I can’t put words to that expression. “I don’t know,” I say softly.
“I admire you.”
“That’s funny,” I say, “because I admire you.”
He tries to hide a smile. “Why is that?”
“You raised your siblings. You realize that, right?”
He lets out a short laugh. “Not well enough.”
I frown and shake my head. The waiter comes around and takes our orders. A salmon dish for me, and chicken for him.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him, the flames creating shadows over his strong features in the dark. He looks like a devil dressed in black at first sight, but coming to know him, he’s the god that everyone describes. “Katya is sweet and friendly.” I think about his brother, the one who offered me mints and stole Skittles for his little sister. “Luka is generous and kind.” And Timo—magnetic. There are no just words to define him. I smile, staring off. “And Timo is…captivating, more full of life than anyone I’ve ever met.”
When I look up at Nikolai, his brows are furrowed, overwhelmed. He combs his fingers through his hair, turning his head as he processes my words.
He lets out another short laugh, this time in disbelief. “When people first meet my siblings, they see the worst in them.” Lines crease his forehead. “Katya is too naïve. Luka is too irresponsible. And Timo is…” He shakes his head. “Timo is chaos.”
“That’s rude,” I state.
He laughs into a bigger smile. “Where did you come from?”
“I think the same thing about you, you know.” He’s given me so much in a short amount of time. Determination, motivation. I am overflowing with better, brighter sentiments.
“According to you, I came from hell.” There is light behind his gunmetal eyes.
Technically that was John, but that thought has definitely impacted me. I struggle for a response. He’s distracting. Everything about him—his unshaven jaw, his soul-bearing gaze, his masculinity. I can’t concentrate, even if I was good at bantering.
I mutter, “Demons are from hell.” It sounds lame.
“Thank God for that.”
Maybe I’m not so bad at this. I stir my straw, the ice cubes melting. There are so many mysteries to him still. Stones left unturned. “Can I ask you something personal?” I wonder.
He stays relaxed. “Sure.”
“What happened with your family?” I pause to clarify. “I mean, your parents and other brothers are at Noctis, but it’s a new show. You said you haven’t seen them for six years, so…”
He lets go of my hand on the table, and I almost regret bringing it up. He sighs heavily like the past bears down on him, a weighted pressure that I can’t even begin to understand.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”
“No, I can,” he interjects. He rubs his jaw in thought, of how to start. He must not explain this often. “When I grew up, we were traveling with Nova Vega and then Celeste mostly in North America. All together. It’d been that way until my parents were recruited for Somnio, to oversee the Russian swing. It would go on a five-year tour, through Asia, Europe and South America.”
He stops for a second, staring faraway at the memory. It’s not often that he wears this look. It strangely pulls at my lungs.
“My closest aunt and uncle, Dimitri’s parents, were recruited for Infini, which would go to New York for three years and then move to Vegas. So my extended family would be split for the first time. We all couldn’t be in the same show, the same place, and unfortunately, Katya, Timo, and Luka had no choice where they ended up.”
“What…?” I breathe.
His jaw locks for a second, and he breathes through his nose. “My parents,” he starts. “They wanted stability for the younger kids. They were ten, twelve and thirteen at the time.” He looks up, at the night sky, blanketed with stars. “It left Peter, me, and Sergei with a choice. Somnio would pay better. Somnio was more elite. And it’d award us more freedom.” When he takes another long pause, sipping his wine, I digest every syllable, every word.
“You were the only one who chose to be with them,” I realize. At twenty, he decided to take on his parent’s responsibility instead of living his own life. It’s not only admirable—that is courageous. There are tears in my eyes that he can’t see. He’s staring out at the city.
“Peter was eighteen, he wanted to travel,” he says. “Sergei was twenty-two, he had no desire to stay with our younger siblings. I wasn’t going to leave them and hope that our aunt and uncle would pay attention. They have five kids of their own.”
“So when Somnio ended…”
“Noctis began,” he says. “So did Amour and Viva.”
It cemented the fact that they’d be apart much longer than they might’ve intended.
Maybe that’s why Kayta is so upset. She could’ve been counting down to Somnio’s closing night, in hopes that her parents would return then.
“Do you miss them?” I ask as he turns back to me.
“Some days,” he says quietly. He finishes off his wine, and a phone rings (not just a text), the default tone. He digs into his pocket and answers the cell in Russian. His face morphs into that familiar anger, his eyes narrow and muscles tensing.
He shouts something and growls in irritation. He repeats a couple of the same words, over and over, and then he shuts off the phone and rises quickly, pulling out his wallet. My pulse throbs in worry. Our food hasn’t even arrived, the date ending early.
“What’d you say about Luka—being generous?” He shakes his head, tossing a few bills and then extending his hand for me. “He’s generously wearing on me.”
“He stole something,” I assume, as I rise and take his hand.
He leads me out of the restaurant, in such a hurry that I have trouble keeping up with his lengthy stride. “He’s sitting in jail,” he says, so lowly that I wonder if I heard wrong.
“What?” My eyes bug.
He hails down a cab. “He’s in jail.”
Okay, I heard right. My pulse kicks up—and I wonder what he could’ve stolen. Or if it was something worse. We slip into the taxi together, and Nikolai leans close and suddenly kisses me.
It’s a new kind of kiss.
Soft, gentle but more full. His hand is lost beneath my hair, clutching me, and I inhale with him, my arms on his. His lips brush my cheek, then my ear, to whisper, “In case I forget, know that I loved tonight, with you. No matter what happens from here.”
He’s about to turn on his protective setting, the one where he’s all severe. The warm sentiments buried low beneath.
I touch his rough jaw, my hand small. “What happens from here?” I ask softly, my words sounding more sexual than I ever believed they could.
He tucks my frizzy strands of hair behind my ear. “I’ll tell you a truth myshka,” he whispers, his lips closing over my cheek before touching mine. And very lowly, he breathes, “It’s all a mystery to me.”
* * *
I stand with Luka by the jail’s tinted glass, double doors. He hardly says a word, his gaze literally planted on the ugly brown carpet. We wait for Nikolai, who fills out paperwork at the front desk, out of earshot. Apparently Luka tried to shoplift a four-hundred dollar snow globe.