Chapter 20 – Poppy
Abox arrived two days after the zoo trip. Brady saw it from the window and jumped up to get it. My heart imagined the worst. Bombs used to be a way mobs sent messages to one another or took out key players. Thankfully, my “No” reached him in time.
And he actually listened to it.
We summoned Rayko, who was on guard duty in the sedan across the street, since Ivan had gone away for business. If I missed his presence during the days, I kept that secret to myself. But of course that would be silly to miss someone who slept most of the day, because he worked the entire night.
“Would you open that for me?” I asked, standing at the edge of the lawn and pointing back to the front porch. “I’m not sure what’s in it.”
“It’s a package,” he grumped.
“Open it out here? Please?” I smiled sweetly. “I made banitas.”
That got his attention. “Oh, alright.”
I took Brady to the backyard under the pretense of showing him a bird.
“It must have flown away,” I pouted.
“We should get a bird feeder. Like the ones we had,” he mused. “Then they would come around.”
“I agree.” Shooting a look at the chain link fence, I watched a very grumpy Bulgarian henchman open the six-foot gate and come stalking in.
“Here.” He shoved a box at me.
A beautiful print, like a fancy wallpaper, decorated the box with intricate swirls. Silk ribbons tied the front flap closed.
“Did you check inside?” My voice sounded higher than usual.
Rayko’s frown turned severe. “I don’t know what you’re expecting is inside, but it’s light.”
Most likely not a bomb.
Gingerly, I took the box. “Thank you, the pastries are inside. Just pulled them from the oven.”
“What is it? Open it! Open it,” Brady breathed, sidling up to me.
I pulled the string. The impatient young buck reached to help pull the lid back. Delicate gold tissue laid across the inside, and I had to snatch the box high or risk it being torn by too eager fingers.
“Not for you,” I chided.
Brady wasn’t dismayed. He hopped from one foot to the other, impatiently waiting as I broke the seal and carefully folded the tissue.
Suddenly, the outdoors faded away. The most breathtaking dress lay nestled inside.
My eyes singled in on the rich ruby silk.
The bodice had old-fashioned lines, but with a more modern cut.
“Mama,” Brady protested.
“Sshhh,” I hushed.
Because something this beautiful needed to be appreciated. I adjusted my grip and trailed my fingers over the material. Gently setting the box on the ground, I pulled the garment free, pausing only to swat away the sticky fingers of the eager child.
“It’s gorgeous!” I might have a feral boy, but he was capable of showing appreciation for the more feminine aspects of my life.
“It is,” I agreed.
The back door banged open. “Oh, the dress. Right.” Rayko stomped down the steps on the small porch. “I’m supposed to give you this too.”
He plucked a card from his pocket and thrust it in my face.
I looped the dress over my arm, peeled open the envelope, and my eyes scanned the neat calligraphy.
Your presence is requested at dinner.
A cold knot formed in my stomach as I read the elegant script. No signature. No date. No details about where or when. Just that simple, commanding line that felt more like a summons than an invitation.
“Who’s it from?” Brady asked, still bouncing on his toes.
I turned the card over, searching for any clue about its sender, but found nothing. The paper was expensive—thick, cream-colored stock that probably cost more than a tank of gas.
“I don’t know, buddy.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Rayko was already halfway across the yard, a banita clutched in his meaty fist. There were pastry flakes on his shirt and a smudge of sweet cheese filling on the corner of his mouth.
“Hey!” I called after him. “What’s this about?”
The henchman shot me a crabby look. “Boss said give it to you. I’m babysitting tonight. That’s as much as I know.”
“Yay!” Brady called. And then he took off sprinting for a bird on the fence top.
I stroked the long skirt, mind racing. Ivan summoned me. He selected this dress. My heart did a little flip, while the embers deeper in my core began to stir.
Oh, shit. I was in trouble.
At least this time, I would have more coverage than my first trip to Nosh. But when Ivan picked me up at eight, bringing another bouquet, he said we weren’t going to the nightclub. Left in suspense, I fidgeted with my skirt as he drove into the city.
My confusion only compounded when we stopped on a sleepy street corner. Ivan exited his sports car and came around to help me out. I kicked the voluminous skirt with my heel—because I couldn’t not wear heels in this gown. It would have drowned me.
