Page 16 of Roma Queen
A flicker of worry passes over Shireen’s face, but still she smiles. “What a nightmare. He’s going to be furious when he doesn’t win.”
Surprise hits me square in the chest. Shireen being Patrin’s wife, I’d have thought there would be a little more solidarity between them. Usually, someone’s partner would be rooting for them, even if the odds aren’t in their favor. The pale, startlingly blonde woman doesn’t appear to be willing to pretend, though.
Cleo rolls her eyes. “Maybe he’ll calm down once and for all if he gets his ass kicked just a little bit. Come on, you two. Archie’s not arriving until tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll be fine with you commandeering his wagon ’til then. I’m sure you want to get warm. It’s going to be bitterly cold tonight.”
Eight
ZARA
Six foot four inches.That’s how tall Pasha is, and yet he still somehow manages to cram himself inside the small, paintedvardothat Cleo leads us to without any issue whatsoever. He removes his down vest, toes off his boots, fills the small iron kettle with water (from a running tap!) and makes two cups of tea, and then he makes himself comfortable on the tiny sofa, all without banging into anything, hurting himself or breaking anything.
I, on the other hand, have no such luck.
In the space of sixty seconds, I manage to slam my hip into the corner of a bench so hard I feel like I’m about to throw up, I knock over a tiny glass vase filled with dried wild flowers, and just to really finish things off I turn around too quickly and nearly fall ass first out of the door to thevardoand tumble down the small wooden ladder to the ground. That’s exactly what would have happened if Pasha hadn’t leapt up from the sofa and snatched hold of my hand in the nick of time, pulling me back inside the wagon.
Fucker doesn’t even spill his tea.
His eyes are dancing with amusement as he closes the door behind me and bolts it shut. “Better to be safe than sorry,” he rumbles. I have to fight the urge to punch him right in the gut.
“My apartment’s small, but this is just wild. I’m going to have smashed every stick of furniture in here by the time your friend arrives. It’s like a meat locker in here. I’m frozen down to the marrow of my bones,” I growl at him. “I’m never going to be warm again.”
Pasha just laughs. “Pretty, grumpy Firefly. Gets tetchy when tired and cold. Patience clearly isn’t your strong suit either.”
I growl under my breath, the threatening look I fire across the tight span of the wagon having the desired effect as he holds up his hands in surrender. “Woah, now. You get used to the size. I promise. And I’ll have the place warm in a second. Just don’t kill me before you thaw out, okay? We’ve had a hell of a day. I was hoping we might be able to chill out for a second.”
I conceal a smile, pretending to still be grumpy as he moves methodically through the wagon, collecting three large logs from a basket under the kitchen sink and throwing them inside the wood burner. The smell of smoke curls up my nose, reminding me of summer camps, and the cabin my grandfather used to keep in the wilds of Montana. It also reminds me of the man building the fire.
His features are thrown into contrast as the flames inside the wood burner catch and take hold, washing him in golden light and shadow. I can’t stop staring at him. When we first got into the car to drive north, I did my best to disguise my constant need to watch Pasha. Seemed like a bad idea to let him know how intrigued I was by him, by the way he drove, by the way his knee bounced, by the way his chest rose and fell as he fuckingbreathed, but now I’ve abandoned my pathetic attempts at subterfuge. I’m bad at it, always have been, and I know he’s caught me staring at him at least three times. I’m blatant as hell as I observe him building the fire, arms folded over my chest, leaning against the wall of the wagon, picking him apart, piece by piece. I don’t flinch when he glances askance, his eyes meeting mine as he slams the grate closed, sliding the flue open to vent the smoke out of the chimney.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just a little bit infatuated with me, Zara Llewellyn,” he observes. “Can’t be true, though, right?”
“Why? Because a girl like me wouldn’t be stupid enough to like a boy like you?” I tease.
Pasha straightens up, grunting a little, and then perches on the edge of the counter, his body assuming a relaxed, at-ease lean of his own. He isn’t smiling now, though. “No. I just couldn’t be that lucky,” he says softly, correcting me. The tiny frown he’s wearing eases between his brows, disappearing altogether. “You don’t need to worry about them accepting you anymore, Zara. I think that went pretty well, all things considered.”
“Ha! You did hear your mother, didn’t you? She pretty much told me, in plain and simple terms, that I’d be fucked if I stayed here, no matter what you said.”
“Yes, I did hear her say that. But the old woman’s been overruled. If she touches you now, or anyone else fucks with you on her behalf, then she’s gonna find herself neck-deep in shit.”
“I’m sorry? Did I miss something? When the hell was Shelta overruled?”
“When Cleo told the entire clan at the top of her lungs that we were lucky to have you as a guest. That you were welcome here. That she would see to it personally that you have everything you need here.”
Those were indeed Cleo’s words. I remember them vividly. “So…Cleo’sword is gospel, then? Why does her welcome mean more than Shelta’s threats?”
Pasha moves. He stands in front of me, and suddenly thevardoseems even smaller than it did a few seconds ago. His chest is barely more than an inch away from mine. His hands find their way to my hips, and I draw in a deep breath, forcing oxygen into my lungs. Christ, this man is not safe. If he had any idea the power he has over me…would he use it to his advantage?
If he told me to, I would raze my own life to the ground for him. Hand in notice on my apartment. Say goodbye to my career. Walk away from everyone I’ve ever know or cared about. If it came down to it, I would choose him over any other aspect of my life, and that scares the living shit out of me. I don’t want to sacrifice my life in Spokane for him, I really don’t. I want to find Sarah. I want to resolve the stupid, bullshit harassment complaint at work and go back to helping people who need it. I want to keep meeting up with my friends on a Tuesday night to drink my juice and join them in setting the world to rights.
I just…I want him, too.
I want to find a balance. A way to continue with the routines that have made me feel comfortable and safe in Spokane, while also accomplishing the impossible and creating space for Pasha. I get the sneaking suspicion that I will only be able to have one, and not the other. Pasha isn’t the kind of man who only occupies a small part of someone’s life; he commands it. Heconsumesit. He is a drug, the most potent, addicting, heady drug on the face of the planet, and one hit is all it takes. Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. No one else matters, and I’m not sure how I feel about succumbing to that level of need.
I feel like I’m being hypnotized as he looks down at me, and I’m enveloped by the bright, luminous green of his eyes. “She’s my great aunt. My grandmother’s sister. She’s the camp’s Wise Woman. If she says something, no one will go against her. No one would dare. It’s serious bad luck to go against her.”
“Right. So she’s good to have on side, then.”
He releases a short, entertained huff of laughter. “You could say that. Plus, people like Cleo. That goes a long way. She’s a bad ass. Almost eighty-eight, and she’s still the best mechanic in the clan. The woman can fix anything.”
