Natasha
I jerk awake with a gasp.
No, that wasn’t my gasp. I lift my head in the dim light to peer at Dima. We’re still on the sofa, our bodies intertwined. I must’ve fallen asleep during the last movie, which is obviously over now because the television is off.
“Izvinyayus',” Dima mutters an apology, and I realize it was a sharp movement from him that woke me.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“Da.” He hasn’t switched to English yet. I understand Russian perfectly. I can speak it perfectly, too, once I’m in the mode, but I prefer English. After Pamela’s in-school rejection, I made a choice. Dima was right, I Americanized myself completely.
I press my hand over his heart, not surprised when I find it racing. “What was it?”
“You and Nikolai and A—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “Just… p
