Page 77 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

“A museum of war…” The man dressed as if he just walked out of a Tom Ford fashion show, says while looking around the large space. While he looks at the pieces of art in this room, I stare at him.

I guess he could be called a work of art, too.

He’s just as breathtaking as the pieces made by talented artists in this room. One of a kind. Mysterious and enchanting.

When I first met Vitali, he felt larger than life to me and even now he still has that same effect. It’s as if he sucks the air out of a room every time he enters one. When he was younger he always wore dark jeans and black shirts with black boots but then as time went by he stopped dressing that way and he looked more the part of the Prince of New York. The Pakhan’s underboss.

Today he looks like the dark prince instead of the wild dragon.

He is still handsome with his black hair pulled back and dark stubble on his face a total contrast to his pale skin.

So, controlled.

So damn tempting.

Feeling nervous like I never have before, I try to calm my racing heart by tapping my chest. I feel it. The organ keeping me alive beating wildly. Clearing my throat, I look away from his burning stare and look towards one of the statues. Achilles. An interpretation of the soldier. A statue made of stone. “I thought you would enjoy it.” I try to hide my insecurity by hardening my tone. That’s what I do, isn’t it? I hide from him. From the people that matter and that’s messed up.

“It’s perfect.” God, that voice. He spoke in a baritone, one I felt like an earthquake in the very foundation of who I was. That one word had rumbled through his chest, deep and smooth and subtly confident. Tender even. Every time he speaks to me in that tone my stomach does a flip. The butterflies act out.

I try not to think much about it or make a big deal out of it but when he looks at me the way he’s doing now, common sense leaves the room.

Moving quietly around the room, I take in the people around us. There’s a mother with her child strapped to her chest. She looks worn out yet she manages to smile whenever her kid does something cute. I ignore the pang in my chest as I watch them together. Then my gaze moves towards a bald man who sits on one of the benches typing on his phone completely ignoring the beauty all around him.

Is that how I look? Is that me wasting my life ignoring the beauty around me? I wonder.

Looking away from the man, I stare at all the others and then at Vitali who is quietly assessing every piece of art with a careful eye and the patience of a saint. How he manages to stay still for so long is beyond me. I can’t do that. I can’t stay in one place for too long. Eventually I get bored and I move on. Not Vitali.

I thought of having the museum closed just for us but then I thought better of it. It’s better for my own sanity to have other people around us even if it is just a small crowd. I counted not more than ten people when we walked through the building doors. Before it was easy to handle this man and all his unusual charm but lately when I’m not feeling quite like myself it is becoming harder to resist him. I’m losing the war for my heart. I know it and the cocky Russian does too.

I stand back and watch him move around the room looking in appreciation at all the pieces. So, I do the same. I’ve never been here before.

This is a first for me.

This entire day is a first for me.

As silence falls around us, I walk towards a painting hanging to my right with some kind of night goddess dressed in silks while an army of men holding what seem like torches stand behind her. Looking closer I wonder if they’re her army or if they’re there to crucify her. Burn her alive perhaps. I guess it depends on your interpretation.

For me, it looks as if she’s a force to be reckoned with and the men at her back are freighted.

A cell phone light flashes out of nowhere startling me.

When I turn, I find Vitali standing with a serious look on his face and holding his phone. He took a picture of me.

Frowning, confused, I ask. “What are you doing?”

“Taking pictures.” He shrugs unapologetically. He snaps another one catching me off guard. The beautiful ass.

“You can’t do that here.” I frown.

“And who is going to stop me?” He looks around the room toward where the security guards are standing with their backs to the wall staring at us but not really saying anything. Smart men. Cowards but smart.

Vitali winks, and my cheeks warm. That only makes his grin split in a full-blown heart stopping smile.

I roll my eyes and bite my lip trying hard not to smile. This man is a jack in a box. I never quite know what he’ll do next.

It irritates me just as much as it intrigues me.

We continue to look around for a few more minutes before I find myself ignoring the people around and stopping in front of a painting of a demon dragging an angel to hell. It’s quite macabre, full of different interpretations.

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