Chapter 12
I f you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave. - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
Emma
Giving out a delighted but startled cry of surprise, I clasped Dimitri’s waist from behind as a large flare-up of fire from the massive grill to our right surprised me.
It filled the open kitchen with chaotic energy as more employees with black IDGAF caps and crisp white chef coats scrambled to fill the patrons’ orders.
Walking past several linen draped tables with floor-to-ceiling, raw silk silver curtains that partially concealed the diners, he showed us to our table. They had positioned it at the top of the dining room with a perfect view of the kitchen and showpiece grill.
“Might I recommend a glass of champagne to start off the evening?” asked the ma?tre d’ as he displayed the open, leather-bound wine list.
I gave a little clap at the thought of having a fancy champagne as we sat inside this elegant dining room.
Reaching out, I touched a fingertip to the base of the silver candelabra gracing the center of our table, looking up at the long white tapered candles as if their romantic glow was an illusion.
Dimitri didn’t bother looking at the wine list. “A bottle of your Dom Perignon Plenitude Brut, Joseph.”
Dom Perignon!
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Kosgov. We sold our last bottle last night, but I have a nicely chilled bottle of Moet & Chandon Esprit du Seicle Brut. Would that suffice?”
Moet & Chandon!
As someone who was happy with a glass of Andre from the drugstore, I couldn’t let him spend this kind of money on me.
Placing a hand on his forearm, I leaned over to whisper anxiously in his ear, “Dimitri, I’m fine with just a glass of the house wine.”
He tapped a finger to the tip of my nose. “You really are adorable.”
Turning back to the ma?tre d’, he just nodded.
The man gave a curt bow. “I will return with your champagne and to discuss the specials.”
Looking down, I fidgeted with the silverware, keenly aware we were now alone despite the muted hum of dinner conversation taking place around us.
Dimitri placed his hand over mine, stilling it.
I looked up. His eyes glinted a bright platinum as he leaned in close.
“Я помню чудное мгновенье: Передо мной явилась ты, Как мимолетное виденье, Как гений чистой красоты.”
Although I didn’t know what he was saying, I could tell by the cadence of his voice he was reciting a poem as a toast.
Dimitri repeated in English. “I still recall the wondrous moment: When you appeared before my sight, As though a brief and fleeting omen, Pure phantom in enchanting light.”
He was reciting Alexander Pushkin’s famous poem, ‘I Still Recall the Wondrous Moment.’
This was surreal. That this scary-looking Russian, with the devil’s own good looks, would recite romantic poetry to me , a shy library graduate student, in the middle of a high-end steak restaurant, was beyond my wildest imagination.
When I had allowed myself to think about finally finding a guy to date, the furthest I had ever allowed my mind to wander was maybe a simple neighborhood Italian restaurant and movie.
This was beyond anything.
I was in the middle of an Ian Fleming book!
Joseph returned carrying a wooden box and with two servers in tow. One server carried a champagne bucket on a pedestal. Placing it next to the table, he settled the bottle nestled within the ice more firmly before retreating. The second server placed crystal flutes in front of us.
Standing before Dimitri, Joseph leaned over to present the box before dramatically opening the lid.
I gasped.
Nestled on a bed of maroon velvet was a brightly polished saber about a foot and half long.
Dimitri rose and unbuttoned his double-breasted suit coat before shrugging out of it.
With wide eyes, I scanned the rest of the dining room, expecting to see people diving under their tables as the women screamed. Everyone was acting perfectly normal, as if the man I was dating hadn’t just been presented with a freaking sword .
My fingernails dug into the supple leather arms of my chair as my brow wrinkled. “What is happening?”
Dimitri flipped the white cuff of his shirt up, exposing his powerful forearm. I noticed the insanely expensive-looking watch on his wrist. There was something so freaking sexy about a man who wore a watch.
He finished rolling up both sleeves and picked up the saber, testing its weight. Turning to the rest of the dining room, he held it aloft.
Everyone cheered.
What the hell was happening?
Joseph had removed the foil and the wire cage from around the top of the champagne bottle and was drying it with a black linen napkin. He presented the bottle to Dimitri, who easily clasped the bottom in one palm, holding it at a slight angle.
“The seam is on top, sir.”
Dimitri nodded solemnly.
A tense hush fell over the other patrons.
