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“Very well. If this will make you happy, then I will see that your things are moved into his room immediately.”
I’m waiting for a catch, but there doesn’t seem to be one, which surprises me.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See, all I want to do is make you happy,” he says, cupping my chin and coaxing me to look at him.
When I do, I try my hardest to appear appreciative.
“Let’s go out for dinner. You look far too lovely to waste it by staying indoors.”
“Okay.” The only way I can survive this will be to keep contact to a bare minimum. Besides, Saint was trying to achieve this all along; to make me behave.
Alek smiles, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely happy. But his happiness is spurred on by the fact he believes he has won with Saint gone and will be able to morph me into whatever he wants me to be.
Ignorance is bliss.
“Mr. Popov. It is lovely to see you again,” the server greets us at the front door of some classy restaurant in town. When he runs to assist us, it’s clear everyone knows who Alek is.
“Hello, Robert. Is my usual table available this evening?”
Robert’s glance flicks to the secluded area on the second floor reserved for people like Alek. It’s evidently full, but you don’t say no to Alek.
“Of course. Follow me.” He touches the earpiece and says something into the headset he’s wearing. I’m guessing it has something to do with relocating whoever dared to sit at Alek’s table.
Alek leads me through the very elegant restaurant with our arms linked. Golds and rich blues decorate the large room, and the white plates and sparkling crystal have been polished to perfection. A soft piece of classical music plays over the speakers.
Overall, this place seems to be a haven for people like Alek because it exudes wealth and superiority. Alek nods to a few people in passing while others turn to look at who ventures into their domain.
Robert removes the black rope from across the bottom of the staircase so we’re able to go upstairs. It feels so snobbish to be segregated this way, but I follow Robert as he leads us to a small white booth toward the back. This table must be the best in the house because it allows us a superb view of our surroundings.
No one can sneak up on us as our backs are to the wall. It appears Alek’s paranoia extends to his dining.
As we take our seats, Robert places the menu down in front of Alek, not me. The move makes my blood boil as it seems Alek has brought other women here before. Therefore, Robert knows Alek’s women are his property who don’t even have the right to order their own food.
However, before Robert has a chance to pour us some water, Alek grips his wrist, startling him. “She will have a menu also.”
Robert’s eyes widen in horror as Alek releases him. “Of course, Mr. Popov. Apologies. I didn’t think—”
But Alek cuts him off. “That’s right. You’re not here to think. You’re here to serve me and my girlfriend.”
Now my eyes widen. Girlfriend? Is that what I am to him? He definitely never treated Zoey like a girlfriend, but it appears I’m different because I’m permitted the luxury of ordering my own meal.
Sweat gathers along Robert’s brow despite the cool temperature. He passes me a menu, which I accept. “Would you like to order the house wine? It’s a beautiful red imported from Italy.”
I’m perusing the menu, which is thankfully in English, when Alek asks, “Would you like wine? Or something else?”
I slowly lift my gaze, wondering if he’s really addressing me because since when do I have a choice? But when he waits for me to answer, it seems I do when eating. “Sure,” I reply in a small voice. “Wine sounds good.”
Alek nods while Robert exhales, then scampers off. He’s most likely thankful he’s leaving here in one piece. I continue reading over the menu, but nothing stands out because eating is the last thing on my mind.
“Do you need any help deciding?” Alek asks, appearing to want to please me. “I highly recommend their beef stroganoff.”
His kindness is so foreign to me because I would never use that word when referring to him. But I hate to admit he does show tiny glimpses every now and again, leaving me feeling conflicted. If he were always the coldhearted bastard I know he is, hating him and plotting his demise would be so much easier.
But when he shows his humanity, I almost feel guilty for wishing him harm.
“I don’t think I could stomach something so rich.” Which is true as I’ve eaten next to nothing since this ordeal began. Eating wasn’t high up the survival chain. “I think I’ll have the cabbage soup.”
