Chapter 28
“Eat the damned curry already.”
Nala stared at the plate of rice and brownish sauce stuffed with carrots and onions. An unknown scent claimed her, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the foreign spices or not. “Except what if it’s too hot? What if I cry again because my mouth is on fire?”
“That’s why I got the mildest one available. I’m pretty sure they’re laughing about us in the kitchen.”
“Oh, excuse me, my PNW sensibilities…”
“You mean your inability to eat anything slightly spicy?”
“Okay, Ms. Fresno.”
“Being able to withstand the hottest spices is a time-honored Californian tradition. Don’t let the yuppies tell you otherwise.”
“I can’t believe I’m sleeping with a Californian. I’m losing all of my street cred.”
Varen reached across the table. “I may have upped the property taxes when I bought my loft, but at least I am contributing financially and socially to my immediate community.”
“Holy shit. You know how to spear an Oregonian right in the heart.”
“Baby, we are the Romeo and Juliet of House Bear and House Beaver. Together we can accomplish anything between our rivaling families.”
“Must I remind you that they died in the end?”
“Eat the damned curry already.”
Nala shook her hand off and leaned back in her booth, picking up a large spoon and dipping it into the curry. I hope I don’t regret this. Under Varen’s watchful gaze, Nala put a small amount in her mouth, swallowing it as quickly as possible.
“See? It’s not that spi…”
“Fuck!” Nala nearly knocked over Varen’s water glass as she grabbed her own, downing it in record time. When she polished that off, her tongue continued to burn, forcing her to grab Varen's water and make short work of it too. “Fuuuck.”
“Amazing.” Varen scooped some curry into her spoon and ate the whole thing in one bite. She didn’t even wince, let alone take more than one sip of water remaining in her glass. “It’s barely spicy at all, yet here you are.”
“Shut uuuup.” Nala yanked her spoon back and scooped up plain rice, hoping its bland taste would take over any spice left in her mouth. “I do not want to hear it.”
“You know, I had some Russian food once. It was fairly spicy, even by my standards.”
“Shut up. Shut up!” Nala collapsed across her leather bench, rousing the attention of a group of friends nearby.
One of them began to laugh. Probably because Nala’s breasts were about to spill from the top of her corset.
Varen’s jacket could only cover so much from this angle.
“My mother cooked the blandest Russian food in the universe. My father was always dumping stuff in it at the dinner table.”
“I’m sure.”
Nala sat back up. When Varen pulled up to this late-night eatery on Burnside, she did not expect to be dying on the bench – from food that was too spicy, no less.
Yet when Varen insisted that she try some traditional Indian cuisine, she didn’t want to say no.
After all, she was Nala Nazarov, a woman who never said no to a challenge.
Not usually. Varen’s food challenges may be too much for her.
“Dare I ask you to take me to a Mexican restaurant one day?”
“Only if you can handle real Mexican food.”
“I might surprise you.”
“Doubtful.”
Varen said it with a shit-eating grin that didn’t often grace her face. Nala picked up her napkin and tossed it at her. Naturally, it only made it halfway across the table before dying an honorable death on top of the curry.
“Aw,” Varen said, plucking it off. “Should I get you something else? I’m sure they have crackers for a palate as delicate as yours.”
She didn’t take the bait this time. “I want another beer.” She pointed to her empty glass. “The only calories I need right now.”
Varen tracked down a waiter and got Nala her refill.
This interruption to their good time meant she had a few seconds to regroup and think back on the past hour.
Varen brought them here, a hole in the wall by anyone’s standards, but she was familiar enough with the menu that she was probably coming here to eat by herself long before she became wealthy.
Something was endearing about her continued patronage.
Once her refill came, Nala put on her serious face and pulled out her cell phone. Varen took immediate interest. “These are the pics I took in his office.”
Varen glanced around the sparse restaurant before taking Nala’s phone and swiping through her gallery. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the paper Nala uncovered and the various pictures hanging on the wall. “Not surprising, but weird. That man is weird.”
“At least now we’ll know what he’s doing if he wants a picture of us next time.”
“Indeed.” Varen forwarded the pics to herself before handing back the phone. “Speaking of next time, I have it on good authority that we’re going to Mexico for a weekend. You better clear your schedule.”
“Mexico? Holy fuck, dude, I ain’t got a passport!”
“I know. You need to apply for one tomorrow.”
“Don’t those things take like… six months to process?”
