chapter 22
Avira
Leo and I arrive at the restaurant where we’re meeting Iselyn—one of Leo’s own establishments.
We only dine at places owned by our family.
The restaurant is within walking distance of both Leo’s penthouse and Lyn’s apartment.
I have a feeling this entire area belongs to Leo, you can see the tight security everywhere, even with your eyes closed.
I spot her the moment we enter. She is sitting near the window, her back to us. The warm evening sunlight streaming through the glass sets her red hair ablaze, making it shimmer like fire. Her hair is breathtakingly beautiful.
I approach her. She’s sipping her drink, gazing out the window.
I clear my throat. She looks up at me then stands, grinning, and pulls me into a tight hug. I hug her back just as firmly.
We pull away. Her smile fades the instant her gaze shifts behind me, landing on Leo as he moves. He sits in the chair across from the one Lyn was sitting on, completely relaxed, as if he isn’t the one getting glared at by her.
“What is he doing here?” she asks, lips pursed.
“He’s just bodyguarding,” I reply lightly.
“Hello, Iselyn. Long time no see,” Leo says with a smile. He smiles often, but only on rare occasions does it reach his eyes, and this is one of those rare moments.
She ignores him, taking a few slow, deep breaths before giving me a tentative smile as she settles back into her chair. I sit down beside her.
Leo remains seated across from us, watching her intently, and she’s clearly not pleased with it. Is there something between them that I’m not aware of?
I try to ease the tension in the air. “How long are you staying here, Lyn?”
“Just three more weeks,” she says with a sigh.
She’s been researching natural medicines for the past two years. So far, she’s developed thirty different formulations. She came here for a research program with the team at New York Medical University.
“I can sense and understand your love for this city,” I remark.
She chuckles. “That kind of understanding is rare to find.”
The waiter approaches to take our order. I glance at Leo. “You must know what’s best here.”
He places our order. “Beef stroganoff, borscht with sour cream, pelmeni, and blini with caviar.”
“Do they only serve Russian food here?” I ask.
With a barely noticeable tilt at the corner of his mouth, he nods.
“This is the only restaurant nearby that serves authentic Russian cuisine. I usually eat here,” Lyn says.
“Then I should have let you place the order,”
She shrugs. “I would have ordered the same anyway.”
I glance at Leo again. The tilt at the corner of his lips has grown longer, and he’s watching her the way I’ve seen Zoan watch me.
Not once has this man looked away from her.
But whatever his unspoken equation with Lyn is, it’s clearly not reciprocated.
She hasn’t given him so much as a shred of attention.
My writer brain is already catching glimpses of enemies-to-lovers energy here.
“Hey Lyn, why don’t you come with me to watch the race tomorrow?” I’ve already told her about the New York Underworld Grand Prix, in which Roxion is participating.
“I’ve got two tickets. It’ll be fun.” Having her with me will be an amazing experience in itself. And if I use my other ticket to bring her along, Zoan will have no ticket. I know he could get one elsewhere if he wanted, but a little inconvenience for him is welcome.
She grins. “Count me in. I’ve never seen a car race before. What time will we leave?”
“Six in the evening.”
She gives me a thumbs-up. “Pick me up on the way.”
I grin.
???
Okay, I didn’t sign up for this. I was expecting the roar of the crowd, the excited shouts of fans, and the chaotic energy of the stands.
Instead, I end up in an exclusive trackside box overlooking the track, the only other person here being Iselyn.
The main spectator area outside is alive with cheering and engines, but in this private enclave, it’s quiet.
We exchange glances from time to time. Neither of us knows much about this sport, and if there were other fans nearby, we could have picked up details from them.
“Has the race started?” she asks.
“I don’t think so. The cars are rolling very slowly. This is supposed to be a high-speed race.”
“Then why is everyone shouting so much?”
She’s right. I can even hear people yelling Zoan’s name. I must be officially mad.
Our drinks arrive, we take them.
I ask the waiter, “Has the race started yet?”
He looks at me as if I have nine heads. “No, ma’am. It’s just the formation lap.”
Lyn and I nod, pretending we understand the purpose of the formation lap. Of course, neither of us wants that incredulous look from him again.
He leaves after that. Lyn takes out her phone and starts a video for an explanation.
When the video ends, she looks at me. “You get it, right?”
I shake my head. She sighs. “Me neither.”
“Let’s not stress about it. We’ll pick our car colors and just cheer for them,” I chuckle.
She laughs. “Right, we’re here to enjoy.”
After a few more laps, the race officially begins. The wide screen in front of us starts showing the cars and the drivers inside them.
“Oh, look, Roxion is in the red car,” she exclaims, pointing as the screen shows his smiling face behind the wheel.
Then the next name flashes on the screen, making us both jump in our seats.
It announces: “Zloban Bennett in Higtwin’s UZ34.”
