22. Delilah #2
Then I see Kane at the bottom, and all of that changes.
He’s standing with two men in dark, neat suits. They’re talking, but as soon as he turns to lock eyes with me, the conversation dies on the spot.
He doesn’t blink.
Neither do I.
My mouth parts.
So does his.
Just slightly. Barely enough to count.
Except this is Kane Makov. That tiny little gap between his lips says everything.
One of the men beside him whispers to him, but Kane shows no signs of having heard a word the man said.
His green eyes climb up my body.
Shoes.
Dress.
Waist.
Bare shoulders.
Face.
The room swirls around us, but we’re both perfectly still.
I start to go down one more step—but then, with my foot dangling in midair, I see his fist tighten at his side.
White knuckles, gleaming through the ink.
Tension.
Turmoil.
Oh.
I resume walking, still slow, but never looking away from him. When I finally reach the final step, the heels and the stair put us at eye level for once.
It’s a nice change of pace.
Kane lifts his hand toward me, then stops and retracts it. “Lilah…”
Only my name. Roughened beyond recognition.
“I guess this will work?” I tease self-consciously.
His gaze combs over me once more, from face to toes and back again. “You were always in there, weren’t you?” He offers his arm. “Now, everyone else gets to see what I do.”
Well, if that isn’t the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard…
I feel a little faint. I take the arm, mostly so I don’t fall over in these shoes.
Then he walks me through the archway into the ballroom proper, and I stop trying to have thoughts.
The gilded ceiling curves two stories high over our heads.
Candles burn everywhere. Hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand.
An ice sculpture of an eagle stands taller than I am near the center of the room. Tables overflow with silver bowls of caviar nestled in crushed ice, towers of blini, whole roasted fish, glazed pork, pickled vegetables, fruit, breads, cakes.
A pyramid of oranges rises three feet in the air.
I understand in theory that rich people can consume food without first arranging it into fancy displays, but in reality, they seem to need it stacked into monuments first.
One-percenters sure as weird.
A man in his sixties peels off from a group and grabs my hand before Kane can say anything. His handshake is damp but enthusiastic.
“Delilah!” He seizes my hand and pumps it twice. “Finally.”
Finally? I literally just got here.
“Well,” I say, “here I am.”
He laughs like that was hilarious, bows deeply, and then disappears back into the crowd.
I stare after him, wondering what the hell that was all about.
But apparently, it’s just the first of many.
A younger man approaches and says, “Miss Dorsey,” salutes Kane, and then vanishes just as fast as the first guy.
Someone hands me a plate I didn’t ask for, already loaded. Pork. Blini. Mushrooms. Pickles.
A woman appears with a caramel-colored shawl over her arm and drapes it on me. “For the chill,” she explains. “They keep the doors open all night.”
“Oh. Uh… thank you…?”
“Anna,” she supplies with a happy smile. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Dorsey.”
Five minutes later, I meet Mikhail.
Then Vera.
Then Artyom.
People keep using my name, even though we’ve never been introduced.
Nobody leans toward Kane and asks who I am.
They already know.
Which creates the deeply disorienting sensation of entering a room where I have somehow arrived before myself.
And the entire time, Kane looms huge at my side, silent but smirking just the tiniest little bit in the corner of his mouth. I keep glancing at him for answers, but he provides not a single one.
How did he know? How could he possibly have known how nice it is to be expected? To be wanted? To be greeted like an equal, a friend-in-the-making?
After a lifetime of being welcomed in and ushered out of my family’s life like I’m the hired help…
… this warm greeting is damn near enough to make me cry.
While I’m gawking at him and trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words, a man in a gray suit comes up on Kane’s other side and murmurs in his ear.
Kane’s jaw tightens. He answers in two blunt words.
In response, the man in gray tips his head toward a set of doors on the far side of the room.
Kane looks down at me. “I have to go talk to someone.”
“That’s fine!” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Five minutes.”
“Seriously, it’s fine. I’m not going to wander off and get lost.”
“You couldn’t get lost in here if you tried.” He puts his hand at the small of my back and leans in so his mouth is near my ear. “If anyone bothers you, just tell them you’re with me.”
“That feels like overkill.”
“‘Overkill’ is exactly what I’ll do if you’re bothered.”
Then he’s gone, cutting through the crowd with the man in gray hurrying to keep up.
I stand there holding the plate I didn’t order, in the shawl I didn’t ask for, wondering what the hell kind of world I’ve stumbled into.
It lasts about ten seconds.
“You’re her!” a voice says in delight.
Two women have appeared in front of me. One is short and round-faced with a silver clip in her hair. The other is taller and elegant, with a chignon in her hair and glistening white teeth.
I smile at both. “That depends who you’re looking for.”
“The baker,” says the short one. “You have the shop in Sunset Park, right? My cousin’s daughter got her wedding cake from you in September. Lemon.”
“With the raspberry?”
“That’s the one!” She grabs my forearm. “I stole my husband’s piece. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
The taller one is already talking over her. “I need to ask you something. My cheesecake cracks. Every time. Right down the middle, like an earthquake went through it. Why?”
I hear myself go straight into work mode, which is a relief, because work mode is the only mode I have that never fails me. “Are you baking it in a water bath?”
She stares at me. “A what?”
“Okay. So that’s the answer.” I set the plate down on the corner of a table.
“Wrap the bottom of your pan in foil, sit it in a roasting pan, pour hot water halfway up the side. Then when the timer goes off, shut the oven off and leave the door cracked and let it come down slow. It cracks because you’re yanking it out of a hot oven into a cold kitchen. ”
She gets her phone out and makes me say it again, slower, so she can take notes.
Then the short one wants to know about pierogi dough, and we get into a long chat about the ups and downs of my chosen profession.
I’m happily nerding out on proofing techniques when I feel a man’s hand touch my elbow.
“Excuse me, ladies,” croons a voice that’s just like Kane’s if you took off a couple decades of rasp and wear. “Can I steal our guest of honor here?”
My two new friends make promises about getting together for coffee, then scurry away.
I turn to face a carbon copy of Kane Makov.
If you take four inches off the mob boss, add some baby fat to the cheeks, and maybe reduce the amount of latent homicide in his scowl, you’d get this.
Same nose.
Same shoulders.
Same piercing green eyes.
“Delilah Dorsey,” he says with a grin.
“You have got to be his brother,” I respond.
He looks pleased at how fast I figured it out. “Better looking, though, right?”
I hold up my hands in self-defense. “I plead the Fifth.”
“That’s no fun. You’re supposed to talk shit so I can rub in it in his face later.”
“Oh,” I say with a laugh, “you’re his little brother then, huh?”
Niko puffs himself up to his fullest height. “Since when is six-one little? Height inflation these days is out of control, I tell ya. Next thing you know, some trust fund heiress is going to be telling me that a hundred million net worth isn’t enough.”
I roll my eyes. I want to give Niko a noogie, like he’s my little brother, too. “We just met and you’re already waving your riches around in my face?”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m a helpless shut-in and should never be allowed in social situations without constant supervision.”
“Something tells me Kane would agree with that.”
Niko winks. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”
“He strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everything already.”
He sighs and slumps forward. “Tell me about it. Incredibly annoying habit of his.” Then he straightens up and smiles again. “I hope you’re having a good time, though? My irritating brother’s know-it-all-ness notwithstanding?”
He’s an irrepressible Energizer Bunny of jokes and good vibes. I like him instantly.