Page 37 of Crimson Tears

Turning her head to hide the blooming smile that’s visible from a mile away, she answers, “Tastes great.”

Lie.

“Can you taste the hint of lemon?”

“Definitely,” she says, bringing the glass to her mouth.

“Lisichka, there is no lemon in here.”

She snorts, taking a large gulp.

“I don’t know why you do this to either of us,” she says after swallowing. My eyes trace the movement of her throat, following its path until I am staring between her breasts.

I chuckle, swirling my glass, taking care to hold it by the stem so as to not heat up the contents more than room temperature. It causes a bitter aftertaste to the drink.

Glancing up at her, I realize at this moment how lucky of a man I am.

“Are you happy?”

The question falls from my lips without warning. It is rare for me to not filter my words, but with her, I find myself always speaking my mind.

Her brows pinch, and her head tilts to the side before she sits her glass down and reaches a hand out to me. I take it, securing it in mine.

“Boris, I have never in my life been so happy.”

Now I want to ask if that is because of Cillian being around or me. Or maybe both of us. But I don’t because I am not sure I can handle the answer.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

My smile grows quickly until my cheeks nearly hurt. Before her, it was so rare for me to lift my lips in the gesture unless it was during a meeting to placate others. Now, my face hurts at the end of the day with the amount of time I find myself smiling at her.

“I am happier than I ever believed was possible.”

She beams at me, a blush rising. Our hands don’t separate as she orders the steak and I order the duck, knowing she will want to try it too. Typically when we go out, we will split our dishes, each taking half of each other’s meal in order to explore more flavors.

And that’s exactly what happens tonight. I am grateful though because the steak here is some of the best. It is one of the only places I can get Alexi to actually eat food with me, which is saying something.

He thought I didn’t pick up on how particular he was as a child, but I made note of it and was the one to make sure our chefs were always some of the best.

It paid off too, because now it is something we bond over, and I have the pleasure of turning around and teaching what I have learned to Nessa.

When we built the house, the kitchen was the only thing we really argued about. I wanted it bigger, a larger island to work on and more walking space between the cabinets so we could cook together.

Nessa talked me down though, bringing me back to the reality that we were not a five-star restaurant catering to the city's best every night. We settled on a large layout, but still one that made it easy to load the dishwashers as we worked.

That was one thing I am grateful she accepted, two dishwashers. I have no idea why the act of touching food in the sink bothers me, but it does. So she rinses all of the dishes, and I load them into the washers.

We still have a chef, but he is utilized more when we are both too busy to cook or wish to stay in bed for the weekend and have food delivered to our door.

Our jobs can be stressful, so two days locked in a room with each other is the best way we have found to recover. And it is a very cardio intensive recovery.

When our food arrives, she immediately cuts her steak in half and offers it to me. I do the same with the duck but watch as she has her first bites of each before digging in myself.

The steak is salty, and I love the way she savors it. The duck is on the sweeter side, having an orange glaze brushed along the crust. She closes her eyes, taking in each flavor.

Watching her eat is like a form of entertainment. I wish I could crawl into her brain sometimes just to know what she thinks of everything.

“I am so glad I get to have both of these,” she says, grinning at me. “You were right that I would like the steak more though.”

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