Chapter x - Georgia
I wake with my face pressed against a hard, warm chest, and for one brief moment, I am supremely comfortable.
I open one eye. I’m in the living room.
I open the other eye. I’m sleeping against Alexei’s bare chest.
We jolt apart at the same moment, staring at each other. I’m wide-eyed, he’s scowling, and I’m flooded with that awful, ashamed feeling I get when I realize I’ve been sleepwalking. My heart rate skyrockets, and every muscle in my body tenses.
He looks away first, moving to standing. “You were sleepwalking.”
My face is hot. “I figured.”
Why am I sleeping on him, though? Why was he down here with me?
I smooth a hand over my hair. My bedhead is probably out of control. “Was I causing problems?” I sneak a glance at him, cataloging the rippling muscles of his torso.
A dark purple bruise spreads out from his eye, and something crumples in my chest. He was in a fight during last night’s game. It looked like it hurt, from the seconds I could bear to watch.
He folds his arm over his chest. “Yes. No knives this time, though.”
His gaze lingers on me, flicking over my bare legs, and I fold my arms over my chest, feeling exposed and naked. He looks like he’s going to be sick. I’ve started wearing a t-shirt to bed for exactly this reason.
He works his jaw, lips parting like he’s about to say something. Here it comes. The nasty insult of the day. I brace myself.
“Do you have soccer today?”
That’s it? I frown. “Nope.” It’s Saturday. We normally have a game but not this weekend. “Do you have training?”
He shakes his head. “Not today. How about some breakfast?”
“Hmm.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I am hungry, and you did let me drool on you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches again. More warmth in his eyes. It’s nice, actually, not yelling at each other. Also nice? This shirtless view of Alexei.
“What’s on the menu today, Chef Alexei?”
“Kitchen’s closed.”
I deflate. “Oh. That’s fine. I can rustle up something for myself.”
“No, I mean, uh, I was thinking we could go for breakfast.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Sure. Where were you thinking?”
“You’ll see. Can you be ready in twenty?”
I nod, grinning. “Is it a surprise?”
“Yes.” His eyes linger on my smile before he sucks in a breath and starts heading up the stairs.
“I love surprises,” I yell after him, studying the way his back muscles move.
“I know,” he yells back.
* * *
“This is the surprise?”
Half an hour later, we walk into an Italian cafe a couple blocks from Alexei’s house. He’s wearing a baseball hat pulled low over his brow, dark jeans, a crew neck sweater that I want to bury my face in and inhale, and worn, lived-in leather boots that look incredibly well taken care of. It figures. He’s probably had them for at least a decade, getting them resoled when needed. Alexei’s meticulous like that.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Americano and some kind of pastry. I’m not picky.”
He nods and gestures at the tables. “Go find a seat. I’ll be right there.”
I grab a seat near the window and watch as the owners greet Alexei, talking in fast Italian. He responds, also in Italian, and I try not to let my jaw hit the floor. I listen in, unable to understand him, but fully able to appreciate the delicious tired, second or third day stubble thing he’s got going on, along with those permanent undereye circles. I don’t know why I find those so attractive.
“You speak Italian?” I ask a few minutes later, when he brings me my coffee and pastry.
He grunts in confirmation, nodding, sipping his own coffee. “Not very well. I don’t get enough practice.”
“Do you go to Italy often?”
“Every summer for at least a few weeks. I have a house there.”
My eyes light up. “You do?”
Another grunt of approval. “In Tuscany.”
I can feel myself practically glowing with the need to learn more, leaning forward and watching his face. “Since when?”
He shrugs. “A couple years ago. Mostly bought it so my parents didn’t feel bad, having me rent a place big enough for them, too. They usually come out for a week or two if I can convince them.”
In another life, if this were real, I’d be begging him to take me with them the next time they went.
“They must enjoy having a son so generous.”
He makes an irritated noise. “You would think they’d be happy to reap the rewards of years of five o’clock ice times at the rink and working two jobs to pay for hockey, but no. They’re impossible to spend money on. I had to lie and say we got upgraded to business for free on the flight there because they needed to fill seats for weight distribution.”
