He did that to her throughout their leisurely meal, from the bacon-wrapped Mediterranean dates stuffed with almonds, all the way through the dessert she usually didn’t eat but ordered especially for him: mini chocolate éclairs that were a specialty of the house. There was nothing she could call him on outright. He just had a way of saying something totally innocuous that could be taken more than one way if your mind was looking for a double entendre. And hers most definitely was.
Over dessert, he asked, “So explain to me again why I’m not supposed to call you Angel. Not that Angelina isn’t a beautiful name, but—” his eyes sought hers “—it seems so...I don’t know...distant. Formal.”
Angelina sighed. “You do not understand. I cannot allow myself to appear weak to the men I work with. Which means I cannot allow myself to appear feminine. Angel—” She glanced down at her plate, then back up at Alec, struggling to overcome her hard-won reserve. “I loved it when you called me Angel,” she admitted in a low voice. “But—”
“But not in public. I get it.”
She hesitated, unsure if he really understood. “If anyone heard you call me Angel, they might think that you...that I...” She cleared her throat. “I cannot allow the men I work with to think of me as a woman. Can you understand that? It is different for you. Where you come from, women no longer have to worry about being taken seriously. Especially women doing what used to be a man’s job.”
Alec shook his head. “My sister, Keira, could tell you that’s not true.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad—he’s been dead for a long time now, but—” Alec grimaced. “Remember how I told you my dad always kidded that my mom broke his perfect record—four boys and then one girl?” She nodded. “He wasn’t really kidding. Keira always had to fight for respect from my dad growing up. Not because of anything she did or didn’t do. Just because she was a girl.”
It shamed him to remember. “All of us—my brothers and I—we kind of took our dad’s attitude. Don’t get me wrong, we loved Keira, just as our dad did. But we didn’t give her a lot of respect. Not then. It wasn’t until she followed us into the Marine Corps that we started seeing her as...well...as someone who deserved our respect.
“Then she went to work for the agency—the same agency McKinnon works for. And a few years back, she stepped in front of a man to take a bullet meant for him. Saved his life...but almost lost her own.” His face contracted in pain, the pain he still felt over almost losing his only sister.
Angelina reached across the table and touched Alec’s hand in silent comfort. “Why did you tell me this?” she asked softly.
“Because I didn’t want you to have any illusions about how easy women have it in the American culture.” His eyes held hers. “And because I didn’t want you to have any illusions about me, either. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“That is not true,” she contradicted. “Perhaps you do not see yourself as I do. Just telling me what you have told me, admitting it to me and to yourself—no Zakharian man I know would do this. That makes you unique, Alec. Unique to me.”
* * *
They walked afterward, both needing the exercise after the meal they’d eaten. From time to time Angelina pointed out some landmark of note, though mostly they just wandered through the central district in companionable silence.
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