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The smell of cheese and bacon bubbles up in the kitchen, making my mouth water. A few seconds later, Dmitri slides over a large plate stacked with a very impressive cheese and bacon omelet and two pieces of perfectly toasted sourdough. “Priyatnovo appetita.”
“What?”
His smile curves up again. “It’s Russian for ‘bon appetit.’ Which is French for ‘enjoy your meal.’”
“I know what ‘bon appetit’ means, asshole.” I turn my sneer down at the omelet and it melts away with a begrudging sigh. “This does smell amazing, though.”
I drag my fork through the cheesy goodness. It takes every last scrap of willpower I have not to moan when it hits my tastebuds.
Culinary orgasm, here I come. The second bite goes down the hatch before the first one is even finished. I get a few more massive bites in when I look up and realize that Dmitri is just sitting there, watching me eat.
“Uh… aren’t you eating anything?”
“No.”
“Oh. Er, well, you don’t have to stay and keep me company.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
Weird. I’m not sure whether to interpret that as concern or distrust. “I’m not gonna steal the silverware, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s the least of my worries, Wren.”
I’m too hungry to feel self-conscious, so I clean my entire plate and chug my way through the orange juice. “What time is it?” I ask when I’m done, dabbing my mouth with one of the cloth napkins on the side.
“Almost eight.”
“Shit! It’s later than I expected. I want to stop off at home to change before heading into the office. Do you mind if I’m a little late to?—”
“You don’t have to stress?—”
I jump off the high stool. “Great. Thanks.”
“—because you’re not going into work today.”
I stop short. “Excuse me?”
Dmitri pushes off the counter he was leaning against and grabs my empty plate. “You’ll stay here today and rest,” he throws over his shoulder casually as he walks my plate to the sink.
I round the center island to square up with him. “Are you serious?”
He drops my plate into the dishwasher. “You’re not going anywhere until I can contain the threat to you and the baby.”
“How long will that take?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I can’t—You aren’t—You can’t expect me to stay here indefinitely!”
He doesn’t even bother to look at me as he scrubs my fork under the faucet and adds it to the dishwasher. “You’ll be fine. It’s comfortable here. There’s plenty of room and I’ll make sure to provide for all your needs.”
“That’s not the point. This isn’t my home; it’s your home. I’m sure your fiancée doesn’t want me around long term anyway.”
“On the contrary,” he says calmly, “she’s the one who suggested it.”
My forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Dmitri?—”
He drops the knife into the sink with a clatter and spins around to face me so suddenly that I almost scream. His face is dark and stormy. “What happened yesterday could happen again. Do you really want to take that chance because you’re too stubborn to accept some help?”
