Illusions

4. hate

Amira's POV

I fucking hate him.

But of course, with my luck, I have no other option.

Roman Sokolov is one of the most attractive men I have ever met. 

I'm five feet and ten inches, and he is at least eight inches taller than me. Not to mention his dark hair, eyes, and sharp jaw, Christ.

However, everything he has done to me thus far has been a huge turn-off. 

Something about getting splashed with mud in the pouring rain can do that to a person, I guess.

I can respect him though, he carries himself well and is a gentleman, to an extent. 

I'm just lucky this is an act, we could never have anything real.

"Amira, honey," Juliana mumbles over the phone, breaking me out of my thoughts, "I think he's on his way."

The six days we've spent apart were nowhere near enough for me to get him out of my system. There's no way I can be civil with him if I hate him. 

But alas, here I am.

"Great," I say sarcastically while finishing up my makeup, "thanks for the heads up, I'll go jump off of my balcony now."

Juliana sighs.

"Bye, honey."

"Bye."

I finish up my eyeshadow while I bake. 

I almost poke myself in the eye when someone knocks on my door and catches me off guard. 

After brushing off the excess power, I slowly make my way to my door, look through the peephole, and am greeted by Mr. Roman Sokolov himself. Reluctantly, I open the door and face him.

"Welcome to my home, Roman."

His eyes widen with surprise at his name coming out of my mouth. 

"Thank you for having me, Amira."

I watch as he takes in my outfit, a simple light pink flowy dress, and white Versace heels. 

In turn, I observe his clothes. 

Today, he ditched the suit and has a navy button-up, untucked and white slacks on. 

I almost miss his silver chain with a cross on it, because his top buttons are open.

It's attractive.

My eyes meet his again and he raises his eyebrow as if he didn't do the same to me.

"Of course."

He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, waiting for me to move aside and let him inside my house.

"I'm not letting you in," I say, pushing him out, into the hallway, "let me grab my bag and we can go, alright, Romey?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Perfect, take your time, darling."

That seemed very forced. 

Good.

I walk back into my room and grab my purse, speed-walking back to him. 

However, Romey has already made himself comfortable on my couch and turned the TV on.

"Do you have ESPN?"

He doesn't even bother to face me when he asks.

"No, let's go."