“Zo is participating in the race!” she exclaims.
I nod, dazed. “In a yellow car.”
Why the hell didn’t he tell me about it? A voice answers my question in my head: You haven’t spoken with him in a week.
A massive crowd is shouting his name. Lyn and I glance at each other.
“I need to know about something Zo can’t do, or I won’t be able to die peacefully,” she says.
“He doesn’t know about people’s love,” I tell her, ensuring she can die peacefully.
The race begins.
Lyn and I try our best to spot the cars of Zoan and Roxion, but only fleeting glimpses of their vehicles are visible.
“Is it just me, or are you also unable to spot any car?” she asks.
“I don’t think anyone can see these cars. People must be shouting blindly,” I lean back in my chair.
She mirrors my movement.
It takes us exactly one minute to decide we are definitely not fans of this sport.
I laugh. “You know what I told Roxion? I told him I love high-speed vehicles. How will I even show him my face?”
“Just tell him you loved it. He was so good, you were shouting for him the entire time,” she chuckles.
We chat for the next hour and a half, completely immersed in our own world, ignoring the shouts and cries of the frenzied crowd, who I still can’t believe can see anything clearly.
The door of our sitting area opens, we turn to see Leo entering.
“Let’s go.”
Our first instinct is to glance down, then back up at the screen. “The race finished,” I tell myself and Lyn.
“And Zo wins!” Lyn exclaims.
“There’s nothing new in Zo’s winning,” Leo says casually.
We rise from our chairs, which we had reclined to almost lying level. We grab our jackets and slide them on, New York isn’t as pleasant in late October as San Diego.
“Where were you sitting?” I ask him.
He gestures toward a glass cabin clearly visible from ours, though we hadn’t noticed him.
As we walk down the hallways, people are celebrating Roxion’s second-place finish wildly.
“Why are they going so crazy over Roxion coming second?” I ask Leo.
“They won the money they bet on Roxion,” he explains.
“Then those who bet on Zo must be even crazier,” Lyn says.
Leo leans closer to her, his tone unusually sweet. “Zo is off the betting charts, angel. Whenever he participates, people only bet on the second position.”
“My name is Iselyn, and I don’t like strangers calling me by different names,” she retorts sharply.
This is far more interesting than the race. Well, watching pigeons fly is also more interesting than that race.
Leo smirks at her response.
Leo leads us to a silent section of the building, a corridor that has numerous rooms. He stops in front of one door and begins entering the code. Suddenly, a loud commotion shatters the quiet corridor.
Men, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, rush toward us. Some are buzzing with excitement, others exhausted. I instantly spot two familiar faces.
Roxion quickens his pace when he sees me. “Hey, Avira!” He pulls me into a tight hug. He’s so drenched it’s as if he just emerged from a swim, my jacket sticks to his chest.
I pull back slightly, I’m not exactly a fan of soaking wet bodies. “Congratulations,” I say.
He grins, running a hand through his dripping hair. “Thanks. Want to come with me?”
I open my mouth to refuse, but a low, growling “No” comes first. I glance at the man who wants me to love someone else, looking visibly pissed.
So I say, “Oh, why not,” and give that hypocrite a sweet smile. “I’ll be fine.”
He watches me, jaw clenched. The beads of sweat running from his scalp down that sculpted jawline only make him look hotter than hell. Did I say I’m not a fan of sweaty bodies? Forget that, so long as it’s Zoan, I’m a devoted fan.
Roxion drapes an arm around me. “Let’s go.”
Well, I’ll use this opportunity to make things clear with Roxion.
From behind us, someone calls out, “Hey, beautiful.”
A sharper, silencing voice cuts through: “Stay away from her.”
The corridor falls silent again. The players disperse to their rooms. Roxion opens his suite, and we step inside.
He presses me gently against the door. I chuckle awkwardly and step aside. “The race was nice,” I say, moving away from him.
He watches me with a serious expression. “You don’t like me.”
I came here ready for this conversation, but a little warm-up would have been appreciated. Never mind.
I drop a fake chuckle. “I love someone else.”
Disappointment flickers across his features. “Then why did you agree to go on a date?”
“My family forced me. I can’t tell them about the man I love. He is… you know,” I glance around, “an enemy.”
Yes, I’m cribbing straight from my novel’s script.
He nods in understanding, then offers a sad smile. “He must be lucky to have you.”
I look down, guilt washing over me. I told him my family forced me to go on the date, but that’s not entirely true. I also entertained vivid fantasies of making Zoan jealous.
“I’m sorry, Roxion.”
He places his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay. I like you, and I’m not thrilled about you loving someone else, but I understand the situation.”
I look up at him. He’s so genuinely good. I wish he meets someone who can love him unconditionally.
I muster my courage, embracing my inner shamelessness, and ask him the favor I need.