make something special for Alek, but I’m sure after being knocked out cold, he can probably only stomach something light.
I have all the ingredients for an antipasto dish, which isn’t too heavy, and we can snack on it. Not an ideal dinner, but at least it’ll put some food into Alek’s stomach. So, grabbing everything I need, I place all the ingredients onto the counter and grab the wooden chopping board, which works as the best serving dish.
I commence rolling the cured meats and arranging them into neat piles on the board. I then hunt the cupboards for small ramekin bowls to pile in the olives, artichoke hearts, sundried tomatoes, and other vegetables in vinegar.
Cutting the various cheeses into cubes, I arrange everything so it’s all symmetrical. Peering down at my handiwork, I can’t deny I’m impressed. This would be ideal with fresh, crunchy bread, but I decide to grill the frozen baguette as the perfect substitute.
As I’m waiting for the baguette to defrost in the microwave before grilling it, a musky cologne comes drifting up the stairs. When Alek appears freshly showered, I take a moment to appreciate him because I feel like I’m seeing him in a new light.
No matter what Alek wears, he oozes confidence and control. Even in simple black pants and a white shirt, he looks like the ruthless ruler I’ve grown to…
Retiring that thought for now, I focus on the baguette and not Alek moving behind me to retrieve something from the freezer. When I hear a bottle unscrewing, I assume he found the bottle of vodka. The clinking of glasses as he pulls them from the cupboard reveals he doesn’t wish to drink alone.
He rounds the counter and takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “Drink?” he asks, holding up the iced bottle of vodka.
“Sure, but I don’t think you should be drinking after sustaining a head injury,” I say, removing the baguette from the microwave and placing it under the grill.
Alek ignores me—like I knew he would—and goes about pouring two glasses of vodka. He slides one across the counter to me.
“Trust me, I’ve sustained worse,” he replies, before raising his glass in salute and draining it dry.
He pours himself another serving while I reach for my glass and take a small sip. I blanch and puff my cheeks out because that’s some strong booze. It doesn’t affect Alek as he downs his second glass.
“So, I think we’re approaching Estonia or on the way to Stockholm. The winds would have pushed us north. But this is a guess,” he says, running his finger along the rim of the glass. “And a rough one at that.”
“You’re worried about Irina?”
“Very,” he replies with a sharp nod. “I hate being so…powerless. It’s not in my makeup to be at the mercy of others. Even when things were dire with Serg, I still had options, but now, I do not. We have no other choice but to wait until we reach a port or pass another vessel.
“But even then, I’m putting my faith in fate, in the unknown, and when you’re a gambling man, that’s a hand you don’t usually win with.”
“I feel like this is all my fault,” I say, not wanting sympathy. I want him to know I’m aware he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.
“It’s not your fault, Ella. It’s life. What is the American saying?” he asks, moving his lips from side to side in contemplation. “When life gives you lemons, you make—”
“A whiskey sour,” I reply, forfeiting the lemonade option because we need something a little stronger to deal with this shitshow.
His lips twitch. “This looks lovely. Thank you.”
I remove the bread from the grill and crack open a clove of garlic with the blade of a knife. Alek watches as I rub the garlic onto the toasted side of the baguette. The rich smell of garlic and hot bread has my stomach rumbling.
Placing the bread onto a plate, I grab the olive oil and balsamic vinegar—the perfect duo to accompany hot bread. Passing Alek a small plate, I gesture for him to dig in.
Watching him stack his plate with food pleases me greatly. I don’t know why, but there is something oddly satisfying about feeding the man you care for…which leads to my dilemma.
I want to tell Alek everything, but I don’t know where to start.
Deciding I need a little more Dutch courage, I reach for the vodka and take a long swig from the bottle. Alek pauses