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I took the shot and looked at him, reluctant, my hands shaking.
"Za vas," he said in Russian. "To you."
"Za vas," I replied and together, we shot back the vodka. I grimaced. Despite the hint of anise, it was still vodka, straight.
Drake smacked his lips. "Vashee zda-ró-vye!" he said. "To your health."
I smiled just a bit, licking my lips. He seemed in such a good mood, now that he had me alone on his own turf. He took one of the blini and smeared sour cream and caviar, then added a few bits of onion to it.
"Here," he said, holding it up to my mouth. "You never drink vodka without eating."
"I don't know…"
"A rich kid like you never had caviar?"
"I had a huge aquarium when I was a kid and bred guppies. I couldn’t never get used to the idea of eating fish eggs."
He laughed but pressed it on me. "Trust me, Kate. This is so good. You'll love it."
I took a bite and chewed, a bit hesitant. Then I raised my eyebrows. The smooth creaminess of the sour cream was punctuated by the sharp little bites of salty caviar and the savory onion. "It's good. I didn't think I'd like it."
"Like I said, you have to trust me. I know what's good. The more I know you, the more intimate we are, the more you can just let go and I'll lead the way."
"You're so sure of yourself," I said. I picked up the menu and examined it. "What's good to eat?"
"I'll order my favorites," Drake said. "Can you trust me?"
I nodded. "Russians don't eat eyeballs do they?"
"No, at least, none that I know."
Drake ate the rest of the blini and then fixed another, which we shared, him feeding me.
The waiter arrived and Drake ordered for us in Russian, requesting the Pelmeni, which were stuffed dumplings, the Blinchik, which were crepes with white truffle, and to start, the famous Tea Room borscht soup.
When the waiter left, Drake turned to me, resting his arm on the back of the seat behind me.
"So, Kate," he said, moving just a bit closer. "You read my letters. How did they make you feel?"
I shrugged. There was no way I was going to tell him. "I don't know what to think..."
"Don't tell me what you think. Tell me how you felt."
No frickin' way.
"You're a good writer."
"You are so stubborn. Look, Kate, this couldn’t be easier," he said, moving a little closer. "Your father wants us to be together. We can meet, talk and I can take you out to functions as much as we want, we can do as much as you want, explore as much as you want, without having to hide our relationship. No one has to know why we're together. They'll all assume they know why, thinking it's because we've fallen in love," he said, his tone mocking. "It's great cover."
"I haven't agreed to become your sub."
"No, you haven't," he said and traced a pattern on the back of my hand. "I hope to convince you to sign a modified agreement. I'm going to be honest with you, Kate." He caught my eye. "I want you. There's nothing I love more than initiating and training a new submissive. I think I can satisfy your needs. In fact, I think this is perfect for us both."
"And if I said I just want to write a research paper and interview you? Nothing more?"
"You didn't feel like you only wanted to write a research paper earlier. You were nice and wet and for a moment, you kissed me back."
I frowned. "I was overly emotional. You caught me at a vulnerable moment."