“Turns out that Seba is wrapped up in that sort of thing. I talked to her about it, and she said if I use her name when I call up the department, they can put you at the top of the list.”
Nala frowned. “Is it wrong that I kinda wish I couldn’t get a passport in time so we wouldn’t have to go?”
Nothing sounded worse than dealing with The Aviary in the air…
and in a foreign country, even if it would be a billionaire’s cocoon.
Nala would officially feel trapped, and there was almost no worse feeling than that.
I would really be a bird in a cage. She ran her fingers along her collar, searching for the security the nightingale pendant provided.
“It’s not wrong, but it won’t help us any. If we have to bow out because of something like that… it would look suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Because Ravenwood might wonder why I’ve never taken you abroad, especially if we’ve been dating for over six months now. We have to keep our lies in order.”
“I guess.”
“Besides…” Varen took out her phone and looked at the photos she sent herself. “This must be the couple who had to leave the club because they moved abroad. The ones mentioned in that paper you grabbed.”
“Yeah. Looks like they moved to Germany.”
“That’s not weird in itself. What’s weird is Ravenwood and whoever he’s corresponding with talking like this.”
“What does it mean?”
Varen squinted as if that would help her decipher the words better.
“I don’t know, but if I read between the lines, it sounds like Ravenwood instigated the move himself. The funds could refer to the couple’s payoff to give Ravenwood a wide berth, but it seems awfully low for people as rich as them.
I am more inclined to believe the money is for the person he’s talking to in this letter. Who is probably a…”
She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. Nala was frozen in her seat, beer hovering against her lips. An assassin. The same person he paid to kill Desirée? Tasha? Any other number of people? Or did he have a network of assassins? How did that even work?
“Let’s not talk about this right now.” Varen took Nala’s hand and rubbed their thumbs together. “I brought you out here to help you cheer up. Is it working at all?”
Nala shrugged. “Well enough. Thanks. Beer always helps.”
She said that, yet the thing helping her most was Varen’s casual presence.
Spoiling her. Cracking jokes that were so unlike her.
Doing everything she could to take Nala’s mind off things – and probably hers too.
I guess we do need each other like that.
The more they came to depend on each other, the more Nala worried things were growing deeper between them.
“So, I have a question,” Varen said, folding her napkin ala origami. “Your last name is Nazarov. Shouldn’t it be Nazarova?”
“Ugh.” Not the first time Nala had been asked that.
She pushed her hair behind her ears and pretended that she wasn’t annoyed.
“Yes, but when my parents immigrated they decided to standardize their last names to keep the US government happy. When my mother left the Motherland, her last name was Volkova. When she signed documents in America, however, she suddenly had the same last name as her husband. Well, almost.
She still goes by Nazarova because Nazarov was too weird for her. She would rather see herself as her father-in-law’s daughter than a man. Or something. Whenever she ranted about it, it was in Russian, and I didn’t really understand it.”
“And you and your sister?”
“We didn’t have those preconceived naming notions when we were born, right? So, I was a Nazarov from birth and my sister’s A was dropped from her last name when she was brought over. She only remembered Nazarov.”
“Fascinating.”
Nala shrugged. “I guess I should be impressed from a feminist perspective, but it’s still your father’s name and patriarchal. Plus, I’m glad my mother almost had the same last name as me. She had a hard enough time communicating with school admins when I was a kid.
My father was fluent in English when they came over, but she had to learn almost from scratch.”
“My parents are the most Anglo-Saxon you can get. Although I hear Koreans use similar naming conventions in their culture.”
“I honestly have no idea.” Nala had heard that before. Because people always mentioned that as a way to sound smart.
“Never mind then.” Varen put her hand on Nala’s again, this time stroking the top of her knuckles. Was that supposed to calm her? Maybe… “I’m taking a day off soon. I’ll be between projects, and I like to take a small break to reset my brain. I was thinking… why don’t we do something together?”
“You mean like a date?”
“Sure. Nothing fancy… well, nothing fancier than going to the gardens the other day.”
“I, well…” Nala stared at the crane Varen created from a paper napkin. “Why do you want to go on a date with me? I thought we weren’t serious like that.”
“Who said a date is serious? Okay, think of it as hanging out for a day.”
“While you pay for everything, I’m sure.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Because you’re still paying me a grand a week to be with you. Nala wasn’t super into blurring their lines. It made her feel less like a partner in crime and more like an escort. “Sure. I guess. Nothing fancy, though.”