Page 21 of The Crimson Lily

I shower quickly, washing and scrubbing between my legs as if that will fix things.

I beat myself up for forgetting that one crucial detail.

Panic overtakes me when I start thinking about herpes, HIV, chlamydia; all these infections and diseases make me jump in the shower again.

As if that’s going to help! But I do it anyway.

Once I walk down the stairs, I’m calculating the risks of getting pregnant.

Fortunately, and according to science, my ovulation phase won’t be for another week.

I do panic again, however, but bury all this panic deep within my blanket of numbness.

When I get to the restaurant area, Maksim is sitting at the same table as yesterday, but there’s no Béatrice.

I notice how people look at me and wonder, briefly, if they recognize me from yesterday’s drama or if there’s something wrong with my face again.

I take a seat and order a coffee from one of the waiters, who gives me a concerned look and smirks at the same time. All right, I need to know what’s going on because Maksim has even begun glaring at me.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask, alarmed by all these glances I’m getting.

Maksim clears his throat. “Not on your face.”

My body stiffens. I realize why all of them were looking; it must be that huge hickey on my neck. Or maybe there are more marks now. I forgot to look in the mirror this morning as many other things were tumbling in my mind.

“We…?didn’t use a condom last night,” I state, hesitant to say it, unsure what reaction to expect.

He doesn’t respond. He just raises an eyebrow like I haven’t told him anything new—which I haven’t, but that’s not the point. Maybe I didn’t think of protection, but neither did he!

“You could have put on a condom!” I reinforce with a loud whisper so as not to be noticed.

“I don’t carry condoms with me,” he declares. “And I told you I’d stop if you didn’t want me to.”

That he did, indeed. Shit again. He actually asked for my consent, and like a stupid, irresponsible girl, I spread my legs, regardless.

I figure if I want to question him about infections or diseases, I just have to ask. Now is the time. “You don’t have any STIs, right?”

“I don’t.”

“How can I be sure?” I raise. “You could be lying!”

“I don’t lie.”

I sigh. “How can you be sure I don’t have any STIs?”

“I saw your medical file,” he declares. “And I know you haven’t been with anyone since your…?friend.” He says friend with blatant disdain.

Is that a hint of jealousy I hear? I can’t be sure. I shrug it off, focusing on that previous part.

“How do you know?” I ask in a cocky tone.

“I watched you,” he replies, as if that’s a normal thing to say.

What? Did I hear him correctly? Watched me? For how long? I have about a thousand questions right now. I start with the first one.

“Huh?”

Yeah…?I’m not proud of that one.

“Since when?”

Better.

“That’s none of your business,” he says.

“It is darn well my business since it’s about me!” I rebuke, a little too loudly, twitching my nose at him.

He rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You were under surveillance right after you made the deal.”

The deal? What deal? Huh? I made a deal? I have no freaking idea what to make of this! He must have seen my distress because he relaxes and sends a long exhale through his nostrils.

“A little over two months ago, you made contact with us,” he begins to explain. “You promised the dagger in exchange for our services.”

What? What kind of services? What the hell’s happening? I went to the Bratva myself? I made contact first? All this time, I thought they came to me! Why would I have done that?

I plant my elbows on the table and my face in my hands. I let out a long, enduring sigh. I don’t want to think about this anymore. About what I did or why I did it. About why I was involved with a dagger of glass, a shady professor, and the Russian mafia. About who I really was in my previous life.

As I close my eyes, I let my thoughts transport me back to the events of last night, to Maksim making his way into my skin. That’s a good image, one that I can focus on instead of all this madness. One that I hope to see again soon.

“Did last night…” I begin in a soft voice, breathing in and out slowly.

“Did last night mean anything?” I slide my hands to the sides of my face and pass them over my hair, brushing them down my neck.

I blink a few times, trying to maintain his cerulean gaze.

I actually don’t want him to answer, so I pose another question. “Will we do this again?”

“We can,” he says, his eyes betraying no emotion. “But don’t expect me to get attached.”

I swallow something in my throat. My coffee arrives; I take the cup between my hands and stare into it, disconnected. His words hurt me more than they should have. I’m never going to be anything to Maksim. How silly am I to expect otherwise? How silly am I to even think otherwise?

