she holds up all the time now, pretending nothing can ever hurt her again.
When the sounds of retching stops, Aly escorts Becky back into the cabin as a flustered, wild-eyed Genevieve comes bounding up the stairs, a look of frozen horror etched on her face.
“Oh,mon dieu,” she mutters, her eyes closing in a slow blink. “I’ll have this all cleaned up for you and back to—”
“It’s okay.” Alyona’s voice echoes from behind Genevieve, who startles before turning around. Aly’s got two bottles of beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “I got it covered.”
Genevieve bites her lip, looking terribly apologetic. “We ruined your romantic evening.”
I bark out a laugh, because oh, the irony of it. “Not at all, we’re good,” I assure her. In fact, I can’t think of anything more romantic than swigging a beer and sharing a bag of chips with Aly.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,Aly is changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt with her hair piled into a bun on the top of her head. I’m still wearing clothes that are two sizes too small for me, but I’ve abandoned my jacket and tie and popped the first few buttons on the dress shirt.
Now we’re sitting on the ground cross-legged, our backs pressed against the bow of the ship, a perfect view of the vast, star-studded sky. Neither of us has said much, but the mood has changed. It’s less charged, more relaxed.
Aly expertly twists the cap off the beer bottle and hands it to me. She then does the same with her own bottle and raises it in a toast. “Za tvoye zdorovye!”I respond, clinking my bottle against hers.
