AllFreeNovel
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“I prefer to look forward, focus on what’s next. Not look back,” I say, clearing the ball of emotion from my throat.
Kira tilts her head in thought. “Is that why you gave Daria a chance? To invest in her future?”
“That, and she was good in bed.”
Kira looks horrified.
I bark out a laugh. “I’m kidding. God, you’re easy to rile up.”
Her eyes flash with irritation. “Trust me, I don’t care.”
An amused smile plays across my lips. “Sure you don’t. Jealousy is perfectly normal. I’m not judging.”
She exhales sharply in annoyance. “You can sleep with whomever you want until …you know.”
Oh, do I know. Until the month is up.
"But there’s only one person I want to sleep with," I say, drinking her in.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize two things. One—it’s true. And two—that's a problem. Because I don't do marriage and relationships. Once burnt, twice shy.
Kira grips the edge of the table and gives me an unreadable look.
Blyat. I curse internally, pushing my wine glass away. Clearly I’ve drunk too much. “Tell me stories about Masha jet-setting you off to fabulous restaurants.”
She freezes, her glass of wine halfway to her mouth. She lowers it and stares at me through narrowed eyes. It's like I've asked her to reveal state secrets rather than happy memories of her childhood.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
I shrug. “Why not? I’m sure you have some good stories.”
She leans her jaw into her hand, and looks away from me briefly as if cataloging her memories. Finally, her lips quirk upwards. “She once took me to Australia for three days so we could try pavlova in the country it was invented.”
“Pavlova? Like, the meringue dessert?”
“It was her favorite.” She tilts her head, focused on her next bite. “Little known fact: pavlova is named after Anna Pavlova, the Russian ballerina, but it was invented in Australia or New Zealand. There’s some debate over where.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Do you like ballet?”
“I like it as much as the next man. I can appreciate it as an art form, but it’s not exactly my idea of a good time.”
“So what’s your idea of a good time then? I haven’t seen you do anything for fun.”
My idea of fun is pummeling an opponent in the ring, torturing a confession out of traitors, and orchestrating hostile business takeovers. “I like golf,” I tell her.
“Bullshit.” She snorts. “Haven’t seen you play a game once.”
“I’m a busy man. Recently married, actually.” I wink at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Newlywed life running you off your feet?”
“Something like that.” I bring the glass of wine to my lips, not taking my eyes off of her. “And what about you? What do you do for fun?”
Her fingers toy with the edge of her napkin, a wistful look crossing her face. "I used to dance ballet, you know. Not professionally, but it was something I did forfun."
"Dancing, huh?" The disciplined precision of ballet contrasts with her stubborn, brash personality, but I like that she’s a contradiction. "Why did you stop?"
