Chapter 3
LEAH
“Why didn't you tell me you'd met someone?”
I am not going to tell my early-twenties, pierced and tatted neighbor in front of my seven-year-old daughter that I’m going out on a date with someone I met only that morning and under shocking circumstances.
“He's a client at the firm, so we've been talking for a while.”
Jade cocks her head. “It's not against the rules?”
Damn it.
“It’s a grey area. That's why I didn't tell you about him. But he's not a client anymore, so there's nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, cool.” My neighbor drops onto the bed and bounces on the mattress a few times before throwing herself back, arms spread as she stares up at the ceiling, green-streaked hair splayed around her.
“Is the story romantic? I bet it's something like he walked in and saw you making coffee and fell madly in love.”
“Well—” I stall for time as I try to think up an answer that isn't a complete lie. I hate lying, but this is messy territory. “It was something like that. It definitely had to do with coffee.”
Among other things.
From the look Jade gives me as she sits up, she knows that's not the whole story. But for once, she doesn't pry. Instead, she moves on to the real story.
“What's he like? Is he handsome? I bet he's good-looking? Is he rich?
“All of the above, yes.” I turn around from scrutinizing myself in the mirror. “But that's not what's important. The important thing is I enjoyed talking with him, he’s good company, and he's been respectful so far.”
“Unlike your last jerk of an ex?”
“Okay.” Time to change the subject. “I don't like this dress. Let's try another one.”
Eliza darts into my closet before I can make a move, and I hear her rummaging around, pushing hangers over one way and then back another. She emerges a minute later, dragging a dress I'd completely forgotten about—a jeweled green wrap dress I'd splurged on at a Barney’s sale with Mom.
She'd been the one to find it on the rack, and she'd encouraged me to try it on when I was still struggling with my self-image after Eliza's birth.
I hadn't been able to take my eyes off myself in the fitting room mirror, and it was the first time I felt like myself again, like maybe I could be desirable again.
And it's still just as beautiful on the hanger it’s been on since the last time I wore it. It was too hard to wear it again after Mom died.
“What about this one, Mom? You’re wearing it in the picture with Grandma.”
Am I ready to wear it again? Is tonight the right kind of night to bring it back out of retirement?
“I don't know, sweetheart,” I say. “That's a lot for a first date.”
Jade breathes out another sigh and rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Leah. I’m sure your mom would want you to wear this tonight. Didn't the guy say to dress up? Besides, green is the color to wear when you're trying to make a good impression.”
“Is it?”
I don't tell her I've already made a first impression on Viktor, and it was not a good one.
“Mama, please?” Eliza says, giving me her infamous puppy dog eyes that rival Benji’s. “You know Grandma would want you to. Suzie, too.”
“And you and Benji?” I ask, trying but not succeeding to smother my smile.
“Yep.”
I sigh and gesture for her to give me the dress, which I slip on while Jade goes to the closet to root around in my jewelry.
When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, I suddenly wonder why it took me so long to wear this dress again.
Even if it was just for myself, even if it was just to run errands.
I immediately feel closer to Mom when I wear it; it almost feels like a hug.
And it does look fantastic on me, showcasing my every curve and asset, while hiding those things I'd rather not let others see.
“Here.” Jade reemerges with a pair of diamond drop earrings, delicate and shimmering as the light hits them. And in her other hand are a pair of sky-high heels that have been unworn for so long, they have actual dust on them.
“No way.” I shake my head and poke the earrings through the holes in my lobes. “There is no way I'm wearing heels like that. I haven't worn them in forever, and the last thing I need is to fall flat on my face in front of this guy.”
Eliza gives me the look she inherited from me, and my mother before that, and parks her hands on her hips. I sigh. Is this the hill I want to die on? Then again, if I wear the heels, I might just die on it anyway.
“I’m willing to negotiate.” I swear, she's going to follow right in my mother's footsteps. “I promise I will wear heels if they're slightly lower.”
The clock on my phone tells me it's getting late and I need to hurry.
I haven't been this nervous in a long time.
Everything happened in such a rush today, and I still can't quite believe the guy who saw me in nothing but a T-shirt and ripped jeans, underwear and thigh on display this morning, actually asked me out on a date.
Even just the memory sends a thrill through me, makes my heart beat a little faster, and my fingers tingle with nerves and excitement.
My alarm goes off as I'm putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I do one more swipe of lipstick and check myself in the mirror a final time before I run out the door, slipping my feet into the slightly lower heels Eliza left for me near my bed.
“Time to go!”
My daughter bounces out of her room holding Jade’s hand. “Have fun, Mom,” Eliza says, and Jade gives me a wink that has me rolling my eyes.
I hurry downstairs before I can spiral.
