Luka sighed loudly, his warm breath blowing in my hair. “You have to keep away from Alik, Kisa. He’s obsessed with you and he’s dangerous.” I tensed in Luka’s arms and felt him pull me closer still. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Alik’s papa is training him to be a fighter, an enforcer. He’s hard on him, and I can see Alik becoming addicted to the violence. He loves it, Kisa. Stay away from him.”
Squeezing Luka tighter, I replied, “I was laying out in the sun. Talia went shopping with your mama. You and Rodion went for lunch with Papa. I didn’t think I was in any danger. Alik just has a crush on me. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
Sighing, Luka pressed a kiss to my head, and I slumped farther against his warm body.
“I don’t like him. I can’t stand the way he looks at you,” Luka said coldly.
Slowly leaning back, I looked into Luka’s brown eyes, the left with a smudge of blue in the iris, making them so beautifully unique.
“How does he look at me?” I asked tentatively.
“Like he owns you. Like you belong to him. When you’re around, he doesn’t focus on anyone else but you.”
“And why does that bother you?” I asked shyly, trying hard to swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
Luka’s beautiful gaze met mine and his lips parted with a brief exhale. “Because you belong to me, Kisa. You always have.” Luka’s face thawed and he pointed at my eye, then his left. “You’re a part of me, remember? God put a piece of you within me so when we were born, everyone would know we matched.”
My skin felt on fire, but I knew it had nothing to do with the burning temperature of the afternoon sun. It had to do with Luka. Luka and that tale his mama and my mama would always tell us.
I loved him. I’d always loved him. I would always love him. Luka, my Luka. I was only thirteen, he was only fourteen, but he was so much more than my best friend… He was my whole world.
“Luka…” I whispered, my soul melting at his words. And his lip hooked into a smirk.
“Kisa…” he imitated. Then his gaze fell to my lips and my heart raced to an almost impossible speed. “I want to kiss you now,” Luka said, all humor dropping from his beautiful face.
“But I’ve… I’ve never been kissed before…” I said, a blush forming on my sun-kissed cheeks.
Luka tilted his head and gave me a crooked smile. “Me neither.”
My eyes widened and relief melted in my chest. “You haven’t?” I asked in shock.
“Who else would I have kissed?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know? You have a lot of girls at church following you around.”
Luka laughed and shook his head. Squeezing my shoulders, he leaned down and rasped, “But none of them are you.” Luka pointed to his eye again. “We match. Why would I want anyone else? Nobody else is you. Long brown hair, blue eyes and tanned skinned beautiful you.”
Dipping my eyes, I pushed my toes into the sand, loving the soft feel of the hot grains beneath my feet. When I lifted my long lashes, I met Luka’s eyes and whispered, “Okay…”
Luka tensed and regarded me so seriously that my stomach began doing flips. His hand released mine and he gently cupped my cheek, hand slightly trembling. “You ready?” he said, licking his lips.
Swallowing my nerves as he moved to only an inch from my mouth, I confessed, “I hope I don’t mess this up.”
“Not possible,” Luka said as he leaned all the way forward and pressed his lips against mine. Everything seemed to go quiet around us and my eyes closed of their own accord. Luka’s lips were so soft and, like the pieces of a puzzle, fit perfectly against mine. There was no movement of tongues, no frantic caressing of lips, just two innocent young mouths feeling one another’s intimate touch for the first time.
Finally pulling away, Luka wore an expression of shock, making my heart thump too slow. But when his swollen mouth pulled into a happy, besotted grin, I knew mine reflected his own.
Luka’s heavy arm pulled me down to curl into his chest, and I stared out at the glistening water in perfect contentment.
“Like I said… we match,” Luka confirmed—I think to himself. I knew right then and there that I’d given my soul to this boy… I knew there’d never be anyone else that ever came close.
*****
“Kisa?” a heavily accented female voice called out from my right. Sitting back in the wooden pew, wiping away the tears from my sacred childhood memory, Mama Tolstoi came into view. She too had dressed in all black—the traditional color of mourning. Not a day had gone by in twelve years that Luka’s mama hadn’t worn black.