Soldier Mine: A Sons Of War Novel - Soldier Mine: A Sons of War Novel Part 10
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Soldier Mine: A Sons of War Novel Part 10

He winks.

My face grows warm. His father was right. My instinct leaving the community center was likewise correct.

Petr likes me.

And that baffles me, as much because I have no idea why as because I don't know what to do about it.

We pass an uber-formal dining room and continue walking. I almost sigh. I don't know a salad fork from an entree fork, and I'm not about to embarrass myself by choosing the wrong one. I'd probably skip eating and starve to death so Petr didn't think worse of me for not knowing.

He leads us into a sunroom whose three walls and ceiling are glass. Natural light cascades into the room from the gloomy outside. The space is filled with two small Christmas trees, a single round table and a buffet table along one side overloaded with food as promised.

Petr's father is waiting for us, already nibbling on what appears to be a small, thick pancake and sipping coffee from his spot at the table.

"Omigod." Todd's face lights up when he sees the spread.

"Welcome," Petr's father booms and stands. "Come!"

Petr places a hand at the small of my back and pulls out a chair for me. It takes a split second for me to overcome the thrill working through me at the sensation of his warm hand on my back to realize his father is talking.

"... American and some Russian." He gestures towards the buffet. "I am Anton Khavalov." He reaches out to shake Todd's hand, Maya's then mine. "It is good to see you again, Claudia." His eyes were twinkling.

"You, too," I murmur awkwardly.

I take my seat, and Petr sits beside me. Todd and Maya approach more shyly.

"What're you waiting for?" Anton booms. "Eat! If there is food left, the cook will cry."

I smile and stand when Petr does.

"Okay, I'll give you the quick version of the Russian food," he says as we all head towards the food. "Russian pancakes with a toppings bar, vatrushka which is basically a Danish gingerbread in various forms, baked apples, and the rest you should be able to identify."

The food smells fantastic. Todd puts a huge scoop of everything from mini omelets and bacon to a stack of the Russian pancakes on his plate while Maya picks and chooses. I follow Todd's lead in trying everything. Pots of coffee and creamer, freshly churned butter and homemade jams and croissants are on the table already.

We eat in relative silence. Anton and Todd do most of the talking, while I listen. Petr seems unusually quiet. His appetite appears to be intact, though, and he manages to eat almost as much as my brother, which is no small feat.

The food is even better than it looks. I've never had anything that tasted so fresh or high quality, and the textures ... my god. How Petr isn't four hundred pounds, I don't know. I'd never stop eating if I had food like this anywhere near me!

I eat until I'm uncomfortably stuffed. The others slow as well, and when even Todd is done, I speak up. "Anton, this is incredible," I say to Petr's father. "I've never had food this good."

"Then you will not be disappointed when I say the chocolate turkey broke in transfer," he says in approval. "So I cannot give it to you for Petr's dowry. You will have to take a gingerbread Santa Clause instead."

I laugh. Todd gives me a weird look. Petr is smiling, though there's a shadow in his gaze.

It bothers me not to see him happy.

"Come, children!" Anton says and stands. "Let me show you the house." He motions for Todd and Maya to follow him.

Todd grabs a small plate and loads it with two more of the Russian pastries before trailing. I sip coffee that tells me Anton has every right to snub the diner's coffee and lean back in my seat.

"We barely made a dent," I observe, gaze on the buffet.

"Plenty of time to snack on it today," Petr says. He smiles, and the sadness in his gaze lifts. "Want to see our tree? It's huge."

"Bigger than the one in the foyer?"

"Much."

"That's not possible!"

"Come on!" He stands with a wolfish grin and holds out his hand.

I freeze, not too sure what to do. With some uncertainty, I slide my hand into his as I get to my feet. He squeezes in encouragement, but I avoid his gaze. It feels ... wrong.

And oh-so-right to be in contact with him like this.

Hand in hand, we walk down a hallway to a much plainer, narrower set of stairs leading to the second floor. I try not to admire the width of his shoulders or the way his torso forms a perfect triangle with his narrow waist. He's muscular, just over six feet tall, and sweet. The perfect combination shouldn't exist. Watching him move, it's easy to forget he's missing a leg. I can't help wondering if his prosthetic limb ever hurts him or if the pain is over with now.