“Is that why you won’t sleep next to me?” I ask in a little voice.

He leans in, closer to me. He probably noticed the effect his words had on me, but I don’t really care. I’m not ashamed of how I feel, just…?disappointed.

“I have two rules, Liliana,” he states. “One: I sleep alone. Two: I don’t get attached.”

I shrug. Sure, if those are his rules, then that’s how we’ll play this game. I don’t respond. I simply sip on my coffee, look into his eyes, and revert to my favorite question during this trip.

“What’s the plan, Maksim?”

He stands from his chair and looks down at me. “Grab yourself some breakfast and come to the room,” he commands. “I’ll show you how it works.”

It takes two hours to hook me up to the whole machinery, and Maksim changes into, literally, a black spy suit with leather gloves, which really amuses me.

As he’s adjusting his clothes, we hear someone knocking on the door.

I go check, despite Maksim ordering me not to with his piercing eyes, because I have a darn good feeling who it is.

“How did you find the room?” I ask Béatrice and Alejandro with my mouth agape, genuinely surprised, or impressed, that they’re standing here.

“You’re the only suite with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door at 2 p.m.,” Béatrice replies with a cunning smirk as she steps inside.

Alejandro follows her and gives me a loud gasp and wide eyes when he sees me. He casts a furious glare at Maksim, who glares back at them with a scowl.

Béatrice doesn’t let that Bratva man say a thing. She judges me with her big brown eyes. “Liliana, this is not okay,” she comments before turning to Maksim. “What did you do to her?” she asks him with a threatening voice.

He rolls his eyes in response, then looks at me and points a finger. “They are your responsibility,” he declares. “If they become a liability, I will make you terminate them.”

Béatrice intervenes before I do. “Tough luck, connard . You drag Liliana into your mess, you have to face me.”

Maksim chuckles, which angers Béatrice even more.

“What did you do to her?” she asks again, pointing at me—why is everyone pointing at me?—her aggressive tone demanding an answer.

“Nothing she didn’t want,” he responds, shrugging, attaching a mini camera to his collar.

I don’t know what to do with these two. I want to check myself in the mirror to see what her distress is all about, but right now, I’m more focused on making sure they won’t get into a catfight.

Which reminds me…

“Béatrice, do you still do Wing Chun?” I ask, recalling the fact that Béatrice Leclerc is actually a martial arts instructor.

That explains a lot. Her taunting and intense behavior matches perfectly with the fact she can throw fists at the speed of light. I’d be worried if I were Maksim.

She looks at me and sighs. She knows I’m diverting her attention away from the touchy subject, but she eventually lets me. “I just started again about a month ago.”

We talk a little more about it while Maksim finishes getting ready.

He puts on an earpiece and asks me to run some tests and diagnostics from the laptop—all good, all set.

I was pretty quick with understanding how this remote tracking system works.

I can follow his live location on a retro map of Paris, can see what he sees, hear what he hears. It’s almost exactly like in spy movies.

I stand with my arms crossed, nervously nibbling on my lower lip, looking at him put on his black trench coat. He passes his hand into his black curls and bounces his gaze to me.

“Is something wrong?” he checks, noticing the worried expression on my face.

“Be careful,” I request without thinking.

I catch his arm before he goes out of the room. I want to kiss him good luck, but find myself silly for wanting to do that. I spot a silver glimmer in his eyes again, which vanishes in an instant. He seizes my wrist, clenches it a little, then lowers it so I let him go.

He’s in. William de Loit’s apartment is, of course, situated in the richest area of Paris.

Avenue Mozart. Béatrice and Alejandro lean over my shoulders to look at the laptop, all three of us watching Maksim’s every move.

The man fetched a motorcycle from a street adjacent to Boulevard Haussman and traversed Paris at high speed.

We even caught a glimpse of the Champs-élysées and the Eiffel Tower on his way to the 16th arrondissement.

Alejandro calmed down in the last hour, realizing this operation is actually quite exciting.

“William isn’t modest, that’s for sure,” Béatrice comments.

Both Alejandro and I agree with a simultaneous nod.