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A hint of his aftershave lingers, a fresh and subtle scent that paints a vivid picture – of a hot shower washing away sweat, of grooming, of Luka preparing for the day. It’s intoxicating, a scent that I could drown in, a scent that stirs something within me, a dangerous mix of dread and desire.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, Sophia.
I wish my stupid heart would stop hammering away in my chest.
Remember why you’re here. Remember who he is.
“I thought I’d drop in on Yulia’s study time,” he announces, that slight Russian accent rolling off his tongue in a way that’s unfairly appealing. He flicks a look at me, a barely-there connection, sparking a thousand unspoken words, a thousand what-ifs.
The connection fades as he draws his attention to Miss Katya, and in a gentlemanly tone, he greets her, “Good afternoon, Miss Katya.”
Her cheeks instantly flush a delicate shade of pink at his direct attention, a fluttery smile blooming on her lips.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ivankov. We are just finishing today’s session.”
Miss Katya fiddles with a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear with a self-conscious grace that feels unnatural. She watches him closely as he strides further into the classroom, her eyes lighting up with an unmistakable sparkle.
The sight pricks a peculiar sting in my chest. It’s ludicrous, but it feels like jealousy, a ridiculous, misplaced sentiment. I mentally roll my eyes at myself.
Get a grip, Sophia. You’re acting like a character from a teenage drama.
“Luka!” Yulia’s exuberant shout pierces through the tension I’ve managed to concoct in my mind. Her small frame is nearly a blur as she races toward him, her arms stretched out in anticipation of an embrace.
His rugged features soften with a warmth that’s uniquely for Yulia.
“Malyška,” he murmurs as he opens his arms, catching her in a hug that could shield her from the world.
“Did you try the pizza?” Yulia chirps, pulling back but keeping her small hands firmly latched onto his.
“Da, malyška. It was delicious!” Luka replies, ruffling her hair affectionately. He shoots me a glance, his expression unreadable.
“I thought you would be gone for a long time again.” Her face clouds for a moment.
“Never,” he says. “I have something special planned for you today.” A smile plays at the corners of his lips. His gaze is filled with an affection that softens all his hard edges.
Yulia’s eyes light up, clouds dispersed. “Really, Luka? What is it?” she asks eagerly, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
“That,” he chuckles, tapping her nose affectionately, “would be spoiling the surprise, wouldn’t it? You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“But I don’t like waiting!” Yulia pouts, her little fists balling up at her sides. But her pout soon dissolves into giggles as Luka sweeps her up in his arms, spinning her around the room.
A surprise?
Part of me wonders what he has in store. I’m still taken aback by the warmth he displays with Yulia, so unlike the ruthless, cold mask he often wears. It makes it difficult for me to reconcile the two sides of Luka Ivankov.
Luka gently sets Yulia down, laughing softly. Turning toward me, his laughter fades, his face immediately hardens into its usual icy, unreadable expression.
“Sophia.” His voice, deep and unsettlingly calm, catches me off guard. It feels as if an electric shock courses through my spine, setting my nerves on edge. I have to remind myself to keep my composure.
Why does his voice affect me so much?
“Is she free later today?” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if he hadn’t just made my heart lurch in my chest.
Swallowing the strange lump in my throat, I manage to keep my tone steady, “Well, Yulia’s got music lessons with Mr. Sergei at three and then art and crafts with Miss Olga at five.”
He nods coolly. There’s no hint of the warmth he had for Yulia a moment ago, just polite acknowledgment. The absence stings sharper than I’d like to admit.
What exactly were you expecting, Sophia?
