Oh snap.
I almost fall down the stairs when I see Aleksei waiting for me, a young priest at his elbow. My Russian is wearing a tight white dress shirt and black pants. Through the material of his shirt, I can see the outline of his tattoos. They creep out through the cuffs onto his hands, his knuckles. Grow through the collar onto his neck. And the expression on his face…
He likes me in the white nightie. He just doesn’t want me in it right this second.
See, I didn’t get the dress code memo. Nor have I ever had to follow a dress code.
Aleksei and I spend most of our time at home, since my father’s business dealings put my life in danger. So I don’t go beyond casual very often. Heck, I’m usually in yoga pants or a bathing suit, while Aleksei lives in his signature overcoat. Maybe I shou
