The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,23

Leningrad, begging for help so I could find my comrade, Nikolai.

“Alek are you alright?” she asks as we step inside the restaurant. I turn my attention back to her face. Right away, my mind clears.

“Of course I am with you,” I assure her.

We make polite conversation throughout dinner. She tells me about her hometown back in the States, a city called Lafayette. And I fill her in on the better parts of my life in Moscow. I even explain how Father met Mother while he was on a business trip in the States. Like most people, she’s both surprised and intrigued by my dual ancestry. I like to compare the way they met to a war, one where Russia conquered the United States and drew up a couple of peace treaties, Adriana and me.

I try and steer the conversation back to the subject of her parents. No luck. She skips over any discussions surrounding her immediate family. Instead, I’ve learned all about her grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even all of their family dogs. She has gotten so comfortable with our conversation, she hasn’t even realized we’ve yet to discuss the line she created, the one she named Mystical.

Since I’ve never done anything like this before, gone on a date with a woman I didn’t intend to have sex with that night, I find myself enjoying this charade more than I imagined. But in my life, all good things either end in a puff of smoke or wind up crashing into a wall and exploding.

“So, your mother was born in Austin? That means you’re all mixed up, like me. Interesting,” she says and shakes her head as though she’s in deep thought.

She takes a bite of her focaccia, a type of yeast roll covered in garlic. Since we’re still well into the aperitivo, Milan’s happy hour, this is about all we’re going to be served for the time being. “It all makes sense now. I was wondering why Adriana doesn’t have a Russian name. And how you got those…nevermind.”

“Don’t do that stopping in mid-sentence thing. It drives me insane, yes. Finish. What do I have?” I lean over on the table, so I’m closer to her face. A rush of pink spreads through her cheeks. She blushes so easily. I enjoy watching it happen.

She shrugs and stabs at her focaccia until I’m ready to snatch the plate away and eat the bread myself. I place my hand over hers. “Erin, you were going to tell me something, yes?” Our gazes meet, and she stares deep into my eyes.

“Your eyes. They’re not blue like a lot of Russians. That’s all. You don’t need me to be telling you things you’ve heard all your life, I’m sure.” She glances down at her plate and then over at my hand massaging the skin on top of hers.

“Look at me, Erin.”

“No. I mean, I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s—”

“What have we here? The two of you look cozy,” a familiar female’s voice says, ripping through our bonding moment. Nadya. I sit back and give her a hard look. She’s wearing fur in July, the same thing Mother likes to do. And she looks ridiculous.

“Nadya. You look warm this evening,” I say, smiling.

“I am. These Milan nights can get a little chilly. Especially when a girl sits at home alone more often than not,” she replies.

“I’m sure a woman of your means can easily find male companionship,” I say with a smirking grin. She turns to Erin. Fuck me now and get it over with.

“Hi there. I’m Nadya, Alek’s ex-girlfriend.” She holds out her hand for Erin to shake.

“I’m Erin. And I’m not the new girlfriend.” Shaking her hand, Erin passes a quick glance in my direction.

“Erin Angelo, the student designer who wooed and won the hearts of all three Martuccio brothers? I’m in awe. Tell me, what kind of sexual favors did you do in order to convince them to take you in and spend all that money?”

“Nadya. This isn’t the time or place for that shit,” I warn.

“Oh, Alek, this is girl talk. Obviously, Erin has what it takes to survive in the fashion capital of the world. I simply want pointers on how she managed to snag yet another successful man so very quickly. Has he taken you to the waterfall yet?” Nadya gushes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I stand up and face her.

“I’m warning you, Nadya,” I repeat.

“No, Alek, it’s okay. Really. I don’t mind helping Nadya out,” Erin says, a devious