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"You should," he says, his voice softer, his gaze intense. "I don't waste my time on just anyone." A thought occurs to him. “Valentina,” he says, as if trying on the name for size. “And here I thoughtGalinawas such a good fit for you.”
I offer a wry smile in response. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve dealt with enough overly insistent men in my time that I’ve found a fake name is the best way to fend off pests before they have a chance to become true problems.”
“Well, here I am, your true name known.” He smiles as if luxuriating in the implication. “I’ll take this as a win.”
I snort, doing my best to suppress a smile at his unrelenting charm and confidence. “Take it however you please, I suppose.”
He orders wine, and we delve into a pleasant evening once it arrives, even as my mind races, plotting his demise. He might think he's won me over, but he has no idea who he's dealing with. He might have gotten me to dinner, but I'm the one in control. And by the time the night is over, Roman Nicolaevich will be nothing but a painful memory.
The conversation flows as easily as the wine, and I find myself laughing at his jokes, caught in the magnetic pull of his charm. He has an easygoing manner, a wit that matches mine, and an ability to talk about anything from politics to pop culture.
Dinner with Roman is nothing like I expected. It's actually... enjoyable. And that's what terrifies me the most.
"I must ask, Valentina… How do you manage to always look so flawless?" Roman teases, a glint in his eye. "You look as if you've just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine."
I roll my eyes but can't suppress a smile. "Oh, please, flattery will get you nowhere."
"Really? Not even a second date?" he counters, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave.
I look into his green eyes, dangerously close to losing myself. "Maybe if you play your cards right," I shoot back, my heart rate increasing.
"You know, Valentina, I'm quite good with cards," he says, an intoxicating smile playing on his lips. "But I think I'm even better at reading people."
"Is that so?" I ask, feigning nonchalance. “If I remember correctly, I just beat you at that very game.”
A surprised chuckle. “Touche.” He pauses, studying me, searching. At first, I think he’s running some bog-standard game. But the longer he looks, the more I begin to feel as if he trulysees something. "You're strong, confident, but there's something else there, something you're hiding."
My breath catches. How can he see through me so easily? Or maybe this is a well-used line. Either way, I deflect. "Perhaps you're the one hiding something, Mr. Nicolaevich."
His smile doesn't waver. "We all have our secrets, don't we?"
The evening wears on, and we continue our perry of words, the chemistry between us undeniable, full of innuendo and electricity. It's almost too easy to forget why I'm here, to lose myself in the moment.
The alcohol flows, and I feel myself becoming a little too tipsy, a little too reckless. We're so close now, our faces mere inches apart. Then, as I lift my wine glass to my lips, I catch sight of something over Roman's shoulder that makes my heart stop.
A man, standing at the bar, his profile turned slightly away from me, bears an uncanny resemblance to Iosef, my dead fiancé. The same strong jaw, the same dark, wavy hair, the same way he holds himself with a casual elegance.
My hand trembles, and I set the wine glass down, unable to tear my eyes away from the figure. It can't be him. It's impossible. But the resemblance is so striking, so hauntingly familiar, a lump forms in my throat and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin.
"Valentina?" Roman's voice breaks through my shock, concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" He reaches forward and touches my hand, the sensation of his skin on mine snapping me back into the moment.
I force myself to look away from the ghost of my past, swallowing hard, fighting the sudden rush of memories and emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The pain, the loss, the longing – they all come flooding back in an instant, leaving me breathless and disoriented.
"I—I need to go," I stammer, standing abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
Roman is on his feet in an instant, reaching for my arm, his expression full of confusion and concern. I can't explain, can't articulate the rush of feelings that the mere glimpse of that man has stirred within me.
He follows, reaching out to steady me. "Valentina, what happened? Did I do something wrong?"
I shake my head, tears threatening to spill. "No, Roman, it's not you. I just need to leave. Now."
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, but he doesn't push. Instead, he helps me with my coat and escorts me to the door, his hand warm on the small of my back. His touch brings me surprising comfort.
The rain pours down, cold and miserable, as I step out onto the street. Roman is right behind me, his concern evident in his voice. "Valentina, please, talk to me. What happened in there?”
"No, Roman, it’s...” I trail off. How the hell can I explain what’s going on inside me? The rain mixes with my tears, but I refuse to break down now. "I just need to go."
"But why?" He reaches out, gently grabbing my arm. "We were having such a good time, weren't we? If there's anything I can do to make it right, please tell me."
