Chapter 7
Katarina
The last few days were tense. Papa didn’t bother trying to provide an explanation of any kind. Not that he’d been around much to discuss anything. I was relieved, though. I had so many other things to worry about.
Since learning I’d be moving too far away to continue on at the restaurant, I’d spent days prepping Klara.
She’d worked there a while and was only a couple of years older than me.
She’d started as a hostess and worked her way up to lead server, eventually becoming shift manager.
She knew the ins and outs of the place and always aligned with me when I wanted to make upgrades or changes.
She also had a wonderful relationship with all the chefs and staff.
We’d scrambled to find a new pastry chef. It was going to be a tough decision. Elina and Joseph had assisted me daily and both immediately asked to interview when I announced my impending departure.
I sat in on the interviews but told her it was up to her since she would be taking my role as General Manager.
Plus, if it were up to me, it would be Elina simply because she was a woman.
Was that sexist of me? Oh no, using my power to help a fellow woman advance her career.
Whatever will the men say? The thing was, both were highly skilled and trusted employees, so choosing the one who wouldn’t otherwise have the same opportunity to move up made more sense to me.
I was born into privilege and it was the only reason I ran the restaurant.
It had been Mama’s pride and joy, but to Papa it was her hobby. He didn’t care if it made money or not.
If it hadn’t been for the huge ego of the previous head chef and manager, I would still be a server.
But they weren’t part of Papa’s real business and when they demanded I be thrown out of their kitchen for trying to make improvements, he made quick work of removing them, especially after they threw insults at my mother’s memory.
More reasons to not trust men. When she was alive and running the place, they were warm and smiled in her face.
The second they were questioned by a girl still in culinary school about the financials and vendors, their true feelings came out.
So while I may use my privilege to lift up women, it’s only because I have been surrounded by men with too much power and more ego than brains my whole life.
“Miss Petrov, the car is ready,” my driver, Alek, reminded me for the second time. He wore a plain black suit, the standard for Papa’s men. He was tall, square-jawed, and kept his short, dirty blond hair perfectly combed. He was a handsome man, but very uptight.
Gathering my bag, I straightened my sticky notes next to my keyboard. “Klara, I have a dinner at home to attend. I’m off for the night but the order is done and the specials for the next two weeks are saved. I didn’t finish the schedule because I had–”
“Please go so he can stop brooding over us,” Klara interrupted, though she was grinning as her cognac eyes sparkled.
Her chestnut hair was swept up into a neat bun at her crown.
Forever a ballerina. Her stature and posture were that of a professional dancer.
Sadly, she suffered a career-ending injury.
Instead of becoming an instructor or staying in some other role with the field, she left it behind completely.
It made her too sad to be near what she thought her life would be, watching from the sidelines.
She and I had become great friends. She was my best friend.
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” I said before pecking her cheek then following Alek outside to the black, armored SUV.
I’d called her in the throes of a breakdown after I blew off steam in the training room the night Papa told me I’d be marrying some biker person.
Then she had to listen to me go on about it for days.
We also had to mourn the fact we wouldn’t see each other every day any longer. Sure, if I’d been married to another family in New England, it wouldn’t be that close by. But it would be within driving distance.
The more I considered all the options, working at the restaurant would have been nearly impossible.
The closest family was a couple of hours away.
And of course, there was a distinct divide.
The fact that I believed for any measure of time I could still actively be in this family was comical.
Lack of motherly guidance or wishful thinking, perhaps.
Still, I could at least be involved, make weekly trips even.
Have dinner with my father and brother a few times a month.
Maybe even hide in my old room when I discovered my husband had taken a mistress while I adjusted.
But now I would be nearly a thousand miles away.
Even the plane ride would be over two hours.
The only way I would be connected to Mama’s restaurant would be the many video calls I intended to make to Klara and it would be an entire production to run and hide at my childhood home.
After the short drive, the wrought iron gates at our entrance opened and Alek drove in. He slowed as we approached the house. Looking out the window, my brows drew together.
I’d only seen the group a few times at the restaurant and had noticed motorcycles outside.
I suppose I didn’t put it together that they drove here every time they visited.
I hadn’t given them much thought at all.
Of course I’d been curious. At some point every woman dreamt of having a bad boy.
But I’d only seen their backs as they were escorted upstairs.
And Papa would not take lightly to me being nosy, so I never really worried too much over it.
Although, Anya had seen them fairly recently and said they were all dreamy in a scary kind of way.
