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She holds up her hand and I find myself staring at her pretty, pink palm. “First of all, Dmitri’s a handsome man. You also happen to be carrying his baby. It’s natural that your feelings are a little… confused right now.”
I gawk at her in disbelief. Justification was not on my bingo card. I wonder if she’ll continue to justify me if she knew I’ve spent the last two nights getting off to endless fantasies of him. Most of which did, to be transparent, include a fair amount of spanking.
Either she’s just that confident or she’s the most understanding woman on the planet. No matter which way you slice it, I don’t deserve her. I don’t think Dmitri does, either.
“Bee, I swear, no matter how confused my feelings may be, I’d never, ever act on them.”
She winks at me. “Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it?
I don’t have the faintest idea what she means by that. Don’t worry, as in, I know you’re not going to make a move on my man? Or don’t worry, as in, I don’t care if you do?
“Anyway, we’re about to have dinner. Wanna join us?”
My insides roil at the thought of sitting down to dinner with Bee and Dmitri. Third wheel is one thing; homewrecker is a whole other ball game. And I already feel dangerously close to the line between the two.
“Um, I’m actually pretty tired. I think I’ll just turn in early.”
She sighs as though she knows the real reason I’m declining her dinner invitation. “Okay then. Get some rest. And remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m right here.”
“Thanks, Bee.”
She gives me a parting smile and heads out, leaving me feeling like the backstabbing little shit I am. There’s only one way to combat this guilt and I’m going to have to be resolute. Determined. Unwavering.
I have to stay far away from Dmitri Egorov at all costs.
I can do that.
I can do that.
I can…
Fuck.
32
DMITRI
“Well?”
“She’s fine,” Bee reports as she enters the kitchen and props herself up on one of the high stools. “She just doesn’t want to be around you more than she has to.”
“Figures,” I mutter. “Women. Why do you have to make things so difficult all the time?”
“You want to know why?” she hisses. “Periods.” Jabbing a finger in my direction like a dagger, she says, “Periods suck. And pregnancy. And all the shit that comes after pregnancy. And menopause! The wonderland of fun that is menopause. Guys don’t have to deal with any of that shit. But we do. Except that we’re also working, bringing home the bacon, taking care of the households, raising the children, and juggling a hundred other things to boot.”
“What do you juggle?”
The fire dims in her for a moment. “I have to juggle the reality of who I really am with the farce I’m supposed to live.”
The raspy hollowness of her voice plants me right back down in my seat. “Blyat’. I feel like an asshole.”
“As you should.”
“Bee, listen, I?—”
“Brazilians!” she interrupts. “Brazilian waxes. That’s another thing you don’t have to deal with that women do.”
