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His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t push the issue as he pays the bill and we stride out of the restaurant. I’m silently countingdown the minutes until we’re back on home turf. Just one short drive, and then I can she-Hulk out of the gown and put on one of Arsen’s baggy t-shirts.
Except, fifteen minutes later, we aren’t anywhere close to home. Instead, Arsen stops the car in front of a very familiar ice cream parlor.
“You said this was the best pistachio gelato in the world, if I recall correctly.” He kills the engine and turns to me with a warm smile. “Still not interested in dessert?”
My dress is aggressively sawing into my back. I’m almost positive it’s sliced through the first two layers of skin and one bite of gelato will send it through the third and fourth. But Arsen is watching me with something like hope in his eyes, and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth.
Ignoring the pain in my back and ribcage, I smile back. “I’ve never turned down fresh pistachio gelato and I’m not about to start now.”
We order two servings and take a table by the window. I grab my spoon with the care of someone about to dismantle a bomb. I can barely breathe.
“Are you okay? You look… off.”
“If you’re trying to sweet talk me, you’ll have to do better than that.”
He laughs. “If it’s your hip?—”
“It’s not my hip. It’s just…” I look down at my gorgeous designer dress and finger the romantic fabric regretfully. “The dress is a little tight.”
His eyes narrow. “How tight?”
“It’s a little hard to breathe, but otherwise, I’m—” Suddenly, Arsen is out of his seat and walking around the back of mine. “What are you doing? I’m fine. You don’t have to?—”
He tugs, there’s a rip, and all at once, I can breathe.
“For Christ’s sake, Laila,” he growls, “the straps were cutting into you. Damn near bloody.”
I don’t care that he’s frustrated with me. All I care about is oxygen. My eyes flutter closed as I breathe. “Not anymore. I feel amazing now.”
“This is why you’ve been so uncomfortable all night? You should have said something!”
Here I thought I was hiding it so well.“You were in such a good mood telling me about Pobeda and the launch, I didn’t want to ruin the evening.” He curses softly under his breath and pulls my zipper even lower. “Arsen, unless you plan to charge for this peepshow, you should zip me back up.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hisses. “Let people look. I want you to be comfortable.”
There are a few other patrons in the parlor, but they’re doing a good job pretending to ignore us.
Arsen slides his chair closer to mine and lifts my feet into his lap. My ankles are puffy and swollen, and the elevation is another sweet relief.
“Now,” he grits out, “eat your gelato.”
I bite back a smile. “I’ve never heard gelato sound so menacing before. It feels like I’m in trouble.”
“You aren’t in trouble,” he says. “What you are is stubborn. You need to tell me when you’re uncomfortable so I can fix it.”
“Oh, and how exactly do you plan to fix this?” I gesture to the bump so big I can’t even scoot up to the table. My gelato is resting on my stomach.
“I can make sure you have a dress that fits you, for one.”
“Or,” I counter, “we could go somewhere casual for once. I mean, what’s up with the suits and diamonds 24/7? Do you eat anywhere without a dress code?”
“No, but only because those places end up getting closed by health inspectors.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a snob. I’d rather eat some previously frozen beef than, like, duck foam or gold leaf foie gras or whatever.”
“How would you know? You were too busy trying to inhale oxygen to even taste the duck foam.” He gently massages my swollen ankle.
“You’re the one who told me to tell you when I’m uncomfortable. Newsflash: I’m uncomfortable a lot now. You better get used to it.”