Thankful for the balance of his arm, but keenly aware of the fresh mint scent clinging to him, I let him lead me to the seemingly closed shop.
“A bookstore?” I peered at the sign, hanging in the air just a few doors down.
“Mhmm.”
Heavens, that sound! Deep and rough, the murmur sent a spike of need through me.
Was I really going there with him? Sure, the kiss with the mobster had been steamy, and our encounter at the zoo was an intense memory that I found myself dreaming of more than once—strange, wicked dreams that left me sweating and panting when I woke.
During the day-to-day, we kept the chemistry out of our interactions.
It was undeniably there, always simmering in the background.
But we were in this friendly, co-parenting situation.
Crossing that line, giving into the fire, would only complicate the situation.
And we are leaving.
I hadn’t worked out an escape plan. The Bulgarians watched us constantly. Even if we didn’t see them, they were there. That had been my mistake with the first attempt. I hadn’t realized they were close, that they alerted Ivan, who’d been on his way home by chance.
There was never any telling when he would be around. It was as if he were keeping me on my toes by randomly showing up all hours of the night, when he was supposed to be working.
Because the reason that he wanted to be home, that he wanted to be with us, was too intimidating to fathom. I wanted it to be true. I wanted him to enjoy being with us—with me.
No, he was keeping guard over his prize: His son.
And I was the crazy lady trying to escape.
The mobster thought love was a fairytale.
I was the girl who wanted it desperately, bad enough to think our kidnapper was falling for the adoptive mother of his son.
My brain twisted details, unconsciously screaming that this could be a real family.
That Ivan would fall in love with me, not just want to fuck me.
I had to remind myself often that I was just dreaming.
Ivan pushed open the door, a small bell tinkling as we entered.
I gasped as we stepped through the threshold.
The space that greeted us was nothing short of enchanting.
Golden light spilled from elaborate crystal chandeliers that hung from a vaulted ceiling, their facets casting prism-like reflections across the room.
Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, carved from rich mahogany that gleamed with polish and care.
Ornate spiral staircases wound upward to a second level gallery that ringed the main floor.
“My God,” I whispered, the ruby silk of my dress rustling as I turned slowly to take it all in. “This isn’t a bookstore, it’s…it’s…”
“Do you like it?” Ivan watched my reaction carefully.
“Yes,” I said simply. I spoke two languages, and yet words failed me.
“Good.” Ivan slid his hand against the small of my back, guiding me deeper into the store.
My heels clicked against marble floors inlaid with intricate mosaic patterns. Between the towering shelves, reading nooks were carved out with velvet settees and antique desks. Oil paintings graced the wall with their vivid landscapes or historical scenes.
In one nook, hidden away from the main area, was set a small round table, maybe four feet in diameter.
Three tapered candles stood tall and proud in a holder designed to give them varied heights.
While other lights illuminated the space, the candles cast their own beckoning glow over the polished wood, claiming the space as their own.
Ivan helped me into the chair before retreating to a side table where a bottle of wine waited with two glasses. He uncorked the bottle, poured, and brought me a glass.
I lifted it and took a gulp.
“Nervous?” Ivan let out a short laugh.
“Me? No.” But my voice sounded small. “Why, Ivan? Why this—” I spread my hands around us “—why?”
Ivan settled into the seat across from me. “Because you are a rare creature, Poppy. Rare and beautiful, and I’m honored just to sit in your presence.”
To deflect the attention, and because my cheeks were warming, I waved my hand. “Kind of a tongue and cheek thing to say in a bookstore of this caliber.”
Ivan shook his head. “I mean what I say.”
He did all this. For me.
I swallowed hard, watching the way his eyes darkened as they traveled over me. The wine was warming my blood, or maybe it was his gaze. It lingered on my lips, my neck, the curves where the ruby silk hugged my body. I felt it under the heavy material, skating lower and lower.
“And what exactly are you saying, Ivan?” I asked, my voice dropping to a husky whisper I barely recognized.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That I’ve been thinking about you. About us.”
“There is no us,” I said, but the protest sounded weak even to my own ears.
“Isn’t there?” His finger traced the rim of his wineglass. “When I kissed you, Poppy, I felt you surrender. When I touched you—” his eyes flicked down to my hands, which had begun to tremble “—your body speaks a different language than your words.”
My breath caught. The air between us seemed to thicken. There was an electrical current running through it, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d be caught in the cross threads.