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“Don’t tempt the fates and say that out loud.” I look out the window. “If this was a movie, the villain would know it’s the perfect moment to appear.”
“You spend too much time with Netflix and your Turkish dramas.” She grabs a cookie. “You should flirt with Mr. Novikov at the wedding tonight and jump-start your dating life. He’s sure to be there since Pavel is one of his minions.”
“I always say something awkward when he comes into the store, so flirting is the last thing I should do.”
“Perhaps he finds you charming and enjoys your unpolished bon mots.”
“A Bratva avtoritet doesn’t find a tongue-tied seamstress who says odd things charming.” I zip my locket back and forth on its chain. “But—”
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m ready to get out of the apartment more.” A smile lights up my beautiful friend’s face. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not talking about running to the coffee shop and stirring up sexual tension with unsuspecting men.”
“That was kinda specific.” Twirling her finger, she smiles. “You have been thinking about this. Good for you.”
“We should join a book club or take a pottery class.”
“We’re twenty-nine, not eighty-nine. We’re supposed to dance until the wee hours and sleep with inappropriate men.”
I picture the man I dated several years ago and shudder. The guy was a fine linguist but a complete disaster in the romance department.
“The way your mouth is pinching together tells me you’re picturing HubertJackhammerZelensky.”
“You’ve said a hundred times that sex is fun, but my limited experience tells me that’s not true.”
“You can’t allow one man to put you off intimate relations.”
“I know, but like a bad tuna fish sandwich, horrible sex is hard to forget.”
“Which is why the next man you sleep with needs to have good reviews.”
“Like a Yelp rating?”
“Kind of.” She pushes back her curls. “And in case you were wondering, your sexy Bratva baddy has quite a few.”
“We know women that slept with Yuri?”
“No, but the ladies practically pass out whenever his name comes up.” She arches her brows. “The man is fire.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” My cheeks heat. “He’s a cross between Wolverine and Jason Bourne. Only bigger…and hotter.” I open the box, take a cookie, and pop it into my mouth. The texture is familiar, but the grassy sweetness of the matcha isn’t.
“You don’t like it,” Stasia says with resignation.
“I do.”
She closes the box and flops against the couch. “I’m doomed to wedding cake hell for the rest of my life. No one will ever be interested in my creations.”
“That’s not true.” I take another cookie, chew it slowly, and decide that, like most things, people don’t want surprises when they least expect them. “What time should we leave for the wedding?”
“Let’s leave in an hour so we can get a good seat in church.”
“Alright.” I stand and take her hand. “Come help me decide what to wear.”
“Be warned, I will pick the dress that makes the most of your juicy curves because if you change your mind about flirting with Mr. Novikov, you need to feel your most confident.”
As we walk toward my room, I picture the dark-haired, utterly masculine man with a full mouth and square jaw and know that no dress is powerful enough to make that possible.
CHAPTER TWO
