‘Roman was never an issue.’ She could not bear it. Could not stand it. Would he not just get the message and leave?
‘I would like the soufflé...’
‘No,’ she said, because it took too long. Pierre looked around at the snap in his waitress’s voice. ‘Demyan, just go...’
‘No.’
He was going to stay to the end of her shift, she knew it. He would eat and eat soufflé and she could not stand it.
‘Fine,’ Alina said, and wrote his order down and added the cocktail of her choice.
She would rather lose her job than succumb to him again.
She handed in his order and then, without a word to anyone, she took off her apron. As unrebellious as ever, she mentioned to Glynn that table seven wanted a lemon, lime and bitters.
And then she slipped out the back of the kitchen, past the bins and into the street.
And she ran.
Demyan waited.
‘One Black Russian.’ Glynn put his drink down and Demyan felt as if he knew her soul, for she would never choose black. Alina wanted colour and light.
He heard Pierre complain that Alina was taking too long. Saw Glynn come out from the kitchen, shaking his head, and before his soufflé was even being whipped, Demyan knew she had gone.
‘Where’s Alina?’ Demyan demanded of Pierre.
‘Alina...’ Pierre hesitated. ‘Glynn will take over your table,’ he said, beaming. ‘Is there anything I can get you in the—?’
He didn’t even wait for Pierre to finish speaking. He strode into the kitchen, oblivious of the protests from the staff as Pierre frantically attempted to smooth things over.
‘Where’s Alina?’ he demanded, heading to the women’s restrooms now.
He’d lost her. Demyan felt a flare of panic. He didn’t know where she lived any more, he knew her in his heart, yet logistically he knew so little.
Demyan ran through to the street, terror clutching his heart that he might have missed her, cursing himself for not telling her his truth there and then, sure he had lost her. But suddenly there she was, running.
Running from him this time, instead of running from herself.
‘Alina!’
She heard his roar but she just ran faster. ‘Alina!’ He was easily closing on her, her head start diminishing with each of his long strides. He caught up with her and grabbed her arm and her body halted, almost defeated because with just one touch he claimed her again. ‘You will listen to me.’
‘No.’
He swung her around.
‘You will.’
‘No.’ She did as she had as a child and put her hands over her ears to block out words, because she knew how dangerous they were, how easily he convinced her she was the only one. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Demyan, I’m not going to listen.’
‘You will listen.’