"The first floor is mainly for entertaining," he explains. "The second floor is the family's space and guest rooms."

I say nothing, feeling both comfortable with him and very out of place in a mansion.

We emerge onto the second floor at one end of a long hallway broken up into two wings. He takes me to the central space, and I gasp at the tree at least one and a half times the size of the one in the foyer. This one is less conservatively decorated, the colors brighter, and I spot more than one ornament that appears to have been handmade when Petr and his siblings were in school.

The hearth beside the tree combines with the soaring ceilings and wooden beams, the windows lining one wall and the plush, comfortable looking furniture to create a home within a home. This one is friendlier than the formal rooms we passed on the first floor. There are signs of wear on the faded leather couch in front of the television and a stack of games on the coffee table. The common area is divided into four distinct sections necessitated by its sheer size: the television watching area, a section for conversation or maybe naps on long couches, the Christmas tree and fireplace section, and a portion including three desks with computers and various other electronics.

I feel myself smile. I like it here. I can definitely see a family spending snowed in days in the area four times the size of my apartment sandwiched between the two wings of the mansion.

"You like it." Petr's gaze is on me.

"Yeah."

He leads me to the hearth. The fire counters the chill emanating from the bank of windows facing the snowy lawns behind the mansion.

"You just need a blanket and cup of tea, and it's perfect," I murmur, sitting on the couch.

Releasing my hand, he sits close enough for our thighs to touch and drapes an arm over the backside of the couch behind me. Propping his feet up on a fat ottoman, he relaxes.

I'm tense, not sure what to expect from him or what he might expect from me. The crackling fire is magical, soothing my fear and warming my skin while Petr's nearness warms me from the inside.

Petr's attention is on the fire, and he's still, as if he understands I'm fighting an internal battle. He's giving me space to do so, and I sense he won't be offended if I get up and sit on the chair instead of beside him.

I probably should. But attraction to his muscular frame, mixed with the knowledge he genuinely likes me, causes me to experience the ache again, the yearning to be normal or at least, to believe this temporary moment might be less fleeting than my usual relationships with people.

A few minutes of peace can't hurt. I can do this.

Heart pounding, I take a deep breath and lean back beside him, shifting to put my feet up on the ottoman with his. Our bodies are in contact, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders briefly to position me against him better. His arm then returns to the back of the couch.

We sit in silence, which I desperately need right now. I'm fighting the impulse to flee. Not that I want to. I'm comfortable around Petr, but this scares me more than if I weren't. Comfortable means letting down my guard, and that terrifies me.

He's warm, his sweater soft. His woodsy cologne combines with the scent of the fireplace to remind me of being around a bonfire in the forest. My panic gradually wears off, in part because I'm so full, the dancing fire is making me drowsy. Sliding down a little farther to rest my head against the back of the couch, I sigh.

"You okay?" he asks when I settle.

I'm not sure how he knows about my struggle or whether I should be embarrassed it's noticeable or grateful for his patience. "I think so. Are you?"

"Yeah. Rough day yesterday."

I twist my head over my shoulder to gaze at him and rest my cheek against the couch. My turmoil is one thing, but I can't bear the thought of him being likewise troubled. "Why?" I ask before censoring myself and then rush on. "Sorry. None of my business."

"No worries." He mirrors my position. Our faces are close enough for me to see the fine lines around his eyes when he smiles. "This time of year is rough. It's the second Christmas without my brother. In twenty-nine years, we had never been out of contact longer than a month or two." The shadow is back in his gaze, a sorrow so profound, my throat tightens in empathy.

"I can't imagine losing Todd," I whisper. "Everything I do is to protect him."

"You have to remember to live for you, too."

"It doesn't feel possible."

"Believe me I know. But it is."

"I wouldn't know how." I give an uncomfortable laugh and look away.

"You started this morning," he points out.

"Maybe." I won't tell him I'm not sure what I'm doing here. "How can you help so many people when I know you're hurting?"

"Misery loves company."

I laugh. "No, really. My first reaction is to run."