A black car is waiting by the curb outside my apartment building.
The driver's side door opens, and I expect Viktor to step out.
But instead, a hulking guy in a black suit and sunglasses walks around the car.
The suit strains over his muscles, and tattoos are scattered across his knuckles and on the backs of his hands.
“Are you Leah?” he asks in heavily accented English.
“That's me,” I respond nervously, wondering what exactly this is.
“Mr. Antonov sent me for you. I'm to drive you to the restaurant.”
“Viktor? Is that Mr. Antonov?”
I realize we only exchanged our first names earlier. The man nods and opens the back door for me. With a deep breath, I slip into the sumptuous interior, all leather and wood accents.
It’s evident Viktor is loaded. But between the car and the restaurant at which we arrive promptly at 7:45, I can tell he isn't just rich, but wealthy. Even the partners at the firm can’t get into this restaurant, although their clients often hold lunch meetings here.
It has a waiting list several months long, and costs close to my monthly rent for just one meal.
I'm already overwhelmed when Viktor meets me at the door. If I thought his suit this morning was nice, this one is spectacular. The deep blue brings out his eyes, the tailoring shows the length and breadth of his shoulders and chest, and his hair is rakish, a few locks hanging over his forehead.
“I'm so glad you could come tonight.” Viktor leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek, one that lingers slightly too long and that I feel down to the tips of my toes. “I couldn't wait to see you again.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, giving him a shy smile.
“Come on, then.” He puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me forward, and I feel a flutter in my chest. And lower—much lower.
“So,” I laugh nervously at the opulence around us, “do you have a reservation here tonight that you made years ago, and we just happened to meet?”
“No, no.” Viktor nods to the hostess, who doesn't even ask his name before leading us to a table. “I’ve invested heavily in this place. There is always a table for me when I want it.”
What I want to say is “Holy shit, are you kidding me?” But instead, I just turn wide-eyed to him.
He chuckles. “I'm trying to make a good first impression on you. Is it working?”
“You mean, like the first impression I made on you this morning? That I'm a complete klutz who can't control her friend's dog and made a huge idiot out of herself?” I respond as he pulls out the chair for me gallantly, and I sit.
“I don't remember it that way,” Viktor says as he takes his seat.
“You don't remember me flashing everyone on the sidewalk as the giant Great Dane ran away with half my jeans?”
“Oh, I remember that very clearly. What I don't remember is the bad first take. In fact, you made quite an impression on me.”
The way Viktor is looking at me, the silk in his voice, sends a shiver down my spine that's about anything but danger.
No, this is an awareness of every inch of him, the way he fills out his suit, the way his mouth moves when he goes to take a sip of the wine the server is pouring, the way humor flits across his full lips.
How I wish I were that wineglass, that I could feel those lips on me—everywhere on me.
There's no menu tonight—it's a prix fixe menu, and the dishes are served one after the other.
They're tiny, one bite each, and they're good, but it feels like something is missing.
I don't say that out loud, of course. You don't come to a restaurant like this and complain about any part of the meal.
We're on the third tiny dish, which is the foam of something and little pearls of something else over foie gras, magically shaped into a shell. It's briny and creamy, with a slight bite that's all wrong on my tongue. But I chew thoughtfully and swallow as Viktor watches me before I smile.
“This is amazing. Thank you so much.”
Viktor doesn't respond right away. Instead, he watches me before placing his fork back down onto the table. “You don't have to lie for my sake.”
I choke on my small sip of wine. “I'm not—” I start hurriedly while trying to stifle my coughing fit.
Viktor waves away my concern. “Not to worry, you're not hurting my feelings.”
Before I can say anything else, Viktor stands and offers me his hand to pull me up. And in only a few more minutes, we’re back in the car with the driver, headed elsewhere.
Had I said something wrong? Offended Viktor somehow by pretending to like the food at the restaurant he invested in? Is he already taking me home, the date over?
My question is answered when we pull up outside what looks like a small hole-in-the-wall with a scrawled sign over it that reads “Bambino.” Viktor whisks me out of the car again and takes me inside what turns out to be a small Italian restaurant with an open kitchen, only ten tables, and a Michelin star.
The air is redolent with the scent of garlic, herbs, and olive oil.
The freshly baked bread that comes to the table is a masterpiece, as is the first course: littleneck clams in a white wine stock.
“Better?” Viktor asks, a smile on his face after watching me savor clams, one right after the other.
“To be fair,” I tell him, “I was perfectly happy at the other restaurant. That was a once-in-a-lifetime experience very few people get to have.”
“I want you to enjoy tonight,” Viktor says, his eyes intently focused on mine. “Just because something is an experience doesn’t mean you’ll like it.”
I nod appreciatively and continue to enjoy the meal.
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