Page 98 of Breaking Away

I can only nod, because I am in a state of shock.

Because have you ever confessed things that usually live deep down inside you, in the most rambling way, to a person part of you had assumed wasn’t there? It was therapeutic and—my throat clogs thinking about it—charged and clumsy, and now I feel like that safe, unknown door I was saying things tohas opened, and I’ve been brought into the light. It’s too bright. I’m blinking. Latent embarrassment tries to sink its claws into me, but there’s no time. It can’t latch on because Dmitri’s in the kitchen… I think? I hear a fridge opening and that’s all I’m focusing on now.

His movements.

A clink of dishes. Drawers being opened. The fridge is closed.

When I close my eyes, I hear more. He’s moving… slower than usual. Much slower. But steadily, as if nothing will stop him.

It’s nice to keep my eyes shut, so I keep them that way, even when I hear him finally enter the living room again. My head rests on the pillowed back of the chaise. How long has it been? I don’t know why, but I’m not ready to check or open my eyes.

“Kavi.”

I shiver.

“Are you going to ignore me?” he wonders.

My eyes squeeze tighter. “I said a lot of things. Personal things.”

The area by my feet dips. My toes gingerly slide over and find skin much warmer than before. Nothing yet has happened, but my pulse rolls down a hill.

Suddenly, my foot is held, and then an opposing force is applied. I gasp. He’s opening them up. My legs.

“Dmitri—”

“I’m making room. My knee—I’m sorry. I need to rest it on something.”

His apology is confusing enough that my eyes snap open.

OH. MY. GOD.

My hand flies up to my mouth.

He’s in an apron, standing at the foot of the chaise, towering above me. By pushing my legs apart, he’s made room between them for one of his knees to come down and sink into thecushion. That whole thigh is as thick as both my hands combined and dusted with dark hair.

I can see…

He’s naked. In an apron.

Angling out from the sides of the fabric is taut buttock.

My mouth dries. Dusted chest hair. Pectorals. Biceps. Wide shoulders. Arms. Hands. Skin. So much skin. Every part of him is naked except for the apron, halter-tied around his neck. It’s beige, sitting below his nipples and ending above his knees, covering his abs and his groin. The material is thick. An attempt at a shield, though easily invaded if need be.

“Can this work?” he asks me, gruffly. “For the dare?”

Other parts of me are spasming, so it takes a moment for the question to register. When it does, I remember it like a camera flash. My last words to him.

Him. Naked. Serving me dinner. A maid’s costume???

Both hands cover my face, fingers spreading wide enough that I can look between them. Words fail me.

Undeterred, Dmitri picks up a bowl that he had rested on the side table beside us. He tilts the rim. I see low-calorie ice cream infused with protein powder. I’ve told him repeatedly it’s not like real ice cream, but he’s done his best to sweeten it for me. Drizzled on top is a decadent amount of honey and—chocolate chips? Where did he find those?

His other hand holds a spoon. “It’s past midnight. So that’s why—the ice cream.”

He’s loading up the spoon. “It’s what a maid would do,” he explains. “Feed you.”

This man has clearly never interacted with a maid or watched them do anything.

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