Christian smiles, âI had a feeling. Have you met many other nymphs before?â Of course he has conversed with many of them before; they have a way of finding each other. He supposes it must be the same for wolves too. âAh,â he nods, already knowing the answer to that as well. By now he probably knows more about Natasha than he does himselfâŠof course heâs come to find all of that to be surface level information. What heâs getting from her now is, well, a lot more than any report or news article he can pull off the web. âThose types of parents, huh? Mine were strict, sure, but they were pretty laid back all things considered. If anything I pushed myself to be ambitious, they would have loved it if I stayed at home,â Christian admits as he looks over Natalia. âParents can be a touchy subject.â Heâs stating a fact more than heâs asking, trying to gauge Nataliaâs reaction to his words. How did she feel about her family? And would she answer honestly if asked? Probably not, he assumes, glazing over the topic entirely.
It surprises him a great deal when she repeats his question back to him and looks thoughtful, like sheâs mulling it over in her head. Apparently she is, because she answers, and the answer itself is a bit surprising. He thought maybe she would pick something like stability or safety- maybe even power, given her current situation, but to be a mom? Huh. That is not the answer he expected, though itâs a good one, a normal one. Perhaps several years ago, he would have picked the same option. Before Russia, starting a family seemed like something he would want to do; eventually, that is. Christian tends to think about the future quite a lot, planning, staying organized, and trying to make sure heâs on the right path to where he wants to be. But he also enjoys living in the moment, happy accidents, and spontaneously taking a trip to Rome. Photography opened up so much of the way he thinks and feels that even the events in Russia couldnât fully change that now. It justâŠdulls it. âWell,â he says once Natalia throws the question back at him, âI like your answer. Iâd also want a family of my own,â he admits. âBut,â Christian narrows his eyes, thinking, âI donât think thatâs the one thing I would want. No, no, if I could have anything in the worldâŠâ He trails off, leaning forward in his seat. âHonestly? Stability. I want someone I can plant myself and call home. Not my parents, not what theyâve built, I want something thatâs my own. I traveled so much in the past the one thing I always ended up missing was a home.â
Truthful, again. Why? Why is he telling her these things about himself? Its cracks in his façade, the image heâs been working to put up for years now. Constantly planning, so meticulous, how could Christian not have calculated this? That it would be nice to talk to someone about his life, something he hasnât talked about with anyone in quite some time. Always hidden away, only ever putting out half the effort with those he encounters, Christian realizes heâs not close with anyone. Not really, anyway. The topic of his mother is a happy distraction, one he latches onto to take him out of his thoughts. âYou would think because we have to eat to survive, all of us would know how to properly cook a meal, but no. ItâsâŠwell, itâs sad. My father cooks, just not as well as my mother- or so she says,â Christian chuckles. When was the last time he talked about his mother, his father, or even his family in general? A long time. Months, maybe even a year. âMore hoping than expecting,â he admits with a small smile, tilting his head to her. âSo how am I doing? Meglio? Peggio? âŠshould I throw in the towel now, or?â He jokes back before the waiter arrives. Surprisingly this date isâŠwell, if theyâre calling it a date, this date isnât half bad. To be honest, he assumed being around Natasha would be like pulling teeth. Christianâs pleasantly surprised by her pleasance. âWell now I have to know what your favorite thing to bake is. As a fellow baker, I feel itâs my duty to ask, you know?â
âNot before Lethe, noâ she admitted. Her social circle back in Russia was made up mostly of werewolves and witches. Innate hunters like her own kind along with being that could conjure up tracking spells made it virtually impossible for enemies of the Rusakov family to escape her fatherâs reach. It was also witches the ones that created most of the drugs her father used to move around in his underworld empire. âIâm sure youâve judged me already,â she said with a knowing smile. Her poise, aesthetic and cold professionalism was built to hint at the fact that she was a rich girl, after all âand whatever idea you have of the kind of parents someone like me might have had is probably right. Strict. Perfectionists. Opulentâ. Again, not a lie, but not the whole truth either. Not by a longshot. Her father was strict with her training, not so much her education. He was a perfectionist in making sure she became one as well, never leaving lose ends and always paying attention to every little detail. And Dimitri Rusakovâs opulent lifestyle was build on bloodied money more than it was by his honest work as a Russian diplomat. âSounds like your parents knew when to step in and when to step backâ she mentioned as the photographer spoke of his own mother and father. Being both strict and laid back sounded like the best possible combination. âI like to think mine just wanted to make a professional and determined woman out of meâ. It went without saying that they succeeded. âAnd Iâm grateful for thatâ she simply stated with a graceful wave of her hand, neither agreeing nor denying if parents -her parents- were a touchy subject.
It was somewhat odd that his reply was was that he wanted stability, out of all things. Her wish for safety went hand in hand with yearning a stable home to find her peace, so Nat could relate to his wish in some way. It felt a little as if he had listened to her thoughts. Her lips curved into a small smile, still as collected as ever but curious about his answer. âAnd whatâs stopping you?â. He had already said his job took him many places around the world, so that had to be the reason before. But he was in Lethe now, wasnât he? He could build his stability here, build that something of his own here.
Natalia nodded along his words, chuckling softly. It was nice to find he agreed with her on that matter, and it wasnât hard to know why it was mostly women who were taught to cook and not me. Oh the joy of gender roles... The werewolf tilted her head a bit to the side as he admitted he was hoping rather than expecting to see her again after this. An enigmatic smile graced her lips and she simply said âIndecisaâ. She reached for his phone again, tapping the screen to see how much time he had left. Her eyes darted back to him, her smile laced with mystery still on her lips. âYou could,â she said after he suggested to give up now âbut you still have twenty-four minutes for me to fully make up my mindâ. Nat was secretly rooting for him not to give up just yet because he had managed to become more interesting than she had expected at first. She was also intrigued about where their conversation might go from here. âI like baking croissants. Chocolate croissants are my favorite, of course. And sharlotka. Itâs a Russian apple tartâ.