I laugh, and he does a double take, gaze lingering on my face.
“What?” I wipe at my face.
His jaw flexes and he looks away. “Nothing.”
A beat of silence between us. His eyes drop to the hoodie I’m wearing.
“What?” I look down at myself. I didn’t have time to do a full face of makeup, and my hair is up in a messy bun. I’m wearing leggings and that big hoodie he left in my room. It’s cold and sunny today so I’m wearing sneakers and a puffer coat. I point at the hoodie, giving him an amused, arch look. “You didn’t actually think I’d wear this, would you, and now that you see it on me, you want it back?”
He clears his throat, looking at it again. “I don’t want it back.”
“Admit it.”
“I don’t.” His eyes flicker with that look again, like he’s pleased. “It looks good on you. Keep it. I wanted you to have it.”
“You were jealous because I was wearing Turner’s old hoodie.”
“So it was his.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Turner. I want to talk about your Italian villa. Is there a pool?”
His smirk tells me yes, and my eyes widen. “It’s on four acres.” He pulls out his phone, scrolls for a second before he slides it across the table, open to a photo of an older house on a property. Vines grow up the side, and there are shutters hanging from the windows. “Those are from last summer.”
I swipe through the photos, smiling at the quaint but large home, the renovated barn that’s now a cottage for the caretaker, the infinity pool overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany.
“Beautiful view,” I murmur. “Is it far from town?”
He shakes his head. “A twenty minute walk.” He clears his throat, glancing at me. “There are a couple weeks in the summer where you can see fireflies at night along the road into town.”
“Really?” My eyebrows go sky high and I probably look like a cartoon with hearts in my eyes. “Like a fairytale.” We don’t have fireflies in Vancouver.
He makes a low, almost-laughing sound. “Yeah. Kind of.”
I almost say I’ve always wanted to see fireflies before I stop myself; it would sound way too much like I was hinting for an invite. We’ll be divorced by next summer, or at least separated, and besides, he goes to Italy to relax, not to argue with his pretend wife.
I want to go here more than anything in the world, though. I’ve never been to Italy. Why haven’t I been to Italy?
“I bet the food’s incredible here.”
He nods. “There’s a chef in the village, Nadia, who gives me cooking lessons. She rides a moped.”
“A moped!” I bite back a grin. I want to ride a moped.
He tilts his chin at my empty coffee. “Another?”
“Are you in a rush to get home?”
“No training today,” he reminds me.
I nod. “Okay, then. Sure. Thanks.”
He turns around and says something in Italian to the owners, and I turn back to the photos on his phone.
Maybe I’ll take a week off next summer between seasons and rent a little villa by myself. I hate taking time off, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d force Briar or Jordan or Darcy to come with me.
Darcy would want to bring Hayden, though, who’d invite half the team because he’s the friendliest, most inclusive guy I’ve ever met, and then Alexei would join too. We’d be divorced and forced to make awkward, stilted, forced-friendly conversation. My throat feels tight at the thought of having to see him all the time after we divorce. I can avoid him easily enough at work but having to do another group trip like Hawaii?
It’ll be brutal.
Don’t think about that, I tell myself.
I swipe to a photo of two huge, slobbering dogs with adoring eyes, who look like they’re about to leap up on whoever’s behind the camera, and I grin.
“The neighbouring property has two dogs,” he explains, “Enzo and Klaus. They follow me everywhere all summer from sun up to sun down, begging for treats and barking at anyone who drives onto the property.”
“Klaus!” I laugh. “That’s what I named my—”
I clap my mouth shut.
“What?” He frowns.
“Nothing.”
“That’s what you named your…” He makes a go on gesture.
“My Rabbit.” Technically, true, just not the rabbit he’s thinking of. I’m talking about the one in my bedside table, the one I use when he’s out of the house. Klaus is the big bad guy on The Vampire Diaries. It’s a private joke, just for me.
“Which one? Stefan or Damon?”
