Page 22 of Husband for the Holidays

“I don’t see you as a child, Eloise,” he said in a quiet growl that nearly knocked her over. “I haven’t for a long time.”

Her heart seemed to fall right out of her body and the floor shifted beneath her. She didn’t know what to do with that information. She grew so hot, so self-aware, it was painful. The room seemed to shrink and the air thinned so she couldn’t draw enough of it into her lungs.

“Shall we eat?” He lifted the lid off a plate and the aroma of savory crepes under a drizzle of Dijon sauce wafted toward her.

Shakily, she joined him at the table, but it was so tiny their knees brushed when she tried to cross her legs.

“I...um... I think I’ll run a bath after dinner, if that’s okay? I slept so much on the flight I’m not tired yet.” And shereallyneeded some distance from him, even if it was only into the bathroom.

“You were really just overtired? I can book you to see a doctor if it’s more serious.”

“Are you still accusing me of using drugs? If I was into them, I’d take something to help me sleep, wouldn’t I? No, I barely touch alcohol since someone spiked my drink.” She waved at the wine she’d only sipped. “Drugs are the last thing I’d put in my body voluntarily.”

“Who did that to you?” His ability to go from bored to deadly was really something. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Thankfully.” She shrank into herself, though, still bothered by the incident. “I was at a house party. Not even a wild one. I thought I knew everyone there, so I wasn’t vigilant about watching my glass. All of a sudden, I felt really dopey and sluggish. My girlfriend realized I’d been dosed and helped me get home.”

“When was this?”

“After Ilias, when I was trying to at least pretend I was getting on with my life. But that’s another reason I wanted a fresh start in New York. I didn’t trust any of the people I thought I could.”

“You do need a man to look after you,” he muttered, stabbing his fork into his meal.

“You need to bite me,” she muttered back.

His brows shot up. “Do you want to repeat that?”

“I may not be living my life to your standards, but I’ve been keeping myself alive.”

“Barely.”

“Losing Ilias washard, Konstantin. Maybe not for you, but it was for me.” She hung onto her composure, but her eyes grew hot and her throat tightened.

She poked and poked at her food, but couldn’t bring any to her mouth.

“It was hard. Is.” His admission was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, but the words seemed to catch at her heart and draw it out of her chest, pulling it out of shape in the process.

She wanted to reach out to him, to hang onto this small link they shared, even though that grief was so acidic it hurt to touch.

“Would you—?” She sipped to clear her throat. “I know you don’t like to talk about yourself, but would you tell me a memory you have of him? Something I wouldn’t know?” she asked tentatively.

His brows flinched together. He attacked his plate a moment, stabbing like he needed to kill it before he could eat it. “I’m not nostalgic, Eloise. I don’t look back unless I have to.”

She nodded mutely. “Okay,” she murmured, even though his refusal made her ache with disappointment.

The silence between them grew weighted. The sound of their cutlery was overloud in the small room.

Then he spoke abruptly, sounding aggrieved that she had demanded this of him.

“I was far behind all my classmates when I arrived at boarding school. I didn’t speak English. He was the only boy I could talk to.”

She lifted her gaze in surprise and found his dark eyes roiling with contained emotions that stalled her glass halfway to her mouth. She felt picked up and thrown around by those turbulent emotions. She slowly finished her sip, dampening her mouth with the cool tang of the wine, saying nothing so he could continue if he was willing to.

“Ilias was always in the top three while my grades were dead last. He tutored me for years.” He jabbed at his food again. “He’s the only reason I didn’t flunk out within weeks of arriving. It was like that for years. Then one day in year nine, I earned a higher mark than his. It wasn’t even top of the class, just one point higher than his. The culture was very competitive. Another boy would have accused me of cheating, but Ilias shook my hand and congratulated me. He was so happy for me it was embarrassing.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help her happy-sad chuckle, able to see her brother so clearly in that split second. He would have been grinning widely, admiring the paper, throwing his arm around his friend, building him up.

Her eyes welled and her chest ballooned with acute emotion. She sniffed.

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