He shrugs. "I always run towards the battle. I try to do things that would make Mikael proud. He gave his life for mine, and I will honor his sacrifice by being the best person I can be and helping improve the lives of those around me."

He makes it sound so simple, and I sense for him, it is. Helping others, running towards the burning building, never retreating from a challenge ... these are instincts I don't have. My focus has been self-preservation and the safety of my brother.

"I wish I could be more like you," I murmur.

"You're beautiful the way you are, Claudia. A little damaged, a whole lot scared, but beautiful."

How he manages to hold up a mirror to my flaws, and I still have the need to stay right here, close to him ...

It begins to sink in that Petr is like no one I've ever met before, that I might already be in deeper than I thought possible.

"Okay, good," he says softly. "I didn't scare you off this time."

"You did," I assure him.

We gaze at each other in the quiet. His direct look stirs up more than I want it to, a combination of admiration and physical attraction. I'm afraid of what's already between us and more so of what it could quickly become, if I don't prevent it.

"Petr ... I can't." The words are nearly painful to say.

"Yes, you can. Every once in a while, you just have to take a chance and fall."

"It's not the fall I'm afraid of. It's the landing."

"Easy. I'll catch you."

I duck my head and lick my lips, torn between wanting to be in his arms and packing up my apartment to leave town. I can't explain why I shouldn't be here ... can't summon a rejection when I've never been so drawn to, or comfortable with, someone in my life. I'm paralyzed, trapped between the past I'm trying to escape and the future I doubt exists.

"Stop thinking, Claudia. Sometimes what you feel is the real truth."

It feels like my world is crumbling.

I know it's not. I know this is one tiny barrier between me and a man who is everything I've never known in the world and everything I can imagine wanting. Is this part of my punishment? Meeting Petr and knowing I can't ever have anything with him?

Lost in my thoughts, I'm aware of little more than the heat of his solid frame and the crackle of the fire.

He tilts my chin up. Before I can register his blue eyes, his soft lips are pressed to mine.

If anything has ever surprised me, it's the fact I not only don't freak out, but I have no desire to, either. I can't. This feels ...

Natural. Familiar. So good, I feel I've never known real pleasure before the simple kiss.

His palm slides to cup the back of my neck, and I rest mine on his stubble-roughened cheek. His full lips are warm, the pressure gentle. He's testing my response, as if he's aware I've been ready to escape since I arrived. His tongue slides between my lips twice before I open and give him access to my mouth.

His taste coffee, gingerbread and his own distinct flavor melts more of my resolve. We take it slowly, savoring one another, exploring each other with the same hesitant back and forth that have marked our relationship up 'til now. My blood, already heated by the contact of our bodies, is soon racing with renewed urgency and desire.

He stops and withdraws, resting his cheek on the back of the couch once more. Relaxing my neck, I do the same. My hand drops to his thigh, while his shifts to my shoulder.

We watch each other. I almost imagine him looking for signs of an implosion while I regain what thinking is able to pierce the intoxicated haze of sensation holding me immobilized.

Despite the alarm bells going off in my head and the confusion starting to form, I don't feel like running. I don't want to be anywhere but here, however wrong that may be.

"See? Just fall," he whispers in a deeper timbre. His thumb sweeps across my lips before he lowers his hand to take mine.

"You won't always be there to catch me, Petr."

He smiles. "I really don't think you need catching, Claudia. I think you're strong enough to land on your feet. I also think that won't stop me from being there to steady you, if you need it."

Our five-minute interactions at the diner have been breadcrumbs leading me deeper into the forest, closer to this moment. I never realized it until now. I don't know when this ... when he ... ceased to become a choice and instead, became something I craved.

"Petr? Do you want to play a game?" Anton's voice comes from the same hallway we walked through earlier.

Petr turns his head over his other shoulder to respond. "Only if you promise not to cheat."

"It is not cheating if you win."

"You hear that?" Petr asks me quietly. "Consider yourself warned." His smile is wide, and the shadows are gone from his eyes.

His happiness is like Todd's; I love it, but it hurts me, too. We stand and walk hand in hand to the coffee table on the other side of the living area being turned into a game space. Todd looks at Petr then me, hiding a smile.