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“In emergencies, yes.”

“This isn’t an emergency.”

He looks at the phone on the table.

I take the glass. “Fine. Minor emergency.”

His mouth softens a little.

I drink half the water, then set it down. “I hate this,” I say. “I hate that he can still make me react.”

“That won’t vanish because you want it to.”

“No, apparently it requires years of therapy and possibly a personality transplant.”

“You don’t need a personality transplant.”

“That almost sounded kind.”

“It was.”

I look at him, and the corner of his mouth moves. The room quiets around us.

It’s the wrong moment to notice him, but my body doesn’t care. He is standing close now, one hand resting on the back of the chair opposite mine, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his attention fixed on me with a kind of patience that feels more dangerous than his anger.

I look away first. “I should go back to Anya.”

“She can wait a few more minutes.”

“She’ll think I abandoned her to fractions,” I point out.

“She likes fractions,” he says.

“That doesn’t mean she deserves to be alone with them.”

His mouth almost curves again, but then his gaze moves over my face, and the almost-smile disappears.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I already texted Galina to check up on her. She might not be a good math teacher, but she can take care of her.”

I nod. There are other reasons I want to leave the conversation, because I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. It’s like he sees every part of me, even parts I have tried to hide from everyone else. What is this feeling? Evan says he’s dangerous. He might even be a criminal, in some ways he’s more dangerous than my ex, then why does it feel this way when I’m around him? As if he’s the sun, and I’m simply basking in him.

“What did he do to you?” he asks.

“He made me feel like I had to earn peace,” I say.

Nikolai goes still.

“That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. If I answered fast enough, if I explained clearly enough, if I didn’t annoy him, if I didn’t embarrass him, if I didn’t make him suspicious, then maybe the night would be normal.” I look at the glass instead of him. “And if it wasn’t normal, he always found a way to make it feel like I had caused it.”

Nikolai’s voice is quiet when he asks, “Did you love him?”

“Yeah,” I say. There’s no point pretending otherwise. “I loved him for a long time after I should’ve stopped. That might be the part I’m most ashamed of.”

“You loved the person he showed you first.”

“I know.”

“But knowing that doesn’t make it easier.”