I shook my head, choosing to ignore her. I knew she was going to give me a hard time, and at that moment, I wasn’t in themood for it. Especially when I had a tray of blinis right in front of me to go with the caviar.
I picked up one of the tiny pancakes and spread a thin layer of crème fraîche on it, which I then topped with a generous spoonful of black caviar. I closed my eyes as I savored the food, licking my fingertips and allowing myself to moan.
For ten years, I had been living in a state of permanent exhaustion, built on nights filled with terror. Nightmares that woke me up in a pool of sweat, denying me more than three hours of sleep. It was not unusual for me to feel a kind of pressure building from the back of my neck down my spine. Just as it was not unusual for me to attack fatigue with food.
I used to forget my meals, it's true. But when I did eat, I took the greatest pleasure in it.
“Are those pancakes?” I heard that little voice squeak beside me, without the teasing tone I was beginning to get used to.
I opened my eyes and found her staring at the trays of food in front of us. She seemed to avoid even touching the porcelain plates and silver cutlery set on the table, as if they might bite her.
“Yes. They are pancakes, but savory. They're called blinis.” I explained, watching her hands touch the tabletop, not quite sure what to do. As I was not a man to wait for miracles, especially sinceDiohad long since given up on me, I took two blinis and covered them with crème fraîche and caviar, placing them on the plate in front of her. “Try it,” I encouraged her with a sly smile already on my face.
I was fully aware that sturgeon caviar was not to everyone's taste. Most people ended up spitting it out, others didn't even have the courage to try it. Even salmon caviar, accessible to ordinary mortals and milder in taste, could cause the most adverse reactions. And if that was the case with ordinary Europeans, I couldn't wait to see what an American woman's reaction would be.
With trembling hands, she brought the first blini to her lips. Her pink tongue received the pancake, and I felt something stick in my own throat, unable to take my eyes off her mouth. The way her lips moved as she chewed and how...
“OH MY GAWD!” My eyes widened at that sudden moan, and I had to turn back and down the champagne in one gulp when I heard all the ones that followed. Next to me, Daisy moaned in a way that was too pornographic for my mental health, her southern accent sending shivers down my spine. “This is delicious!”
I refilled my glass, clearing my throat and shifting in my seat, feeling my body heat up and react too strongly to those sounds. My pants were getting too tight around my waist.
Dio santo benedetto.
“May I?” she asked me with a pleading look.
“Of course...” I replied, almost breathless. “But... did you like it?”
“Did I like it?! This is great!” she said, concentrating on filling half a dozen blinis with crème fraîche and caviar.
My eyes widened as I watched her pour half a can and wondered if she realized she was devouring 250 grams of roe worth around $1,700. I shook my head.
Of course she didn't know.
“Mmm... I think this is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth...”
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.I could think of better things.
I dragged a hand over my face. “This is just the appetizer.” I warned her, realizing that a long and painful journey awaited me.
“Appetizer? Are there more courses? Like in a restaurant?” Her voice was muffled as she licked her fingers, now covered in crème fraîche. I knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, but I thought of several ways to punish her for that provocation…
For Dio's sake, Camillo!
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“Hmm... I thought airplane food came in plastic boxes and stuff. I didn't know there were even plates and cutlery...”
“In first class, yes. And in private jets like this one, it's common.”
Fighting for my sanity and praying to all the saints of Christianity, realizing that she wasn't going to stop until she saw the caviar jar empty, which meant she wasn't going to stop licking crème fraîche off her fingers anytime soon, I called the flight attendants. Faced with a very sulky Daisy, the womensmiled cordially and removed the trays from the table, but not before I noticed their expressions of shock at seeing the almost empty can of caviar.
When they returned, they brought us agnolotti stuffed with meat and drowned in ragu. They served us and immediately placed two glasses of wine in front of us. I brought mine to my nose, smelling its sweet notes, and as soon as I tasted it, I felt it slide over my tongue like velvet.
A fantastic red wine.
“OH MY GAWD! MMMM!”
I choked on my wine, pounding my chest frantically. With my nostrils flooded and a flight attendant patting me on the back, I brought the cloth napkin to my lips.
