Dimitri, having settled somewhat into his new surroundings, wandered into the kitchen, his eyes immediately drawn to the enticing aromas emanating from the pots and pans. Anya, intent on her cooking, didn't initially notice him. He cleared his throat. "What are you cooking?" he asked, his tone curious.
Anya, stirring a pot with a practiced hand, turned to face him, a thinly veiled annoyance in her expression. "You can see what I'm cooking," she replied, her voice tight with barely controlled irritation. She wasn't about to indulge his games.
Dimitri leaned closer, his gaze lingering on the dishes she'd prepared. A slow grin spread across his face. "But it's all my favorite food," he pointed out, his voice a low murmur. "All my favorite things, you know. It's so thoughtful." He knew exactly what he was doing.
Anya's internal monologue flared. "Thoughtful? He thinks this is thoughtful? I'm not cooking this for him! It's pure coincidence that I happened to make all his favorites. I don't care about catering to his preferences. At least, I'm telling myself that," she admitted internally. The wave of frustration threatened to spill over, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. Aloud, she said, her tone sharper now, "It's just a coincidence, Dimitri. I happened to feel like making these dishes today. I didn't intend to make your favorites; it just happened that way. And honestly? I don't really care either way." She forced a nonchalant shrug, hoping he wouldn't see through her carefully constructed facade.
Dimitri chuckled, unfazed by her denial. "Even if it wasn't intended for me," he said, his tone light, "I'm not complaining. Just make it quick. I have training." He winked, a hint of mischief in his eyes, knowing exactly how much she cared, even if she wouldn't admit it.
Anya placed the dishes on the dining table, a simple yet elegant setting. As they began to eat, a strange quiet settled between them, a comfortable silence punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the soft sounds of chewing. Anya found herself oddly captivated by the scene. The warm lighting, the delicious food, Dimitri's relaxed demeanor—it felt…romantic. "Oh my god," she thought, startled by the unexpected surge of feeling. "This is so romantic. What's wrong with me?"
She quickly dismissed the thought, pushing back against the unexpected warmth spreading through her. "No, it's nothing like that," she told herself firmly. "He's still annoying, immature, and utterly exasperating. How could I even be thinking such idiotic things? I'm an idiot." She focused on her food, trying to regain her composure.
Dimitri, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. He complimented her cooking. "This is amazing, Anya," he said, his voice low and appreciative. "You deserve a reward." He paused, his gaze lingering on her. "A kiss, perhaps? And maybe you can finally see my six-pack, as a thank you for this delicious meal."Anya's internal monologue raged. "A kiss? His six-pack? He's so infuriatingly arrogant and childish. But… why am I even reacting like this? I'm starting to actually like him." A blush crept onto her cheeks, betraying her unexpected feelings despite her best efforts to suppress them. Outwardly, however, she remained composed, her expression carefully controlled. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting outwardly.
Dimitri, noticing the shift in her demeanor—the flush on her cheeks, the way her jaw tightened—immediately regretted his impulsive remark. "No, stop it," he said, his voice softer now, a blush creeping onto his own cheeks. "I'm sorry. It was stupid. I'm just… I'm not going to impress you with some idiotic sports show-off or anything. Just forget I said that." He looked genuinely contrite.
Anya's internal monologue shifted. "He's actually apologizing? And he looks kind of cute when he's flustered." Despite her better judgment, a small smile threatened to break through. "Fine," she murmured, her voice still carrying a hint of the suppressed anger, but softened considerably. "It is nothing bad. He is still an idiot, but... I do think he's actually starting to care." She made a conscious effort to focus on her food again and try to subdue her chaotic emotions.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, Anya surprised herself by agreeing. "Fine," she said, a small smile playing on her lips despite her efforts to maintain composure. "Why not? It's not like anything bad is going to happen." She was curious to see his training, and a small part of her admitted she might also be curious to see him in a different light—one where his playful immaturity might be tempered with focus and determination.
They headed to the training facility, Dimitri leading the way. The facility wasn't luxurious, more functional and practical, but Dimitri seemed entirely at home and unaffected by this relative lack of opulence. Once there, he showed her around. Later, as they were leaving, Dimitri gestured towards his LaFerrari, which was parked conspicuously close by. "Want a ride?" he asked, a suggestive glint in his eyes. "It's… roomy. Plenty of space for two. And as a reward for accompanying me, I can even offer you a ride on something else." He let his words hang in the air, leaving the implication open to interpretation.Anya slid into the driver's seat of the LaFerrari, the luxurious leather cool beneath her hands. "What kind of 'ride' was he talking about?" she mused internally, a slight blush warming her cheeks. "He wouldn't dare… would he? No, he's childish, but he's not that bold. He's probably talking about some other kind of ride, maybe a rollercoaster or something." She started the engine, the powerful purr vibrating through the car.
As she drove, the thrill of the speed and the luxury of the car momentarily eclipsed her initial apprehension. The scenery blurred past, the setting sun casting long shadows, the air alive with the thrill of the ride. "Oh my god," she thought, surprised by a sudden wave of exhilaration. "This is… kind of romantic. Why am I feeling this way? He's such an idiot. He's just a childish, immature guy. Why am I feeling like this?" She focused on the road, determined to dismiss her unexpected feelings.
Dimitri, enjoying the ride and her obvious fascination with the car, broke the silence. "Fancy some shopping later?" he asked, his voice casual, yet his eyes held a hint of playful anticipation. The question caught Anya off guard.
Anya, struggling to reconcile her feelings and maintain her composure, managed a somewhat exasperated, "Fine. But if you act childish again, I swear I'll empty your wallet." She couldn't resist the playful threat, partially a response to her own internal confusion.
Later, they found themselves in a high-end shopping mall, the air filled with the aroma of expensive perfumes and the hushed tones of affluent shoppers. The brands were all familiar, and very expensive: Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada—all surrounding them in an opulent display.