Page 12 of Scarlet Vows

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.” The fleeting smile appears again, only to morph into a concerned frown. “You know if you’re going to party without me and get those dark circles, I won’t share my cure with you.”

“What’s that?”

“Raw eggs, black bread, and saltedsalowashed down with vodka.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Cured pork fat is already salted.”

“Extra salted.” He taps his temple. “I’m smart.”

I laugh. “Why did you want to meet?”

“Meeting you’s smart, pretty dove.”

“I’m not a rat with wings.”

“No romance in your soul.”

“Uh-huh.” I push the menu at him, the one he hates with all the fancy coffees on it. “Why did you want to meet?”

Ilya shrugs, knocking the menu out of the way and reaching across to one of the two cups in front of me. He takes the left one, the one I ordered for him. It’s extra strong, extra sweet. Totally and unexpectedly Ilya.

“Can’t I just want to meet up?”

I roll my eyes. “You see me every day. Especially withDemyan away. And you could have just nixed this place and ordered me to have a coffee with you in the kitchen.”

He raises a brow. “You want me to order you about? Interesting. Consider that filed away.”

“No!” I swat at him, and he offers the smuggest little smirk I’ve ever seen. “You can’t order me about.”

“Yes, I can. I’m bigger than you. Meaner than you. Stronger than you.”

“But you like winding around my little finger.”

He takes a swallow of his coffee. “I let you think that.” He leans in. “Besides, this is coffee you bought for me. So much sweeter than one from the mansion. Plus, it’s free. I like free.”

He finishes it right as the waitress comes around, and then he orders two more. I sip at mine, which is almost done, delighted he ordered another and doubly delighted he really does want to spend time with me.

I don’t examine it.

I just take it as a nice moment, which I like to cling to now.

After the waitress sets down the new coffees, Ilya picks up his and adds his sugar.

“How was last night? Isla keep you up and get you raging drunk?”

“It’s rude to point out my dark circles.”

“We’re friends. I don’t lie to you.”

“I’ll accept lies that tell me how pretty I look, thank you.”

He just shrugs. “I don’t lie. And you’re always, always pretty. So what happened?”

I groan and spill the whole story about Santo. I leave out the part where he put his hand on my leg and slid it a little up under my skirt. With that kind of stuff, Ilya is a little like my brother.

Murderous.