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“I said maybe I did, the jury’s still out.”
I’m almost glad that he can’t just be straight with me. Because I don’t think I could be completely straight with him either.
It’s not how either of us were raised.
If it were, though, I might tell him how badly my heart hurt as I read his mother’s book.
In it were hand-written fairy tales like none I have ever read before. They were sweet, and heartfelt, and full of tenderness… and clearly centered around Mrs. Barinov’s three boys.
It was easy to spot Leo in there. He was the stubborn and quick-witted one. But also, he was the one with a heart as golden as his hair. With eyes as blue as the clearest lake.
And while his brothers were often kings, or giants, or mercenaries, Leo was almost always a prince… or at least the knight in shining armor who saved the princess from an evil prince.
… The boy of my dreams..
He existed. All of this time, in the pages of a book so intimate that it hurt to read. But I couldn’t stop reading. And when I was done, I started reading again… but only after I went back to that family portrait.
It was so filled with love.
Love.
Leo was loved. He knows love. He can love.
… But could he love me?
Before I can get stuck in that confusing, heart-wrenching quagmire, the rooftop door swings open, and the first course to our romantic meal comes out.
The server doesn’t dare say a word, he just quietly places our two plates before us and then hurries back through the door.
It looks like some kind of stuffed and sauteed mushroom. It smells amazing.
“What is this?” I ask, staring down at the dish.
Leo just shrugs. “I don’t know. I just told them it better be good.” Taking a forkful for himself, he tests the fancy looking appetizer.
“… How is it?” I ask, but only after trying to read his reaction, testing myself to see if I can pick out the subtleties of a face I so often get lost in.
It’s easier said than done. For all that I’ve been able to tear out of this man, more often than not it’s like staring at a brick wall… or a distractingly handsome statue.
“It’s delicious. Here try some.” Taking another forkful, Leo reaches across the table. I open my lips just in time to take his offering.
Fuck. He’s right. It is delicious.
“Wow…” I mutter, immediately picking up my own fork to have more.
“Well, that’s a good sign. If you didn’t like it, I might have had to kill the chef.”
“Don’t joke about that,” I say, before swallowing some more.
“Why not?”
“Because you actually could,” I point out. “Imagine some poor cook overhearing Leonid Barinov saying that. He would shit himself in fear.”
“Good. People need to be afraid of me.”
“And what happens if they’re not?” I inquire, quietly asking myself if I’m still afraid of him.
I know I should be. But to me, he’s not Leonid Barinov anymore.
