VIKTOR TARASOV
If I thought breakfast on the terrace with Dahlia would do anything to break the ice between us, I was grossly mistaken.
She'd done nothing but avoid me for the past three days, and I'd let her, chalking it up to her slowly easing into things.
She still came down for breakfast long after I'd left the house, and she ate dinner roughly an hour before I returned.
By the account of the housekeeping staff, she didn't venture out of her room much until her late afternoon stroll through the garden.
By the fourth day of not laying eyes on my wife, I was positively done, and I settled for ambushing her during one of her afternoon strolls.
A soft gasp escaped her lips when she laid eyes on me, and she visibly flinched, taking a small step back, like she was scared I'd lunge at her at any moment.
My brows furrowed as displeasure spread through my chest like blotted ink. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know."
"I didn't say you would."
"Why did you flinch and take a step back, then?"
She took in a deep breath, and I watched as her chest rose and fell with the motion. "I was startled. No one usually shows up here at this time of the day."
"Yes. I've been told the garden is your favorite place to be at this time of the day."
I took a step toward her, and when she didn't flinch, I took that as my sign to get closer.
She shrugged, shielding her face from the evening sun with her hand as she gazed up at me. "There's not much to do here, anyway."
"You can do whatever you want. All you have to do is say the word."
She studied my face for a while, silently deciding if I was joking before she began spewing off a list of things she needed to do. "I need my phone. My old phone, if possible. Did you keep my old apartment? I have some things I need to pick up from there, since I'll be... here."
I raised a brow at her little hesitation, but she merely brushed me off. "And then I need a trip to the salon to get my hair done." She held her hands out in front of her. "I'll also need a fresh manicure and pedicure set." She paused, silently musing on her thoughts. "That's really all I can think of right now. I'll let you know if there's more. So?"
"You can have all that."
"Really?" Her face brightened ever-so-slightly before she quickly comported herself again, trying to come off as nonchalant. "I mean, of course. You did make the offer."
I fought back a smile. "I have a few conditions of my own."
She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I knew it was too good to be true. Let's hear it."
"I'll accompany you to your apartment."
"And then what? You'll sit through my hair and nail appointment?"
"If you want me to."
Her eyes widened. "What? No!" She protested vehemently, waving me off. "It's boring. Nothing you'd be interested in anyway. I was only teasing you."
"Spending time with you could never be a bore."
She tipped her head to the side, her brows scrunched into a cute, little frown. "That's... weird. For someone you just met, it borders on obsessive."
"Or it could just simply be a man enjoying his wife's company. You tell me. You're the hopeless romantic."
"Oh, please." She brushed past me, and a whiff of her soft, sweet scent trailed behind her. I couldn't quite place my fingers on what it was, but I loved it. "I can't believe you took that Wikipedia article seriously."
"You're not?" I stood rooted in place, watching the graceful sway of her hips as she strode forward, clad in yet another dress that accentuated her curvy, slender frame. This time around, she'd substituted her heels for a pair of white fluffy slippers that matched her dress. "A hopeless romantic, I mean."
She popped a shoulder. "Maybe. Maybe not. Why are you all the way back there, Psycho? You're not coming?" She asked without a break in her steps.
In three long strides, I caught up with her, closing the distance between us. "You're done with your walk for the evening?"
She side-eyed me. "Thanks to a certain someone."
"I didn't ask you to stop. You can continue your walk."
"With you breathing down my neck? No, thanks. Side note, I don't know how I feel about clingy."
With that last comment, she breezed into the kitchen through the sliding, glass door that connected it to the garden, and I watched as she exchanged wide smiles with the cook.
Her entire face brightened, and the corners of her eyes crinkled a bit. That was an expression I certainly wasn't getting directed at me anytime soon.
I walked into the kitchen shortly after, and just as I expected, whatever conversation they were having died down, and Dahlia straightened.
"I'm not sure how I feel about you making my wife smile so widely," I said to Leo in Russian to purposely keep Dahlia out of the loop.
