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We’re seated in the traditional pattern of alternating women and men around the twelve top tables. The man beside me is an older gentleman with a pretty young date next to him, wearing a massive diamond necklace. The woman seated to Dimitri’s left is a stern looking grandmother, who barely spares him any notice
Without the distraction of friends and family, Dimitri tugs uncomfortably on his tuxedo jacket, earning a distressed glance from the woman beside him.
“What’s wrong?” I lean toward him to ask.
“Nothing.”
Fine, if he doesn’t want to tell I won’t push. I place the cloth napkin in my lap, noting that Dimitri does the same. It’s the first time I’ve seen him use one.
Servers surround the tables, handing out small plates of sweet potato chips topped with goat cheese and caviar. I nibble on mine. Dimitri picks his up and pops it in his mouth. He grimaces as he chews. I pretend to ignore him.
Next is the soup course. The sweet, earthy aroma of pumpkin and spices makes my mouth water.
Once we’re served, I steal glances at Dimitri. He’s frowning at the nine pieces of silverware on his place setting. Only two of them are spoons, a much easier decision to make than when it comes to the forks. He looks half tempted to pick up the bowl and bring it to his mouth.
Once again, I lower my voice for his ears only and ask, “What’s wrong?”
He tugs at his collar, his brow dipping lower. “How do you know which one’s right?”
“The spoon and fork at the top are for dessert.” I pick up my soup spoon. “Start from the outside and work your way in with each course.”
He dips his chin in acknowledgement. Carefully, he takes his spoon in hand, then watches me eat the tangy pumpkin soup before diving into his own. He mimics my mannerisms, his back straight and shoulders square, one forearm resting on the table, and every so often he dabs his mouth with the napkin.
We make it through the soup course, the appetizer, salad, fish, and first main course without incident. The palate cleanser is a citrusy Prosecco, which Dimitri scowls at before downing his glass in one go.
The conversations around us ebb and flow between the most common topics—politics, gossip, and the stock market. But we rarely join in.
By the time we get to the end of the twelve-course meal, Dimitri’s shoulders have relaxed some. The servers clear away our dessert dish, and replace it with a bite-sized macaroon.
“What’s this?” he asks. “Didn’t we just eat dessert?”
I hide a smile behind my napkin. “It’s called mignardise. It’s kind of like a second dessert. A finishing touch to the meal.”
Dimitri shakes his head, muttering, “Crazy fucking rich people.” Which earns him a startled glare from the woman beside him, as he pops the macaroon into his mouth.
CHAPTER 21
Dimitri
After that torture, which these people call dinner, we’re finally free to explore the items up for auction. Arianna wraps her small hand around my arm, her body swaying against mine, like she actually wants to be here with me. That’s a first. I can’t deny the satisfaction that unfurls in my chest. I must have done something right for a change.
We mingle in and around the others, going from one display to the next of items up for auction. The room is moodily lit, with spotlights shining down on the individual, glass-encased objects.
When we stop in front of a five strand pearl necklace, Arianna draws in a quick breath. Together, we circle it, taking in the whole thing, and I notice the single string of pearls that trails down the back, ending in a teardrop shaped diamond. Arianna would look stunning in this piece—especially if she was naked, wearing only this…
I open the app for the silent auction and start bidding as we move on. Apparently the necklace is originally from Russia, possibly part of the Romanov treasures that were taken out of the country during the Russian revolution a hundred years ago.
I can’t imagine a more perfect piece of jewelry for my queen.
Smirking down at her, I press the button to bid again. It seems that some asshole also has his sights set on this necklace, because each time I bid, the same anonymous user does too. But it will be mine, to give to my wife, no matter the cost.
We circle back around to the beginning, and I lean down to murmur in her ear. “Did you see anything you liked?”
Her lips part, but then she shakes her head. “Nothing I can’t live without.”
I know she’s lying. Well, maybe she can technically live without it, but even now her gaze is locked on that pearl necklace across the room. The way her eyes light up tells me everything I need to know.
She lifts her face toward mine. “But it’s a charity auction so we should bid on something.”
