The colorful edges of the puzzle pieces clicked together in Vera’s tiny hands. She was so focused—her little brows furrowed with determination as she studied each piece like it held the secrets to the universe. I sat beside her on the soft rug in the living room, trying my best to match her enthusiasm. We’d been working on this “Princess Garden” puzzle for about twenty minutes, and I was proud of her for not getting frustrated and giving up, as most six-year-olds usually did when things got a little too complicated.
But while my hands moved automatically—passing her pieces, fitting a few corners together—my mind was a thousand miles away. Or not miles… just a floor or two. It kept drifting to him.
Aleksandr.
I hated that. I hated that every time I tried to escape the memory of his lips against mine, of the warmth of his body beside me, of the way his eyes had darkened right before he kissed me—my brain betrayed me. And worse, my body had betrayed me first.