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“It smells delicious,” he admits.
Offering him a smile, I scoop a generous portion of chicken onto a bed of rice and hand him the plate. Then, I do the same for myself. And we sit down together. I already put water on the table but haven’t found any alcohol in the house, so I assume Gleb’s not much of a drinker.
Given my father’s addiction, it was a silent relief to discover that while Gabby and I were exploring on our first day. Even if our stay here is temporary, it’s nice to know I won’t have to shield my daughter from that kind of lifestyle.
“Thank you for dinner,” Gleb says before he takes his first bite. And from the groan that escapes him, I can tell he likes it. Or he’s really good at pretending. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom,” I say once again. “She was a master in the kitchen. After she died, I kind of had to take up cooking to keep me and my dad fed.”
Gleb nods. “Well, your mother has my full respect.”
The compliment warms my chest, and I smile shyly as I dig in as well.
“Was your mother a cook?” I ask, tentatively trying to keep the conversation flowing and bridge the gap between us.
“I never knew my mother,” Gleb says casually.
Surprised, I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth. “That’s too bad. How come?”
He shrugs, his green eyes shifting up to meet mine. “My father paid her to give birth to me and walk away. My brothers and I grew up with a caretaker.”
“W-What?” I stutter. My brain must be short-circuiting because I’m sure I heard him wrong.
“I didn’t have what you might call a conventional upbringing,” he explains. “Rather than living in a home as a family, going to school, graduating, and getting a job—you know, the American way—my father put me through his version of homeschooling. He taught me the art of strategy, how to track, survival skills, different combat techniques—everything a person might need to become a mercenary. My brothers and I grew up sparring with each other multiple times a day—often with weapons.”
“Wow. That’s… crazy—I mean… definitely unconventional,” I correct, worried I might have offended him.
But to my surprise, Gleb chuckles. “It sounds like that’s one thing we have in common.”
Laughter bubbles from me uncontrollably because his humor is so unexpected. The heat in his gaze makes my stomach lurch as his lips curl into a gorgeous smile.
“You turned out okay,” I tease, though it feels like several pieces of Gleb’s personality fall into place at his admission.
One of his dark eyebrows creeps up his forehead in a skeptical expression. “You think?”
I nod. “I’d say so.”
“Thanks.” Gleb takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. “I haven’t had a chance to ask, but I’m guessing the photoshoot went well today if they wanted you to come back tomorrow,” he says, changing the topic to one I’d assumed he had zero interest in hearing about.
Heat warms my cheeks as I smile shyly. “Yeah. The photographer himself actually complimented me. He’s the one who told me to come back tomorrow.”
Gleb releases a low whistle. “You must have made a solid impression.”
“I hope so,” I say tentatively, my stomach knotting as I think about the phone call I made to Mr. Hunter after I put Gabby to bed.
I was stumbling over my words so terribly, that I wonder if he’ll think twice before inviting me back. He was polite enough to say I should let them know when I’m available again. But that doesn’t guarantee they’ll rehire me.
“Your hair looked like they had you in some fancy getup,” Gleb observes.
I don’t know why it affects me the way it does. But hearing that he noticed my hairdo—even after the day he’s had—makes butterflies come to life in my stomach. “Actually, I think I was supposed to be some kind of futuristic robot,” I admit. “I don’t know. I spent about fifteen minutes in hair and makeup before they put me on the set.”
“A robot?” he asks, humor making his eyes dance.
Again, I laugh at the incredulity in his tone.
“I’m glad you’re the model because I don’t get how robots could fit into fashion.”
Cheeks hurting from my broad smile, I admit, “I don’t really either. But the makeup was really cool. I hardly recognized myself once I was done up.”
