The Russian accent

"Is that Russian food?," I asked before I could stop myself. Aleksander barked out a laugh and looked up from the pot of boiling water to glance at me over his shoulder. "No it's not"
"It's a rather simple dish, actually. It just sounds fancy." I listened to him as l sat on the one of the stools at the kitchen island to watch him as he cooked.

"Garlic, olive oil, parsley and Parmigiano_ reggiano tossed with angel hair pasta.... It's Italian and so simple to cook", He spoke.
"Simple or not, it smells wonderful." With his back turned, I frowned as my thoughts went to my last conversation about pasta. Papa would be happy to know I was eating something that sounded so classically Italian. "I didn't know you could cook at all, so, consider me impressed."

Aleksander pulled two glass bowls from his cabinet and started plating up pasta with a grin. "I am an impressive man, Rhea. I have many talents." He took the seat next to me at the island.
"But this is just a simple meal to cook after a long day. Nothing difficult about this."

I took my first bite and a drawn out moan pulled from my chest and the flavors of garlic cheese as pasta danced over my tongue. "Oh my God, it's so good." I hadn't eaten something so decadent in a long time. Simple or not, the mix of carbs and cheese was pushing me to stuff my face.

"You don't eat very much pasta normally, do you?", Aleksander chuckled.

"Too many carbs," I breathed out between bites. During show season, my life was chicken and veggies for most meals. This pasta Aleksander made was sending me to heaven.
"Hmm." I felt his eyes on me, but ignored his gaze as I shoved my face. "I didn't eat too much pasta like this growing up. My family is from Russia, so we ate a lot of traditional Russian foods my aunt made."

"I did notice the hint of an accent on you the first time we met," I admitted after a horrendous mouthful of noodles. "I saw in your interview you were born in Russia."

"Yes, my uncle and aunt took me when I was twelve. My uncle already had his company taking off, so it was easy enough for them to adopt me. Though I'm sure you knew that much if you read about my interview."
It surprised me a bit that Aleksander was telling me about himself. But the mood was so light and easy between us right now and I wanted to hear his story.

"I did, but it's different hearing it from you." An open invitation for him to keep talking. That's when I met his gaze and saw the way his brows pinched together as he watched me.
"You want me to talk about myself?" I was sure he seemed surprised.

"Well, yeah, of course I do. Reading a brief interview about you doesn't tell me who you are." I pushed my empty bowl away so I wouldn't start licking it. "So, who is Aleksander Makalov?"
He was rich. He was attractive. But there was more to him than that. If we were going to be together for three months, I wanted to know who it was I would be sharing myself with.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back a bit, looking around the kitchen for a moment. Finally, he locked eyes with me again. "Let's start with what you want to know."
It seemed like a guarded answer. Normally, he was so open. My first thought was that he might be hiding something. It was fine if he was.

"Okay, um, why Cornell university?" It was the first thing that popped into my head.
"It was the school my uncle wanted me to go to. Their business program aligned with how he ran his business. It helped me jump right into working for him the moment my degree was in my hands."

"Did you want to go there?"

"It didn't matter to me where I went. But my uncle and aunt did a lot for me, so going to the school he paid for was easy." Aleksander smirked, and the glint in his eyes made me shiver. "Plus, I got to stay on campus and there were a lot of women eager to impress a man with an accent."
He increased the Russian in his voice as he spoke, and I could understand why a woman might throw herself at him.

His deep voice, with those Russian tones as he spoke, made something in my belly flutter. "Oh, I see."
He laughed when he noticed the pink in my cheeks, but I looked away from him.

"You hide your accent well, I only pick up on it sometimes." He nodded and stood up to clear our bowls.
"I've been in the states since I was a kid. Learning English over here kind of rubbed it out for the most part. At this point I've been in America longer than I was ever in Russia."

"Can you speak Russian?" I admired the way his thin, black long sleeve clung to the lines of his back as he cleaned up. His muscles were tantalizing to watch.

"I can. Since my uncle and aunt were born and raised there as well, they spoke it a lot at home. So, I never lost it growing up stateside." Aleksander left the bowls in the sink, then turned back to the island. He placed his arms on the edge of the counter and I admired his forearms, since his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

"That's really cool. I took French but I can't remember a lick of it." I chuckled.
Aleksander smiled and nodded. "That's fair. I'm sure you were more focused on dancing anyway."

"I was, yeah." I shrugged one shoulder, not really wanting to talk about myself. "So, can u say something in Russian now?"

"Oh, you're putting me on the spot, Rhea." He leaned further over the kitchen island, getting closer to my face. Something in his eyes went dark, and I felt a flutter between my thighs.

"YA sobirayus' trakhnut' tebya na etoy kukhne", He huskily whispered. "What does it mean?", I bit my lower lip where his dark eyes were.