Three days later
I’m in the kitchen by eight, moving between the counter and the stove while I direct the staff. My hands won’t stay still, and I find myself checking every prep bowl and garnish twice. “Maria, did you remember the paprika?” I ask, hovering over the workstation.
“Yes, ma’am,” she says with a patient smile. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Good. Irina, get those plates into the warmer, please.”
I turn back to the stove, stirring the soup, but Maria reaches out and gently touches my arm. “Don’t be nervous, Zoya. Everything is perfect.”
“I just want it to be good,” I admit, my shoulders finally dropping an inch. This journalism project is important to me, and being older than most of my classmates, I feel the weight of wanting to make a flawless impression.
“It will be,” she assures me.
The heavy thud of footsteps announces him before he even speaks. Alexei walks in, looking far too relaxed in gray sweatpants and no shirt, his hair a messy tangle from sleep.
“Something smells good,” he rumbles.
His arms wrap around my waist from behind. He leans down, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “Why are you even out of bed? Come back upstairs.”
“It’s nine in the morning, Alexei.”
“Too early.” His hands slide up my sides, his touch warm and possessive. “Let’s go back.”
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up, even as I try to wedge my elbow between us to push him away. “Not today. Stop. It’s already too hot in here with the stove going.”
“Fine. I’ll turn on the AC.”
“Alexei…”
He ignores me, walking over to the thermostat and cranking it to full blast. The kitchen drops into a chill immediately, making Dmitri, one of the younger staff members, shiver.
I roll my eyes at the sheer absurdity of it. “Now it’s too cold.”
“It’s the perfect temperature,” he counters, heading straight back to me and wrapping his arms around me again.
I try to work, moving to check the chicken, but he follows like a shadow. I move back to the stove, and he’s right there, tethered to my hip.
“Alexei, I’m busy.”
“I’m not stopping you,” he says, though he finally retreats to the marble table. He sits down but keeps his eyes on me, his gaze intense and unwavering as he watches my every move.
I turn my attention back to the prep. “Dmitri, crack two more eggs and put them in the batter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Suddenly, Alexei is up again. He stalks over, grabs my waist, and lets his hand slide down to firmly cup my ass. I spin around instantly, my wooden spoon still in hand, and smack his hand away. “Stop.”
He grins, his eyes dancing with mischief, and does it again. This time, I don't hesitate. I bring the spoon down hard on his shoulder. Thwack.
“Ow!Vedma…”
“Out!” I bark, chasing him toward the door and swinging the spoon at his arm. “Get out of my kitchen!”
He laughs, raising his hands to block the wooden projectile. “I was just…”
“Out!”
I give him a final shove through the doorway and swing the door shut, leaning my back against it. When I turn around, the entire kitchen staff is frozen, staring at me in absolute silence.