“Uh. Stefan. And then I changed it,” I lie. I’m babbling. “Anyways,” I say, brightening up, and swipe to the next photo.
My stomach twists into a knot. It’s him looking tanned and handsome, sitting at an outdoor table beside a very beautiful woman with long, blonde hair. She’s laughing at him while he looks mildly amused. It’s evening, and string lights hang above them. How romantic.
An old girlfriend, probably. I knew this was his type, and yet I feel sick.
“My cousin,” he says, watching my face.
“Oh.” I blink, and shamefully, I feel better.
He arches an eyebrow. “You thought she was my girlfriend?”
“Nope.” I keep scrolling through the photos, not really seeing them. “I didn’t think anything.”
I can feel him watching me. “I don’t date much.”
“Mmm.” I nod, putting on a mock-sympathetic expression. “Because of your personality?” I wince like I feel bad for him, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Because of hockey. It’s too busy during the season.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because it’s the middle of the season but he’s here with me. And he went to my soccer practice the other night. And he took me out for dinner on that date.
“Do you ever take vacation?” he asks, still watching me.
I shrug. “Not really.”
“You went to Hawaii.”
I haven’t thought about work once this morning, I realize. “That’s because Darcy begged me and I wondered if Hayden was going to propose there.”
“We should go this summer.” His gaze stays glued to my face. “To Italy. If we’re still married.”
My heart skips a beat. I want to see the fireflies and drink wine and eat pasta, and strangely enough, the idea of doing it all with Alexei is… nice.
Again, I think about our furious, clawing kiss in my office, but instead of him backing me up against his desk, he’s backing me up against the wall outside a bar in Italy. It’s late at night, we’re the only ones out in the town square, and we’re walking home after dinner and a couple glasses of wine. Maybe he’s been touching me all night—my hands, my hair, draping his arm around my shoulder.
“Hellfire?”
I blink the image away. “Yes.” I offer him a smile, my face warming. “I’d love that. If we’re still married.”
“Married couples take vacation together.” He’s still studying me. “Why are you blushing?”
“It’s warm in here,” I blurt out, pulling my hoodie away from my neck. “We should go.”
“And if we’re not married, you’re welcome to go stay at my place anyways.”
“Really?” I frown. That’s surprisingly generous of him.
“Mhm.”
My eyes narrow, but I’m smiling. “What’s the catch?”
“Don’t bring Turner.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t.
“I’m sure he’ll find a way to show up there anyways,” he grumbles, looking grumpy, and I smile.
“Can you teach me some Italian?”
His mouth slants, his shoulders relaxing. “Sure. What do you want to learn?”
“Teach me how to say, where do the rich bachelors hang out?”
He growls, I laugh, and we spend the rest of breakfast talking. Not fighting. Not arguing. Not even bickering.
It’s nice. Who knew spending time with Alexei could actually be enjoyable, and dare I say, relaxing.
* * *
After breakfast, we take the long way home, up the main road lined with shops, restaurants, and cafes.
“This neighbourhood is actually so cute.” My eyes linger on the outfits in the window a men’s clothing boutique. There’s a dark green sweater that would look fantastic on Alexei. “I don’t know why I don’t spend more time around here.”
“Because you’re always working,” he says with an edge, like he disapproves, and my hackles rise.
“Don’t start.”
He sighs. “You’re burning the candle at both ends, hellfire. You never slow down.”
That tight, frustrated feeling squeezes in my throat, but I gesture at us walking. “What do you think I’m doing right now? Not working. I’ve barely thought about work this morning.”
He quirks a look at me, almost a smile, like he’s pleased. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” I stop, my hand catching on his sleeve, and point at an ice cream shop. “Ohhh, let’s get ice cream.”
“It’s eleven am.” He frowns at me. “And it’s the end of October.”
“Alexei, if an ice cream place stays open all year, they expect to have customers.” I gesture at the storefront. “It’s our responsibility to buy ice cream to keep them in business.”
“That’s not how business works.”
“What if they ask what your favorite flavour is during the interview?”
“I don’t eat ice cream.”
