Read Online The Prelude by Kasonndra Leigh - Free Book Online Page B

something different for me, though. Being around her isn’t only about how quickly I can get her into my bed. No. There’s something else, another way she makes me feel, and I don’t have the words to describe the things raging through me. Then again, maybe I do know the exact word. But admitting that I’m caught up in a woman’s spell would be the death of everything I have worked so hard to recreate about myself.
    Erin breaks the connection first. “It’s getting chilly. Boy, I can tell August is around the corner.” She takes a careful step back away from me and massages her forearms hidden underneath the shawl.
    “Let’s get you inside before you freeze those pretty little fingers off and the Martuccios wind up sending a firing squad out after me,” I tease.
    “Nah. No soldiers. They’d probably send the Sicilian Mafia,” she says. I stop walking, right away. I know she’s joking, but hearing the name of the group that has played such a large role in my past still puts me on edge.
    She turns around, smiling, and says, “What? I’m only kidding. Lighten up.” I bury my fears and hold out my arm for her to take.
    I know she was joking, but her statement hits too close to a memory I don’t care to recall. The mention of the Sicilian Mafia reminds me of a time when I spent a week of my life on the streets of Leningrad, begging for help so I could find my comrade, Nikolai.
    “Alek are you alright?” she asks as we step inside the restaurant. I turn my attention back to her face. Right away, my mind clears.
    “Of course I am with you,” I assure her.
    We make polite conversation throughout dinner. She tells me about her hometown back in the States, a city called Lafayette. And I fill her in on the better parts of my life in Moscow. I even explain how Father met Mother while he was on a business trip in the States. Like most people, she’s both surprised and intrigued by my dual ancestry. I like to compare the way they met to a war, one where Russia conquered the United States and drew up a couple of peace treaties, Adriana and me.
    I try and steer the conversation back to the subject of her parents. No luck. She skips over any discussions surrounding her immediate family. Instead, I’ve learned all about her grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even all of their family dogs. She has gotten so comfortable with our conversation, she hasn’t even realized we’ve yet to discuss the line she created, the one she named Mystical.
    Since I’ve never done anything like this before, gone on a date with a woman I didn’t intend to have sex with that night, I find myself enjoying this charade more than I imagined. But in my life, all good things either end in a puff of smoke or wind up crashing into a wall and exploding.
    “So, your mother was born in Austin? That means you’re all mixed up, like me. Interesting,” she says and shakes her head as though she’s in deep thought.
    She takes a bite of her focaccia, a type of yeast roll covered in garlic. Since we’re still well into the aperitivo, Milan’s happy hour, this is about all we’re going to be served for the time being. “It all makes sense now. I was wondering why Adriana doesn’t have a Russian name. And how you got those…nevermind.”
    “Don’t do that stopping in mid-sentence thing. It drives me insane, yes. Finish. What do I have?” I lean over on the table, so I’m closer to her face. A rush of pink spreads through her cheeks. She blushes so easily. I enjoy watching it happen.
    She shrugs and stabs at her focaccia until I’m ready to snatch the plate away and eat the bread myself. I place my hand over hers. “Erin, you were going to tell me something, yes?” Our gazes meet, and she stares deep into my eyes.
    “Your eyes. They’re not blue like a lot of Russians. That’s all. You don’t need me to be telling you things you’ve heard all your life, I’m sure.” She glances down at her plate and then over at my hand