Page 56 of Maksim
I meet his eyes and tilt my head. Didn’t he just ask me this? “Now you should send the text. Then just wait for Anya to make her move.”
“No, I mean, what do you want to do now?”
Oh… Of course. My face grows even hotter with embarrassment.
He glances toward the door. “I don’t mean to ditch you, but I’m not in a movie watching mood.”
I nod like I understand even as my throat tries to close up. “You’re leaving?”
His lips part, but then he just nods.
The blue eyes that apparently hold no genetic ties to his sister kick me in the stomach now. Never would I have thought that I’d want Maksim’s company, but… I don’t know. I thought we had a moment of civility just then.
I smile like he just made my night and turn to walk down the hallway. “Have a good time.”
A second passes. Then another, the only sound my bare feet padding on the carpet.
“Come with me.”
I halt in my tracks, not turning around when I speak. “What?”
I feel him near me. “Come with me to Hugh’s. You can pretend not to speak English still, if you want to, but… We’re supposed to be friends, right? How are we going to do that if we don’t get to know each other?”
“So stay here, then.”
“I can’t.”
My brows pinch. “Why?”
“Because this place makes me feel like a fucking American.”
I twist my lips while I ponder that.
“If you decide you don’t want to be there, we can leave... Who knows, maybe it’ll be fun.”
I’ve been around those men. It’s hard to imagine having fun in their vicinity.
But days ago I thought the same of Maksim.
Am I really considering going back there?
My heart races just thinking of it, but still, I take a deep breath and turn around.
“Sure,” I say, not sure at all. “Just let me change.”
18
MAKSIM
Elira leans slightly out her open window, staring out at the lights and chaos on the strip. Her hair waves in the light breeze, and I crane my neck to peek at her curious, wanderlust face, a smile curving my lips.
This isn’t the way to Hugh’s place. In fact, this adds at least an extra twenty minutes onto the drive, but something pulled me here anyway. I remembered the first night we met, wondering what she thought of the Vegas lights even as I was slowly bleeding out, and all at once I had to know.
“What are you thinking?” I ask as we pass the mini Eiffel tower, going at a snail’s pace behind traffic.
She sits back in her seat to peer at me. “You Americans are flashy as hell.”
I laugh, but it grates my ears when she calls me an American. As if she’s stripping me of my Russian identity, yanking me from my home all over again.