“That’s exactly what I would say.” I grin broadly at him. “But maybe I just want some.” I gasp like I’m in pain, clutching my head.
“What?” he demands, reaching for me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m thinking about work,” I cry, and he groans as I dissolve into laughter. “I need ice cream to drown out the thoughts.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters before he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the ice cream shop.
Inside, I deliberate. “It’s between lemon or coffee,” I tell Alexei. “I can never decide.”
“Those are your favourites?”
I nod, frowning. “I can’t get two scoops because they’d taste weird together. I have to pick one. Okay.” I smile at the employee. “Coffee, it is. Thank you.”
“And for you?” she asks Alexei.
“Lemon.”
“That’s your favorite, too?” I grin at him, nudging his firm side with my elbow. “What a coincidence.”
He makes a vague noise of acknowledgement and accepts the cone from employee. When I pull out my card to pay, he nudges my hand aside.
“No.”
“You got breakfast. I can pay for our ice cream.”
“I know you can.” He steps in front of me, blocking me from the payment machine while he hands the employee two twenties. The ice cream cost twelve dollars. “But no.” When I give him a searching, amused look, he just shrugs. “This seems like a husband kind of thing to do.”
We step outside into the bright winter sun, and walk for a bit down the street, through the neighbourhood, back home. When he catches me glancing at his uneaten ice cream, he raises his eyebrows and holds it out to me. I grin and switch cones with him, eating his for a bit.
After a block of walking, I notice he’s not eating his. “Alexei, your ice cream’s dripping down your cone. It’s going to drip all over your hand.” I reach for his wrist, pulling the cone toward me and licking the droplet before it hits his hand. His skin is warm, and a bolt of heat warms me between my legs. He watches me, eyes going dark, and a muscle flexes in his jaw.
Heat whooshes through me, tightening low in my abdomen. Something about that look of his makes my blood pump harder.
“Uh.” I pull back. “Sorry.”
He makes a low noise in his throat, turning away.
“Wait.” I frown at him, and then the ice cream he hasn’t touched, then at mine. “Did you just order the lemon because you knew it was my other favorite flavour?”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “I told you I don’t eat ice cream.”
“Alexei.” My heart squeezes. I’m melting like the ice cream in his hand. “Thank you,” I say with a smile, and he makes a noise of acknowledgement.
It’s too bad he said we could never be friends. He’s not so bad. He’s actually kind of sweet, sometimes.
We keep walking until we get to the beach. It’s sunny, a little windy, chilly but perfect. Logs are strewn around the beach, some occupied with people sitting and talking, watching the small waves on the shores. Some people are playing with their dogs, throwing a ball into the water for them to fetch. Across the inlet, the dense, green, old-growth forest that makes up Stanley Park rises out of the water. That’s one of the things I love about this city—how we have a little of everything. Mountains, forests, beaches, water, and on a sunny day like today, it’s just breathtaking.
I glance at him, debating. He’s already spent an hour with me. He’s probably busy.
He gives me a side-long look, brows pulling together. “What?”
I hesitate before I force the question out. “Want to sit for a bit?”
“Sure. For a bit.”
Before I can act shocked that he actually wants to spend more time with me, he’s walking across the sand to one of the logs. I take the seat beside him, taking in our surroundings.
“Damn, that’s a nice view.” I take another long lick of my ice cream and Alexei’s eyes drops to my tongue, jaw flexing. A shiver of desire runs through me.
“Cold?” He arches an eyebrow.
I smile, inhaling the fresh sea air. “Freezing. God, I love this city on days like this.”
He wraps an arm around me and slides me toward him on the log like I weigh nothing.
“Oh—you don’t have to—”
“Be quiet, hellfire.” His warmth permeates my coat immediately. “Can’t have you getting sick again and missing more soccer practice.”
I could argue that it’s an old wives’ tale that people catch colds from cold weather, but I’m too comfortable, tucked against him like this.
“Another husband thing, huh?” I squint, looking around the beach with mock suspicion before I tilt my chin at a nearby family. “Good thinking. Citizenship employees surveilling us at three o’clock.”
