Pressure.
I'd felt it at Berezka, still did. But over the last week, it'd transformed into something different: the pressure of two people who wanted each other--but no longer fit each other.
Because s*xually, he'd changed himself; and emotionally, he remained the same.
I sensed it building inside him, inside of me. Some precipice loomed.
This morning, I was alone in the town house yet again. Sevastyan had gotten a text about two hours ago and rushed off to some undisclosed location. Another meeting he won't explain.
He had them daily, sometimes twice a day. I figured he was working long-distance on syndicate business.
After all, a multimillion-dollar operation had recently lost its leader, and I guessed the bulk of responsibility had fallen to Sevastyan. I could handle his long hour
