Would I?
I never would have thought I could come so hard and be so disappointed. During my first night with Sevastyan in that plane cabin, he’d told me, “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”
But I was.
I had “particular interests” as well. And I could now see how well we’d been matched. He’d once been my dream man, one who’d wanted to open my eyes.
Now he was like a mirage. . . .
Later that night, Sevastyan and I lay on our sides, facing each other in the dim light of the room.
Through the open balcony doors, we could hear nighttime Paris awakening. The resident cook had prepared a gourmet meal that we’d taken in bed—between bouts of more lovemaking.
I reached forward to trace a tattoo on his chest. “Sevastyan, why have you been so gentle with me?”
Shrug.
“I’m going to need a verbal answer from you.”
Something in my tone must have alerted him that I wasn’t playing around. He said, “Most women would want a man to cherish them, no?”
“That’s evasive.”
“Very well, then. Do you not want me to cosset you?”
“Up to a point. But not always.” I pressed my lips together. “It’s hard to explain. I want you to be like you were with me those first three times we were together. I want you to be yourself.”
“What if this is my true self?”
“I don’t believe that, especially not after tonight.”
“Couples fantasize and talk about things that never come to fruition.”
Damn, he was slippery. “Why fantasize, when we can have reality?”
His gaze bored into mine. “I will never hurt you. Now, change the subject.”
Discouragement welled—until I realized he’d just given me an entrée. “The new subject is you.”
He exhaled. “I told you that I have difficulty talking about myself.”
“Probably because you never do it. I want to know you, Sevastyan. As well as you know me. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask, considering our circumstances.”
He swallowed. This man had launched himself in front of a hail of bullets to save my life. He’d braved even more to fight off Gleb and secure our escape. Yet he dreaded opening up to me?
How to get him to understand I wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t run screaming? “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty broad-minded. I wish you could talk to me, confide in me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re in a relationship. And each secret confided between us is another stone in our foundation. Hey, let’s just start with some soft-pitch questions. If you really don’t want to answer, you can say pass.”
He brusquely said, “Ask.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Used to be blue.” He reached forward to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger. “Now it’s red.”
“What do you like to read?”
Still gazing at his twirling finger, he said, “History papers. On women and gender.”
Clever. “Have you been to prison?”
“Twice. Neither time for too long. Paxán got me freed quickly enough.” A flash of anguish crossed his face.
I forced myself to continue. “Those tattoos on your knees . . . you’re a vor yourself?”
He dropped my lock of hair. “Yes.” No explanation. No unpacking.
“Are you the head vor of Paxán’s syndicate now?”
“Depends. I don’t have enough information to answer that yet.” He was starting to shut down again.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No.”
“Any family living?” I asked.
“None.”
“What were your parents like?”
“Pass.”
“Is there anything you’ll tell me about your past? Look, I don’t need to know things you did for your job, but I want to know about your childhood.”
“Why is that so important to you?”
“I’m a historian, Sevastyan—I’m going to want to know your history.” I scrambled for another question. “When did you know what your particular interests were?”
He shrugged again. “That’s behind us.”
I murmured, “Don’t say that. You opened my eyes to all these new things”—for some reason, he flinched at that—“and now I want more. I can’t go back, Sevastyan.”
“Since you’ll be only with me, you’ll have to.” The walls were coming up.
“Don’t close me out.”
He curled his finger under my chin, all tenderness, even as he said, “How could I close you out when I never let you in?”
As he rose to dress, I recognized a harsh truth: for Sevastyan, confiding in another would be akin to stepping off the trestle.
Which meant I was falling in love with a man who would never be emotionally available to me.
Corner, meet Natalie.
Chapter 31
Pressure.
I’d felt it at Berezka, still did. But over the last week, it’d transformed into something different: the pressure of two people who wanted each other—but no longer fit each other.
Because sexually, he’d changed himself; and emotionally, he remained the same.
I sensed it building inside him, inside of me. Some precipice loomed.
This morning, I was alone in the town house yet again. Sevastyan had gotten a text about two hours ago and rushed off to some undisclosed location. Another meeting he won’t explain.