He snorts, shaking his head, but he’s smiling a little, and I feel a zip of pleasure up my spine.
“Well, you won’t hear me complaining.” I sigh, leaning against him. “You’re warm.”
He stiffens, and I remember how warm and comfortable I was, waking up this morning with my cheek pressed against his chest.
Don’t think about that, I tell myself. That was a one-time thing, and he clearly felt uncomfortable from the way he got away from me as soon as he could. Our relationship isn’t like that.
Actually, after spending time together today, I have no idea what our relationship is like.
“You’re not such a bad husband, when you’re like this.” I spear him with a side-long glance. “Nice.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I can be nice.”
“Not to me.”
He doesn’t say anything but his expression turns wry, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You haven’t exactly been the sweet, loving wife I thought I was getting.”
I snort. “Like you ever thought you were getting a sweet, loving wife. Come on. You know what you were in for.”
He looks out at the water but I see the faintest trace of a smile on his mouth. “Did you do stuff like this with Turner?”
“Eat ice cream on the beach?”
He nods.
I hum, thinking and frowning, trying to remember. “Not really. Turner didn’t really like doing stuff like this. Quiet stuff.”
“Quiet stuff,” he repeats.
“Yeah, like, sitting and looking out at the water and the mountains. He liked going out for dinner at the yacht club, going to clubs, parties, that kind of stuff. We mostly just had sex.”
He stiffens, the arm around my shoulders tightening, and I roll my eyes.
“Relax, jealous guy. He wasn’t even that good.”
His gaze swings to mine, jaw sharp and hard. “What do you mean?”
“If having sex with him was a race,” I say slowly, “Turner won every time.”
Alexei looks concerned.
“He came too fast,” I explain, and Alexei looks exasperated.
“I know that’s what you meant.”
“And he was—” I cut myself off, unsure of how to say this.
“What?” Alexei demands, glaring at me. “Say it.”
“I shouldn’t.” I press my lips together.
“Hellfire.” His gaze bores into me, and my heart skips a beat.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I finish off my ice cream and reach for his. “It’s none of your business.”
“Did Turner help you get to the finish line?” he asks.
“So the thing you have to remember is,” I take a long lick of the ice cream and his gaze drops to my tongue before he swallows, “we were in our early twenties. No guys are good at sex in their early twenties.”
Honestly, guys in their late twenties, early thirties, and late thirties don’t seem to be good at sex, either, in my experience.
His jaw tightens. “That’s a no.”
I don’t answer.
“Why’d you sleep with him, if he wasn’t very good?”
I make a thoughtful humming noise, finishing off my ice cream. “Bored and horny, I guess? He was always willing to come over when I texted him late at night, that was nice. I don’t know. It was easy. I thought he was cool with us being casual but in the end he thought it was so much more.”
Again, Alexei stiffens.
“You know what’s more fun than having sex, though?” I ask him, and he frowns harder.
“What?”
“Smashing car windows with that pin thing.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Can’t wait to do that again.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That was a one-time thing.”
I shrug happily. “We’ll see.”
He makes a strangled noise in his throat and his mouth tightens like he’s trying not to smile before he sighs. “I knew getting you that thing was a mistake,” he says, but there’s no conviction to his words. He glances at me side-long again. “And if you think that’s more fun than sex, you’re not doing it right.”
Our eyes meet and heat flares in his eyes as his gaze drops down to my mouth. Something pulses between my legs and I bite my bottom lip.
If that angry kiss in my office was anything to go off of, Alexei is probably really, really good in bed.
Silence stretches between us and my stomach does a slow roll forward as our eyes hold. He looks away and takes his arm away from my shoulders, and I immediately feel the loss of his body heat.
Okay, got it. Maybe he’s attracted to me, but he’s hell-bent on not giving me the wrong impression about us.
“Sorry for cuddling you this morning. Or, last night.”
He clears his throat. “You didn’t cuddle me. I, uh,” he rakes his hand over the back of his hair, “I pulled you into my lap.”
