“You must be Alessia,” he said, his eyes scanning me as if confirming something he already knew.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer and gestured for me to follow. “Come on,” he said. “Coffee or whiskey?”
The casualness in his voice made me follow him. He led me to a bar and grabbed a bottle, pouring himself a drink.
His gaze flicked to me as I stood rooted in one place. When he pushed the drink to me, I shook my head.
“No, thank you.”
He tsked. “Don’t be boring. I’m not like my brother. I like talking.”
Brother? That meant he was…
“Dmitri,” he said, as if reading my mind.
I swallowed. “Alessia.”
He scoffed. “I know.” He gestured for me to follow again, moving toward the kitchen. “Coffee then?”
This time, I followed him without hesitation. He didn’t unsettle me like Rodion did. He was dangerous. I could tell by how he walked and commanded the space. But there was also something undeniably human about him.
The kitchen was large and modern. Dmitri started up the coffee machine, moved to the fridge and grabbed some eggs. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
Confused, I shrugged. Was he going to cook? For me?
“Any way is fine.” I watched, fascinated, as he sliced the onions and potatoes. He cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them thoroughly. When they were ready, he turned to the stove to cook.
The scent filled the kitchen, making my stomach grumble. In a few minutes, he slid a plate to me and poured me a cup of steaming coffee.
“Eat while we talk.”
I eyed the plate and pulled a stool to sit and eat. He really cooked. “About what?”
He occupied a stool across from me, his gaze dark with amusement. “Anything. Sex, maybe.”
I choked on the air. “Sorry?”
“What? It’s a conversation starter.”
“I don’t … I don’t like that topic.”
He sighed. “Too bad because I’ve got nothing else to discuss with you.” I looked at him, unsure whether he was messing with me or being serious. He pointed at my plate. “Eat.”
Lifting a cup, I took a sip.
Dmitri cleared his throat. “How many people have you fucked?”
My face burned as I stared at him in disbelief, a cough threatening to blow. “You’re serious?” He only raised a brow, no smile. I wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that my body count was zero. “Three,” I lied.
He let out a low whistle, nodding in agreement. “Not bad.”
I frowned. “Is that … a lot?”
“Not really.”
Exhaling, I watched him take a slow sip of his whiskey.