Page 12 of Imperfect Desires

Alina’s hand tightens around her glass. I see the subtle shift in her posture—the faint flicker of tension beneath the composed exterior.

“What?” Yelena’s tone is sharp. "We have only been here for a week."

“It’s time to go home,” Igor says. His tone is final.

“But why?” Yelena’s eyes narrow. “We just got here.”

“If you stay too long, you’ll draw attention to your brother,” Igor says.

Yelena’s mouth tightens. “Why can’t Viktor come back with us?”

Igor frowns. “It’s not time.”

Alina gazes at Viktor, her eyes wide and uncertain. Viktor’s expression softens as he gives her an apologetic smile.

“There are matters Viktor is handling here,” Igor says. “When I’m satisfied with the position of things, Viktor will return.”

“And if you’re never satisfied?” Yelena’s tone is edged with quiet defiance.

Igor’s eyes narrow. “That won’t happen.”

Viktor’s gaze flicks toward Igor, but he says nothing.

“Until then,” Igor continues, “you will return to Moscow.” That’s not a request.”

Alina’s gaze lowers to her lap. She looks pale beneath the soft glow of the lights. Yelena looks furious, but Alina just looks… sad. I feel a strange twist in my chest at the sight of it.

Viktor leans back in his chair, his gaze heavy as he tries to mask his emotions. "I'll see you ladies soon."

Yelena stands abruptly. “Well, that’s settled, isn’t it?” She says unhappily.

Alina stands too, her hand tightening around the edge of the table as she rises to her feet.

My gaze follows her as she walks toward the door. As she walks out, her heel catches on the corner of the carpet. Her ankle twists beneath her, and she stumbles. I’m moving before I even think about it. My hand shoots out, catching her wrist. My other arm slips around her waist, steadying her before she can hit the floor.

She collides against my chest, her breath hitching sharply. Her skin is warm beneath my hands. Her breath stutters against my throat. Electric blue eyes lift toward mine—wide and startled. Her cheeks flush faintly, and my gaze drops to her mouth.

Fuck.

"Careful," I murmur. My voice is low and rough.

Her breath catches. “I— I’m sorry,” she whispers.

My thumb brushes against the soft skin of her wrist. Slowly. “You okay?” I ask.

She nods shakily. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her mouth says one thing, but her pulse—hammering beneath my fingertips—says another. I release her slowly, feeling the warmth of her skin where my hand met her wrist.

"Be careful next time," I mumble again.

She looks at me for a second too long before she steps back.

Yelena smirks. “Maybe you should give her walking lessons, Lev.”

My mouth curves faintly. “My rates are high.”

Alina’s cheeks darken, and I watch her walk out of the room. And for the life of me, I can’t stop watching.

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