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Me: I’ll head over to your house with Jace and two sniper rifles.
Alina Petrov: You don’t have access to sniper rifles. And Jace is currently at Jacques Lefevere’s party, getting wasted.
I narrow my eyes at the screen, feeling both annoyed and impressed. God damn, that woman is observant. Why the hell does she have to be a fucking Petrov?
However, before I can reply, Alina sends another text.
Alina Petrov: Just tell me what this is about.
Tapping my fingers on my desk, I consider for a few seconds before settling on an answer.
Me: We need to talk.
No immediate response comes through. I stare at the screen in silence for about a minute while impatience flickers through me. Then a text at last pops up.
Alina Petrov: Fine, I’ll be there.
Me: One hour. Don’t be late.
Alina Petrov: I heard you the first time.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, I shake my head at her defiance and rise from my desk. At least she’s coming.
Time to get ready.
Exactly one hour after I sent that first text, there is a knock on the front door. Striding down the hall, I push the handle down and swing the door open.
Alina is standing there, looking at me expectantly.
“Punctual,” I comment.
“Yes,” she replies. “I was actually standing out here for five minutes, waiting just so that I could knock at this particular second.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to read her face, because I can’t tell if she’s joking or not.
A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
But before I can say anything, she arches a pale brow at me and prompts, “Well? You wanted me here. I’m here. Are you going to let me in or what?”
Stifling an amused huff, I take a step to the side and twist so that I can motion for her to come inside. She strides across the threshold and into the hallway without hesitation.
The scent of waterlilies drifts through the air as she breezes past me. I inhale deeply while her back is still to me. God, I love that scent.
After closing the door, I turn back to the hallway, expecting to see Alina waiting for me. But she has already started walking towards the doorway into our combined kitchen and living room. Surprise flits through me, but I don’t comment on it. Instead, I take the opportunity to study her as I follow her into the large room.
She’s wearing a dark purple dress that hugs her perfect body, black flats, and even a small black purse that is draped over her shoulder. Her long blonde hair is pulled back from her face by a few thin silver pins. The rest of it cascades down her back like a pale waterfall. And when she at last stops next to the kitchen table and turns to face me, I can tell that she’s wearing makeup. She definitely doesn’t look like someone who was just lounging around at home.
Suspicion swirls through me, and I narrow my eyes at her as I come to a halt two steps away. “Fancy outfit for a night at home, don’t you think?”
“Who says I was at home?” she challenges.
I just continue staring her down, because I know that she was.
Clicking her tongue, she rolls her eyes in disgruntled confirmation. “Yes, I was at home. But I was actually also heading to Jacques Lefevere’s party right when you texted.”
“You had an entire hour to change clothes before you came here.”
“Why would I? I’m still heading over there as soon as we’re done here.”
