Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
She was here. She was doing this. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to flee the building and find the nearest bar, she was doing this. Dmitri’s presence at her back calmed her nearly as much as the breathing technique did. She opened her eyes and picked six colors instinctively, doubling up on black and white. “I’m done.”
“Khorosho. Shall we?”
She readjusted her grip on the paints and followed him back to the register. One look at his face had her quelling any mention of paying him back for the purchase, so she stood there silently while her supplies were carefully bagged up.
Keira didn’t take a full breath until they were back on the street. She looked down at the bags in Dmitri’s hands, and the feeling in her chest exploded. She threw herself against him and kissed him soundly. “Thank you, Dima. Just… thank you.”
Dmitri picked a little restaurant whose owners knew him and were discreet. The inside was narrow and deep, so there were no windows nearby as the hostess led them to the very back of the room. Low lighting was supplemented by a candle on every table, which served the purpose of creating an intimate setting and discouraging anyone from paying too much attention to the tables around them.
He pulled a chair out for Keira, positioning her back against the wall, and then took the seat next to her. From where they sat, they could see the rest of the room, but the low light and artful shadows meant the other patrons’ attention would coast right over them. Keira’s eyes were a little too wide and she hadn’t seemed to pay attention to the rest of their walk there, so he wanted her off the street and somewhere quiet while she had time to process.
Outwardly, it seemed such a small thing—walking into an art store and picking out a few supplies—but it was a huge step for her. What would she paint first? He’d never seen her work, but he knew she’d secured a full scholarship to one of the more prestigious art schools on the East Coast. She must be highly skilled, but art was such a strange thing. It was purely individual and offered a window into the artist’s soul.
Keira’s soul was stubborn and broken and unbearably beautiful, and he wanted to see it painted across those large canvases she’d picked out. After years of downward spiraling, it couldn’t be comfortable, and he didn’t want to push her any more tonight while she adjusted to her newfound sense of being among the living.
He couldn’t stand the silence, though. Letting her thoughts twist and turn and tangle with each other, every single one so easy to read on her face, made his chest ache in sympathy. He took her hand, noting its slight tremble, and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I’m proud of you, moya koroleva.”
“It’s not like I just scaled a mountain.” Instead of sounding sarcastic, her tone was shaky.
“Didn’t you?” He kissed each knuckle and then let their hands drop to his lap as their waiter approached. Dmitri ordered them both iced tea and the special entree, and the man disappeared almost comically fast.
She sighed. “That’s a horrible habit.”
Even though he knew what she meant, she sounded steadier, so he poked at her a bit. “It’s classically romantic.”
“Romantic.” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Dmitri, if that’s your idea of romantic, you’re using a playbook that’s about a hundred years out of date.” Keira shook her head and muttered, “Romantic.”
“Call me old fashioned.”
“Start with that stunt again, and the only thing I’ll be calling you is plain old old.” Her lips twitched in a little smile, but it died almost immediately. “But it’s a moot point. Your terms were pretty damn clear from the start, so don’t worry about me getting any ideas.”
Several beats passed while he tried to figure out what she meant. Dmitri walked back through their interchange, and his chest clenched when he realized the source of her comment. He’d told her time and again not to expect romance from him—or love, for that matter. The way she very pointedly picked up her menu and read slowly actually stung. She was giving him a chance to back off without any awkward moments. To retreat. It was the smart thing to do. He didn’t know if he was capable of the kind of loving Keira deserved. He… felt things for her. Strong things. But they hadn’t been together long enough to know whether his feelings were anything other than lust—or infatuation.
Surely it couldn’t be love.
And yet… he wasn’t willing to shut the door on that conversation the same way he had in the past. Not completely. “Perhaps I was too hasty to take romance off the table.”