"So, you do it then," he retorted smugly, without taking his eyes off the pineapples he was slicing.
I glared down at the top of his head. "Are you trying to be cheeky? Keep running your mouth, and you won't have a job come tomorrow morning."
His knife stopped moving, and he full on burst into laughter. "It's not my fault your wife likes me better than you."
"Only temporarily," I hissed.
"You think so?" His eyes darted to where Dahlia stood, and when I looked, her eyes were already on us, curiosity laced into their depths, but her pride wouldn't let her confirm if we were truly talking about her. "I don't think she even knows your name. She calls you a psycho all the time."
I paused. Now that he mentioned it, she hadn't addressed me by my name once since she woke up in that hospital. I found her little nickname for me endearing, so I didn't bother reintroducing myself to her. I mean, what man didn't want to be called a psychotic stalker by his wife?
It never occurred to me that she didn't remember my name.
Akim snickered, further aggravating my nerves. "That's what I thought."
"Shut up," I mumbled under my breath as reality fully sunk in.
We really were back to square one. Only back then, she wasn't so standoffish. This woman in front of me looked like wanted nothing to do with me, and was bidding her time until she could escape from my grasp.
She cleared her throat. "I'm going to pretend like I didn't just witness both of you gossip about me in front of me."
"Oh, I could never, madame." The fucker had the audacity to wink at her, and she smiled back at him. "Would you like to have dinner early today, too?"
Her eyes flicked to mine, and she hurriedly looked away when our eyes clashed. She cleared her throat. "I suppose I could have it a little later today."
A smug, warm feeling spread through my chest. She was reshuffling her plans because of me, even though she didn't explicitly state it. It was just dinner, but it didn't stop me from smiling nonetheless.
She walked toward the sink, turning the tap on to wash her hands. "I'll just have a snack right now."
"I have your pineapples ready. Would you like something else with that?"
She shook her head. "No. Thanks, Leo."
I wordlessly dismissed him with a raise of my brow, and with a last tip of his head, he made himself scarce.
When Dahlia was done washing her hands, I had her platter of pineapples in front of her chair, and she merely slid into her seat, reaching for the fork next to it.
I took the seat right across from her, so I could get a good look at all her little facial expressions. Being her, she noticed immediately, and she shook her head.
"You're not doing yourself any favors, big guy. You're only amplifying yourself on my 'creepy guys' list."
"As long as I'm number one," I teased, and like clockwork, one of her many baffled expressions crossed her face. "From Psycho Stalker to big guy? Did I get a promotion? Not that I'm complaining."
She stabbed her fork into a piece of pineapple, shoving it into her mouth. "Whatever. Just stop staring at me like that. It's creepy."
"Call me by my name, and I'll leave."
"Huh?"
"You heard me. If you want me to leave you to enjoy your snack all by yourself, call me by my name just this one time."
She stopped chewing and pursed her lips into a firm line.
"Well?" I arched a brow to antagonize her knowing full well she had no clue what my name was. When she was quiet for over fifteen seconds, I propped my elbows on the counter, leaning forward. "I guess I'm staying then."
She averted her gaze, her throat working as she swallowed thickly. "Whatever. Do what you want."
I fought back a smile. "You can always ask, you know."
"Ask what?" She slowly turned to face me again.
"My name."
"I do know your name," she sputtered.
It wasn't hard to guess she was embarrassed with how quickly she denied the claim. It was even more exciting to watch her squirm in her seat while she thought of the next thing to say.
"I just prefer Psycho Stalker, because that's what you are. It has a nice ring to it as well."
"Mhm," I hummed, nodding along to her claim. I was on the verge of laughter, but I had a feeling she'd put that fork clutched tightly in her palm to good use if I so much as made a sound, given how embarrassed she was.
"Whatever. I'll go get washed up before dinner." She slid out of her seat without wasting another second.
"You didn't finish eating your pineapples."
She pushed the plate toward me. "You can have them. My gratitude for keeping me company."
I couldn't help it. As she hightailed it out of the kitchen, I burst into laughter.
How sweet.