He chuckled and put a hand to the small of her back—a move she’d balked at when first they met. But she’d grown used to it. Liked it, even though she’d never admit it to him. “Oh, come now. It’s not so bad, and you know it. A story for the food. A fine trade.”

It was. It was one she’d have made readily enough if the situation were reversed. And she didn’t mind too much, given how lightly the girl seemed to take it. Still. “Oh yes, I’m certain it’s the story she’s interested in.”

He slid half a step behind her. “At any rate, we’ll be adding olives to our feast tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can hear you smiling, you know.”

Another laugh slipped out. “Over olives, no doubt. I haven’t had any in years.”

Olives. Right. Certainly all it was. She shoved aside the image of pretty Claire DuBois and rolled her shoulders. “We’d better pick up the pace. Paul will be waiting for us.”

Now he went stiff, and Nadya looked up at him with raised brows. “You need to get over whatever it is you don’t like about him. He is the head of the Bolsheviks in Paris. Without him—”

“I have no problem with him as the head of the party in Paris.” But he scowled. “My problem is with the way he follows you with his gaze every time you move.”

She didn’t care for that either, but it was her problem to deal with, not his. And she dealt with it just fine. She planted an elbow in his side.

Though the hit hadn’t been that hard, he let out an exaggerated grunt. “What was that for?”

“For acting like a caveman, ready to fight with another caveman over a woman. It’s degrading to us all. I’ll make my own decisions on who I choose to be with, thank you, and your little manly displays of possession aren’t going to impress me.” The same words, more or less, that she’d given Paul.

His brows hiked up. “Hold on just a moment. My getting irritated with Paul for failing to respect our relationship has nothing at all to do with my opinion of you.”

“Ha! In some ways, Evgeni, you’re like every other man. Those old-fashioned instincts are still there, ready to flare up and name me yours. Try to own me. Dictate to me. Convince me my only value is as your woman.”

She’d expressed similar sentiments before, and he never disagreed with her. Not out loud. But he always looked amused. Which irritated her even as she admitted silently that perhaps she repeated herself too often. Who, after all, was she trying to convince?