Chapter 12 #2
“Just take a small bite. The trick is to roll it around on your tongue to catch the first bit of flavor before you press the small beads against the roof of your mouth. They will pop open, giving you a second salty burst of flavor which will enhance the first.”
While he talked, he prepared his own bit of caviar. “We’ll try it together,” he offered, holding up his bite.
I leaned over, not wanting to be overheard. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Then just spit it out in your napkin.”
My brow creased as my eyes narrowed. That couldn’t be the correct response.
“Trust me, моя крошка. I wouldn’t lie to you. The proper way would be to spit it out discreetly into your napkin.”
Grasping my champagne flute in my left hand just in case I needed to wash the flavor out of my mouth, I raised the bite to my lips.
Taking a deep breath, I sank my teeth into only half of the silver-dollar-sized blini.
My eyebrows shot up. It was good. Superb.
With the bread, crème fraiche, and earthiness of the caviar, the entire bite was buttery and creamy.
Following Dimitri’s instructions, I pressed the small beads to the roof of my mouth and was rewarded with a burst of sea salt that didn’t taste fishy at all.
It was then I noticed Dimitri hadn’t eaten his. At my questioning look, he said, “It is fascinating watching the play of emotions cross your face. You have such an unvarnished, pure reaction to things. It makes me feel as if I am experiencing the same things anew.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and took a sip of champagne before responding. “Wow. I think that is the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me.”
There was a charge of energy between us in that moment. The deep connection you felt with another person, even though you barely knew them. A primal chemistry.
He reached out to brush his knuckles over my cheek, before turning his attention back to the caviar tray to fix me another portion.
Wanting to fill the silence, I scrambled for something normal and date-like to ask him. “So, what do you do for a living?”
He shifted in his seat. Rolling back his shoulders, he sat up straighter. A muscle ticked over his cheekbone. “Never ask me anything about my business affairs,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“But…”
His hand reached out to cover my own. “I mean it, Emma. Never. Knowledge about what I do is off limits to you, do you understand me?”
I stared at his hand, at the pale scars and faded tattoos. Not understanding where I got the courage, I boldly said, “I was reading a book about the symbolism of Russian tattoos.”
Alarm bells were going off in my head, and I desperately grasped at the idea that some red flags were false. That it wasn’t all bad. I needed him to tell me, to give me some hope.
He squeezed my fingers painfully tight. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“The symbolism applies, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
Gambler.
Fighter.
Murderer.
How was I supposed to reconcile that image with the man sitting next to me?
The man who’d rejected me for trying to be something I wasn’t.
The man who knew about champagne, caviar, and sabrage?
The man who tipped generously and remembered everyone’s names.
There was also the man who had taken my virginity without remorse.
Who had ruthlessly tracked me down, demanding I see him again. Who didn’t take no for an answer.
Lowering my eyes, I nodded. With a shaking hand, I reached for my champagne flute. I brought it to my lips before I realized it was empty.
Dimitri reached for the bottle and poured me another glass.
It looked like a perfectly normal romantic gesture, except if you looked closely it wasn’t normal.
The champagne bottle was fractured at the top.
Its opening was a dangerous shard of glass because he had violently removed the lip with a sword.
My stomach clenched as I realized I was in way over my head.
“How about we talk about you instead? I know you are studying to become a librarian. What of your parents?”
Taking a sip of champagne to wet my dry throat, I croaked out, “Divorced. They don’t talk to one another and neither really talks to me.”
Dimitri’s brow creased. “That isn’t right. You’re their daughter.”
I shrugged. “I’m used to it. What about your parents?”
His lips thinned as his fingers tensed around my own.
I pulled my hand out from under his and put it in my lap. “Sorry. Never mind. I didn’t mean to ask.”
So everything about him was off limits. Message received.
We fell into an uncomfortable silence as the servers returned to remove the first course. One remained behind to scrape a silver table crumber along the linen before informing us our next course would be up shortly.
Dimitri nodded before taking a long sip from the crystal tumbler of vodka they had brought.
I did the same with my champagne as I searched for something safe to talk about. I needed to be careful. The dizzying effects of the alcohol were taking hold.
“I talked to the financial aid office today. They gave me a list of grants which are still open. I will start filling out the paperwork this week. One would require me to serve as the local school librarian for a small town in Kentucky for six months, but I don’t think it would be too bad,” I rambled.
“Why are you talking to them about money?”
Failing to hear the warning tightness in his voice, I carried on. “Because I need to pay my tuition for this semester. I can’t take out any more loans and my parents have no intention of helping me.”
Dimitri twisted the base of his vodka glass between his finger and thumb. When he finally spoke, his words were low and measured. “I thought you understood that I didn’t want you begging men for money?”
I swallowed, belatedly realizing I had tripped into dangerous territory.
The champagne and caviar turned sour in my stomach.
Unable to meet his intense glare, I concentrated on rearranging the silverware in front of me.
“You said I shouldn’t still try to reach out to Mr. Fitzgerald’s son, which I haven’t. ”
Dimitri leaned in, grasping my chin. “Emma, you defied me. I made myself clear on this subject. I would handle your tuition.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say.
“I didn’t think you were serious. We have only just met. We’re practically strangers!”
His lower jaw shifted as if he were grinding my words in between his sharp teeth. “I’ve had my cock buried deep inside your sweet pussy and you’re calling me a stranger ?”
My cheeks flamed. I wrenched my head aside. He only moved his hand to wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, forcing me to lean in over the table. His face only inches away.
The champagne buzz made me bold.
Dangerously so.
“We are strangers regardless! I’m not allowed to know what you do, who your parents are, nothing about you! No wonder you prefer to sleep with escorts; I bet they train them to keep their ears shut and mouths open!”
My jaw dropped as I slapped a hand over my mouth in a fruitless effort to trap the words that had already escaped. I couldn’t believe I had said that!
“Dimitri! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” I blurted out.
He released his hold on my neck. I fell back against the chair.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his money clip. He withdrew a small fortune in bills and dropped them on the table.
“We’re leaving. Now,” he ground out.
My face crumpled. I lowered my head, allowing my hair to fan out on either side to hide my tears.
Dimitri rose and whipped his suit jacket off the back of the chair. Without even bothering to put it on, he seized my hand and dragged me through the dining room.
Joseph noticed and opened his mouth to ask what was going on. A glare from Dimitri silenced him. He nodded and called out, “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Kosgov,” as if nothing were amiss.
* * *
The silence in the car was oppressive. I had wanted to just say I’d take the train home, but then I remembered I had no money or cell phone on me.
My throat felt sore as I tried to hold back the tears.
As I watched the lights of the city flash by, I realized he had missed the turn for Lake Shore Drive.
“You missed the turn,” I whispered, not wanting to anger him further.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the leather steering wheel harder. “No, I didn’t.”
Hating to have to push the issue, desperately just wishing for this torture to be over, I forced myself to respond, “Lake Shore Drive is the fastest way to my home.”
“I’m not taking you home.”