Daring a quick glance to my right, I realized the hectic bustle in the kitchen had stopped.
All eyes were on Dimitri.
He placed the blade of the saber against the champagne bottle, with the sharp edge facing him.
We all held our collective breaths.
He scraped the blade slowly along the bottle till the blunt edge stopped just shy of the glass lip.
Then he pulled the blade back toward him.
Dimitri turned and gave me a confident wink.
Next, his arm moved so swiftly it was nothing more than a flash of bright silver. The saber blade had slid along the champagne bottle to smoothly lop off the top glass portion, taking the cork with it.
There was a loud celebratory pop, then an arc of white foam burst from the bottle.
The entire room erupted in a shared cheer as everyone clapped.
Joseph sprang forward. Seizing our glasses from the table, he placed the flutes under the stream of sparkling champagne.
An older woman approached our table and handed me the champagne cork with the smooth green bottle glass still secured around the base. “You’re a lucky girl,” she quipped before returning to her own table.
Dimitri sat down and placed his napkin on his lap before reaching for his flute of champagne as casual as you please, as if he hadn’t just done the coolest fucking thing I had ever seen in my life.
“What… I… I don’t even know… wow!” I stammered as I took a big gulp of champagne to hide my nervousness. Immediately regretting it as the bubbles tickled my nose and the back of my throat.
“It’s called sabrage. The Hussar cavalrymen would use their sabers to lop off the top of a champagne bottle to drink it while they were still on horseback,” he offered as he nodded to the server who was moving items around on our table to make a space in the center.
“It’s unbelievably impressive.”
Dimitri’s voice was a deep timbre. “I’m glad you like my swordsmanship .”
My cheeks flamed, catching the double entendre. Placing my hands in my lap, I twined my fingers as I focused on breathing slowly in and out to stop the room from spinning.
Yes, I was definitely inside an Ian Fleming book. The problem was I wasn’t sure if I was having dinner with James Bond… or an infamous Russian villain.
* * *
Two servers returned to the table with a tray.
On it was a silver dish with two lion’s-head handles on either side brimming with ice.
In the center of it sat a delicate glass pot with a generous portion of caviar, deep brown with a slight golden tint.
Surrounding it were additional tiny bowls with diced red onion, scallions, hard-boiled egg, and crème fraiche.
Next they placed a platter of warm blinis and potato chips on the table before silently leaving.
Reaching for my champagne flute, I took a sip to hide my nervousness. I’d never had caviar before. I’ve been curious, of course, but now I was afraid I would embarrass myself in front of Dimitri. What if I didn’t like it? What if it tasted fishy? What if I couldn’t swallow it?
Joseph approached our table. “This is our very best caviar, Ossetra. It will have a buttery, almost earthy flavor to it with a nice pop.” He emphasized the word pop with a swish of his hand. “Before I leave you to enjoy, have you decided what you would like for dinner?”
I hadn’t even looked at the menu. Picking up the leather-backed board with the heavy cream paper, I scanned the options.
I could see in the center the IDGAF option, which was basically a chef’s choice menu.
That at least would explain the hats. Each dish seemed richer and more decadent than the last. I had absolutely no idea what to order.
Dimitri’s firm hand reached over and pulled the menu from my grasp.
He gave me another wink before turning back to the ma?tre d’.
“The lady will have the surf and turf. Ask the chef to make the filet a little over medium with a warm pink center. I’ll have the porterhouse blood rare.
Bring whatever sides you think will complement our choices and Joseph, please bring me a Stoli Elit neat. ”
“Excellent, Mr. Kosgov. Enjoy your caviar. I’ll be back with your drink.”
He had ordered me the lobster.
The lobster.
I knew what that meant.
Dimitri reached for a warm blini and placed a dab of crème fraiche on it, then topped it with caviar before putting it on the plate before me.
“I know what you’re thinking. If you eat the lobster, I’ll expect you to sleep with me.”
“I… well…” I couldn’t form a witty retort. I was too stunned that he had read my mind.
Brushing my hair back over my shoulder, he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “The answer is you’re damn right I will.” He then nipped at my earlobe before treating me to a deep-throated chuckle. “Relax, моя крошка. It’s just dinner.”
Forcing the tension from my face, I took a deep breath and concentrated on the first course. Using my thumb and forefinger, I gingerly picked up the blini and caviar.
“Have you had caviar before?”
I shook my head.