Chapter 19 #2
After another twenty minutes, the concierge told us that our rooftop was ready.
We rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor.
It wasn’t a tall building, but it still boasted a view of the Manhattan skyline.
We were escorted to a red-framed glass enclosure that gave the illusion of a Paris sidewalk eatery.
Ornamental trees contrasted with the red frame, and a host of orange and purple flowers in vases completed the look.
“Wow, this entire area is for us?” Lucy asked shyly.
“You like it?”
She shivered. “It’s chilly.” She moved closer to the heat lamp.
“Here.” I put my suit jacket around her. “You can stick close to me until Sato comes back.”
She hugged my coat as if welcoming the warmth. “Comes back for what?”
I smiled at her enigmatically. I wasn’t too sure what her reaction would be when Sato returned, but the wine arrival provided a fitting distraction.
We sat side by side at the table. I had my arm around her to keep her warm.
The space hadn’t heated up yet. I hadn’t planned on making my wife cold.
I was finding out I didn’t like her feeling any physical discomfort, but this chilly weather was the perfect excuse where she was willingly sticking close to me.
“This is actually cozy.” She burrowed further into me while sipping her wine.
“It’ll warm up soon.”
“I can see the blue sky directly above us, and the fall sky is the best.”
“I agree.”
Lucy was staring at the sky, but I was staring at her.
My chest clenched tightly. One of the reasons I married Lucy was that she satisfied the physical requirements of what I deemed beautiful.
For a temporary marriage, that had been enough.
Her sharp personality and street-smart intelligence amplified all her physical traits from merely beautiful to stunning.
The sassy words spilling from her mouth made me think of kissing her, not to shut her up but to inhale that energy.
And her huge brown eyes deepened with emotion when she sparred with me, and I often wondered what they would look like at the brink of coming as I thrust furiously inside her.
Jesus. I adjusted myself. My attraction to my wife was getting ridiculous.
Did I marry this beautiful creature so I could cage her in?
I’d never desired to be tied to anyone. But I wanted Lucy to be tied to me.
I remembered the words I had said after the wedding.
That I could fuck anyone and she didn’t have a say.
This was what my endless scheming had accomplished.
Piled upon untruths and semi-truths, and the result had morphed into blurry lines.
I was so good at lying that I’d lost track of what was true.
The sommelier served our wine. A rich, full-bodied red that left swirls around the goblet.
“Sipping wine on a lazy afternoon.” Lucy sighed. “Another reason I miss New York.”
“You’ve lived in DC since you turned seventeen?”
“You know I did. I went to college there.”
“Why law?”
“The truth? To spite the crime family, but it turned out I enjoyed deciphering how organized crime manipulates the law, how the politics, power, and money were like this synergistic cesspool that ran the country.”
A brief chuckle vibrated in my chest. “Should I be worried?”
She glanced at me sassily. “You should. Dom actually said he wondered if I was actively trying to send him to prison.”
“The feds arrested him because of you.”
“Questioned,” she said with mock indignation on her face. “There’s a difference.”
“And Moretti?”
“Oh, my uncle says my Moretti side was going to show up eventually.” She laughed. “The criminal side.”
“Really?” I smiled into my wine.
She side-eyed me, sipped her wine, and then side-eyed me again.
“Out with it,” I said. “You want to ask me something.” Not sure I was going to answer, but if we were in a sharing mood, then why not?
I found myself on board with information given freely rather than rounded up from an investigator’s two-dimensional report.
Text and images on paper or a flat computer screen were unsatisfying, especially when it came to my wife’s infinitely intriguing personality.
“You were in Russia for a while.”
It was fortunate that the waiter showed up with the charcuterie board. I even asked him to give us a rundown of what was on it. The usual suspects of salami, ham, and cheeses. I didn’t really care except that it gave me time to come up with a response.
When the waitstaff left, I said, “You can have all the brie and black olives.”
“You don’t like cheese and olives?”
“Just soft cheeses. The exception is when it’s on pizza. I like the green olives.”
“They’re higher in salt,” Lucy replied.
“Maybe that’s why I like them.”
“I like brie,” she mused.
“Is there anything you don’t eat?” I asked. “Allergies I should know of?”
The clenching and mulish set of her jaw hinted at a sudden chill in our conversation. “No. You?”
“No allergies. Just an aversion to rabbit.”
I speared one of the coveted entries on the board, the Iberico ham. “Here, you can have this.”
Then I figured out why she shut down on me. Or at least guessed. “I’m not using your allergies against you. Otherwise, I would have already since they’re on your medical chart.”
She stared at her plate. “Can you blame me?”
I sighed. “Any physical discomfort you might feel doesn’t sit well with me. Having you erupt in hives turns my stomach the same way as the idea of you going hungry.”
Was it not too long ago when I was lamenting how Viktor had failed to kill her? The thought of that now more than twisted my gut. It gave me stabs of anxiety and kept me awake at night. What if Viktor had succeeded and erased my wife’s existence? I pictured the seat beside me devoid of Lucy.
That insidious hollowness dropped its anchor in my gut. I swallowed a gulpful of wine, hoping it would chase that void away.
Meanwhile, Lucy seemed oblivious to my unexpected and unwelcome spiral. She appeared to be contemplating my words, helping herself to ham and more wine. The door to the rooftop opened again, admitting Sato into the area.
“You had him get my coat?” Lucy asked.
“Amongst other things,” I muttered. “You don’t have to wear it unless my jacket is not enough.”
“But you must be feeling cold.” She made a move to remove it, but I stopped her. It pleased me to see her wearing my clothes.
“I spent months in the icy parts of Russia. I’m used to the cold.”
Sato folded the coat over the chair in front of us while he was about to hand Lucy a pouch. I intercepted it.
“You asked Sato to go home and get my rings?” Lucy exclaimed.
“Well, Sorcha looked for it and asked a soldier to deliver it with your coat,” Sato replied.
“That’s overkill, isn’t it?”
I slid the rings onto her finger. “This will remind you to always wear them. Am I clear?” I nodded for Sato to leave.
“Haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t like overbearing men who give me the ‘Am I clear?’ ultimatum,” she snapped.
But she downed her glass of wine. I swiftly refilled it. Was I trying to get my wife drunk so I could do wicked things to her?
I didn’t even feel a shred of guilt, and I was relieved that my recent epiphanies about my wife hadn’t changed the opportunistic me.
“I’m aware.” I leaned closer. Her breathing hitched, and her pupils dilated. “But have you considered the possibility that you might like to give up control to the right overbearing man?”
Her lips parted. And my eyes dropped to them, wanting to taste them, but I might not be able to stop and fuck her right here. The stirring in my groin was a warning.
“Stop that,” she whispered.
“Stop what, Lusenka?” I rasped.
“Doing that…trying to seduce me.”
“Is it so wrong to seduce my wife?”
“You know we’re not like that.”
I leaned away, more for my sanity than as capitulation to her demand. “What if I want to change it?”
She glanced away. Her cheeks, already flushed from the cold and the wine, deepened in color. I wanted to slip her long hair aside, expose the sensual arch of her neck, and suck at the pulse there.
“Then help me understand you.” She returned her attention to me, ending my lusty designs on her neck. “Why did you grow up in Russia?”