Page 20 of Imperfect Desires

My chest tightens.

“I’ve never kissed anyone else,” she says quietly. “You are my first.”

My heart thumps painfully.

I grip the wheel hard enough for my knuckles to ache. I don’t let my face betray what I’m feeling. My chest feels too tight. My hands tremble on the wheel. It would be so easy to pull over. To turn toward her. To tell her that I feel it too. That I’ve wanted her since the second I saw her in the safe house, sitting beside Viktor.

But I can’t.

I force my jaw to unclench. My voice comes out cold. “It’s better this way.”

Alina turns toward the window, her face pale. Her shoulders tense as she presses her forehead against the glass. I tell myself that I’m protecting her. That this is for the best. But the hollow ache in my chest tells me it’s a lie. I know if she kisses me one more time with those damn lips, I’m going to burn every lineI’ve drawn between us to the ground. And if I do that, I’ll never forgive myself.

7

Alina

London

The apartment is sleek and modern, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the streets of South Kensington, London. Sunlight glints off the polished marble floors as Yelena and I step inside, dragging our suitcases behind us.

“This is insane,” Yelena breathes, turning slowly in a circle. Her heels click softly against the stone floor. “Papa really outdid himself.”

I nod vaguely, my gaze skimming over the spacious living room adorned with pristine white walls and minimalist decor. The apartment is expensive—of course it is. Papa never doesanything halfway. The furnishings are sparse for now, but the place exudes wealth and privilege. It’s the kind of home most people dream of.

“We’re finally here,” Yelena says, practically glowing as she tosses her purse onto the couch. “Imperial College London, Alina. This is it.”

I try to mirror her excitement, but my smile feels thin.

Yelena steps toward the glass windows. “Look at this view.”

I join her at the window, pressing my hand against the cool glass. Below us, London stretches out in sharp lines and soft grays, the distant hum of traffic filtering through the closed windows.

Yelena grins. “No more bodyguards trailing our every move. No more constant eyes on us.”

She’s right. Papa has allowed us more freedom here than we’ve ever had in Moscow. For the first time, we’ll have the space to breathe, to make our own choices. To live like normal girls.

But I don’t feel light. I feel… weighted.

My hand slides down the glass.

Yelena’s smile fades as she looks at me more closely. “Alina?”

I turn toward her. My chest tightens under her steady gaze.

“You’re not excited?” Yelena asks. “We’ve been talking about this for months.”

“I am,” I say too quickly.

Yelena studies me, her eyes sharp. “No, you’re not.”

She steps toward me, her expression softening. “What’s wrong?”

My throat works painfully. I shouldn’t tell her. I shouldn’t say it aloud. But the ache in my chest has been building since the night in the library, and it’s suffocating me.

I press my fingertips against my temple. “It’s nothing.”

Yelena’s brow furrows. She steps closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Alina.”

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