Seeing all the motorcycles lined up in front of our home, along with an SUV, I swallowed hard. It appeared I’d learn what they all looked like tonight. And I’d be meeting the man I was promised to.
“Miss Petrov,” Alek said as he stood outside my door.
“Oh, right,” I answered, looking down at my bag clutched tightly in my fists. The sun had gone down, but the front of the house was illuminated in the evening, as were most parts of the grounds.
Climbing out of the back seat, I walked toward the bikes. As I got closer, my stomach fluttered. They were much bigger up close than I realized. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone besides Alek.
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed the handlebar to the closest one, then threw my leg over the seat, gripping both handlebars as I climbed on.
“Miss Petrov,” Alek hissed.
Before I could tell him to hush, the monstrous machine tilted and I regretted climbing on immediately.
It was much heavier than I imagined, and I started to wobble.
I had wonderful balance and was very nimble and fit, but I was also very short and didn’t realize a motorcycle was so heavy and my leg couldn’t reach the ground.
“Whoa, oh, eeee,” I squealed as I started to lose it.
Alek rushed over, though, and helped save me from falling and taking the bike with me.
“Climb off right now,” he demanded.
“Shhhh!” I grabbed his arm and climbed off, dropping my bag. Leaning to grab it quickly, I popped right back up. “Shut up, Alek.” I was careful around Papa to remember my place, but Alek wasn’t my father.
He gripped my arm and pushed me toward the steps. Pulling free, I waved him off and rushed inside.
“Good evening, Miss Petrov,” Theo said.
“Good evening, Theo. I’ll be back down shortly.”
“You shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours,” an arrogantly gorgeous man said as he walked to the foyer from the sitting room.
He was quite casual in black slacks with work boots and a black button-down shirt.
His hair nearly matched his clothes but was neatly combed back.
His eyes were like ice. So blue they were nearly clear. They sparkled as he examined me.
“It’s rude to spy on people,” I said, noting the crystal tumbler with brown liquor in his hand before my eyes met his again. “Was that your motorcycle?”
“No. But it’s one of my brothers’,” he said with a slight cock to his head.
Trying to ignore the heat of his gaze, I stuck my chin out and said, “Well, I’m sure I will see you both later. You can point him out to me and I will gladly make amends…to him. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late.”
I rushed upstairs. Papa said it was a dinner, which meant I was expected to be the perfect little princess.
I couldn’t very well show up to the dining room in my work clothes with flour and sauce splattered on my black pants.
Although apparently, this wasn’t a formal affair from the looks of that…
well…he wasn’t a gentleman. Edgy. Sexy. Bad. But no gentleman.
Once in the confines of my room, I shedded my clothes and headed to the bathroom.
My hair was a mess. It was pulled back, but it showed signs of heavy thinking with my fingers in my hair, and it probably smelled like the restaurant.
There wasn’t time to shower, so I washed my face, let my hair down and hosed it with my clear, dry shampoo to cover the smell, then sprayed a Japanese cherry blossom spray I was obsessed with.
I’d spent so much time in the restaurant that pricy parfum and perfume were wasted on me.
Plus, I wasn’t supposed to be getting close enough to any man for them to be worried about my smell.
I owned some high-end fragrances, I just didn’t use them often.
I discovered my signature body spray in high school.
A friend had it on and smelled amazing, so I had to have it.
The store had lots of fragrances and I enjoyed going from time to time for new seasonal ones, but the Japanese cherry blossom was my favorite.
I wonder what that man smelled like. Ugh.
I’d seen plenty of handsome, and refined, men. Get it together, Katya.
After pulling my hair up into a high ponytail since I didn’t have time to get the crease out, I pulled on a maroon jumper with a plunging neckline, my favorite black heels, then added a necklace that was a simple, thin, strip of silver that fit to my neck and then trailed down my spine.
Since my hair was pulled back, I opted for medium silver hoops for my ears as well.
Silver suited my light hair and skin tone better than gold.
With a quick glimpse in the mirror, I shrugged. Not bad for five minutes. When I put my hands on my hips, though, I grimaced.
“Oh, that’s offensive.”
Hustling back to the bathroom, I swiped deodorant under both arms, decided to add a dab of tinted lip oil on, then hit my lashes twice with mascara.
“Better.”
Doing another side, then front, and side view again in the mirror, I blew out a heavy sigh, hoping my stomach would stop doing somersaults.
“Okay, let’s go meet our future husband.”