18. Kira #2
"Tilapia is good, or the dolphin fish…" His eyes never left my face as he made the recommendations. Something told me he had been here often enough he didn't need to check the menu to know what he wanted.
"I'm not a seafood fan… What sort of pasta do they have?" I choked out, looking down the menu, written in a foreign language. But the smells started to bombard me.
Whatever they were cooking back there wafted through the dining room in waves and every single scent found its way straight into my nose.
Butter and garlic and seared meat mixed with something sweet that might've been a dessert sauce, all layering on top of each other until the smell was so thick I could taste it on the back of my tongue.
My stomach flipped and I swallowed hard against it.
"Are you alright?" Nikolai asked, cocking his head. He looked concerned, but I didn't need him asking questions. I didn't want any pity or extra attention, and I didn't want to have to explain why I was feeling sick. He'd start putting the pieces together.
"Fine." I took a sip of water and pressed the cold glass against my wrist. "Just adjusting to being out of the house.
" My forced smile must've convinced him because he let me return to my menu gazing while he pulled out his phone and texted someone.
I glanced up at Vlad, on his second drink, and sighed at how close I was to being able to run away from this man, and yet how very far I still was.
A waiter came by and poured wine for both of us and set down a basket of bread.
But the bread was warm and the yeasty smell floated up from the basket and smacked me in the face.
Bile rose in the back of my throat, burning as I swallowed against it, but I knew there was only so long I could fight this before I threw up.
I picked up the menu and tried to focus on the words, finding translations under the foreign titles.
Roasted chicken with a reduction sauce. Pan-seared salmon with lemon butter.
Braised lamb with root vegetables. Every description made my stomach lurch harder and I could feel the sweat breaking out across my forehead and the back of my neck.
"This wine is exquisite," Nikolai said, sipping his glass, but just glancing at him, having a sip was the final straw.
"Excuse me," I said, pushing my chair back. I stood up too fast and had to grab the edge of the table to steady myself. "I just— I need the restroom."
I felt the color draining from my face as his eyes washed over me.
He rose with me, but when I turned and walked briskly across the dining room he stayed put.
Vlad, however, didn't. I felt him on my heels every rushed step to the back hall and I made it through the bathroom door and into a stall just in time.
Everything came up—the ginger tea, the few sips of water, and bile that burned my throat and made my eyes water. I knelt there on the tile with my hands clinging to the seat and heaved until there was nothing left and then heaved a few more times because my body didn't care that it was empty.
It was humiliating. I heard other women talking, whispering about me, like I'd drunk too much or maybe I was bulimic or something.
I teared up wondering how I was going to explain the stench of vomit on my breath, let alone how I'd stomach the rest of this dinner with all those smells wafting around me.
When it finally stopped I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with toilet paper. My hands were trembling and my dress was bunched up around my knees and I felt disgusting and scared and very, very certain of what was happening to me.
I flushed and went to the sink and rinsed my mouth and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection looked worse than it had an hour ago. Pale, sweaty, with dark circles, and now my lip balm was wiped off too. I dried my hands and straightened my dress and opened the bathroom door.
And Vlad was on the floor.
He lay on his side in the hallway with his eyes closed and a red mark across his temple where someone had hit him.
He was breathing but he was out cold, and standing over him with a gun held low at his side was a man I recognized.
It startled me to see him standing there, holding his hand out toward me, but it was a welcome sight.
"Rictor?" He'd worked for my father for as long as I could remember, but judging by the intense look on his face, we didn’t have time for a happy reunion.
"Kira, come with me," he said, grabbing my arm. "Your father sent me. We have to go right now."
My heart slammed into my throat and my feet were moving before my brain caught up.
He pulled me down the hallway toward the back exit.
I couldn't believe it. After nearly six weeks of thinking my father would never come, he had sent someone.
It was a rush of joy and apprehension, running to what could be my safety or more judgment if my father found out I could be pregnant.
Rictor pushed through the back door into the alley, but we were only a few strides away when I heard someone behind me screaming.
"Kira!" Nikolai shouted.
I turned and saw him coming down the hallway with his gun already drawn. He looked right past me as he raised the weapon and charged out the door. He looked hurt, not angry, and it made me pause. Which gave him a clear shot.
The boom shook the whole parking lot, causing my hands to slap over my ears as I doubled over and trembled. Seconds later, Nikolai's arm was around my waist, dragging me back into the building where more gunfire reverberated.
"No, what are you doing! Let me go!" I pleaded and whimpered, slapping at his bicep as he dragged me, but he didn't let go. Not even when he stooped to smack Vlad's cheek and wake him up. "Niko, please," I whined.
"Vlad, come on! Get up… We got company."
Nikolai's grip on me only tightened as he crated me back through the front door, past patrons who cowered beneath their tables, right toward the car Yakov had brought around. My hope for escape was gone, and my entire world had shifted on a dime.
Nikolai had lied to me.
My father did care. He'd come to get me, and now I knew he was waiting for me to come home.
I just had to find a way to tell him I wanted to go with him.