Don't Remember Saying "I Do"

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭 - 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟰

...

Soo-jin blinked at him. The words settled into her chest, unexpected and heavy. "That's... actually really good," she said. "Did you read that somewhere?"

"No. I have known many weather conditions." His tone was dry, but there was something beneath it. A shadow. "I am from Russia. We have many words for cold."

She laughed. It surprised her, the sound bursting out before she could stop it. It was the first real laugh she'd had in weeks. It felt like cracking ice. "What's your name?" she asked. "Since you're buying my cries for help, I should probably know what to call you besides 'Russia.'"

"Russia," he repeated, and this time, the smile almost—almost—reached his eyes. "I have been called worse." He extended his hand. "𝗠𝗮𝗸𝘀𝗶𝗺. 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘇𝗼𝘃."

His palm was warm, his grip firm but not crushing. His fingers wrapped around hers, and she felt the calluses on his palm. Not what she expected from a man in a suit that expensive.

"Maksim," she tried, the syllables foreign on her tongue. "That's... I'm going to butcher that."

"You may call me Maks. Or Russia. I am not particular."

"I'm Soo-jin. 𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝗦𝗼𝗼-𝗷𝗶𝗻."

"Soo-jin," he repeated. His accent wrapped around the Korean syllables, softening them, making them sound almost musical. "It suits you."

"What does it mean?"

He tilted his head. "You do not know what your own name means?"

"I mean, I know the hanja. 'Excellence' and 'truth.' Or 'treasure,' depending. But I meant... you said it suits me. What does it sound like to you?"

He considered this. "It sounds like a promise," he said finally. "Something worth keeping."

Soo-jin's face heated. She blamed the soju. Definitely the soju.

They drank. The details blurred, but the moments remained. She learned he was in Seoul for business. Something about "expansion" and "hospitality." He was vague, and she didn't push. She didn't want to talk about work. She wanted to talk about anything else. He learned she was a graphic designer at a small firm in Hongdae. That she'd been with Jun-ho for two years. That she'd believed him when he said he loved her.

"You believed him," Maksim said, not a question.

"I believed him."

"And now?"

She stared at her empty glass. "Now I believe in soju."

He signaled the bartender for another round. The glasses came, clear and cold, and the night deepened around them like water rising.

They continued with the talking, all drunk, but still on their right minds. Perhaps.

"...and the worst part," Soo-jin said later, gesturing wildly with her glass, "the absolute worst part, is that he used to call me his 'little dumpling.' Who says that? Who calls a grown woman a dumpling? And why did I like it?"

Maksim's expression was carefully neutral. "A dumpling."

"A little dumpling. With emphasis on 'little.' Like I was something cute and bite-sized and not a fully grown adult with a degree and a 401(k)."

"In Russia," Maksim said, "we do not call women dumplings. We call them krasavitsa. Beautiful. Or umnitsa. Clever one. Dumpling is for soup."

"Exactly! Exactly. See, you understand. Why couldn't I date a Russian?"

"You are drinking with one now. Perhaps the universe is correcting its mistake."

She snorted. "Are you flirting with me, Russia?"

"I am stating facts." He took a sip of vodka. "Flirting would require effort. This is merely observation."

Arrogant. Infuriating. Why did she find it charming?

He tugged at his loosened tie a while later, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his composed features. "I do not understand this city. The air is... wet."

"It's called summer. Welcome to Korea."

"In Moscow, summer is warm but dry. Here, it is like breathing through a wet towel."

"You get used to it."

"I do not wish to get used to it. I wish to conquer it."

Soo-jin laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "You can't conquer humidity. It conquers you. You just learn to carry a fan and accept that your hair will always look like this." She gestured to her own slightly frizzy waves, which had long since abandoned any hope of sleekness.

Maksim looked at her hair. Then, at her face, his gaze lingering. "It looks acceptable."

"Acceptable. Wow. Romance me harder, Russia."

His lips curved, a slow, deliberate thing. "I do not do romance. I do honesty. Your hair looks more than acceptable. It looks like you have been kissed by the summer air."

She stared at him, her cheeks warming. "That's... actually romantic."

"I lied. I do a little romance."

...

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗!