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Pavel wants a queen—needsone—but I feel more like a court jester who didn’t impress the royal guests. It’ll be off with my head soon if I don’t get it together.
I ignore the waitress when she pauses at our booth. White cloth covers the table flanked by two rich oak brown chairs. Fresh roses sprout from a clear vase on the cloth, soft petals flaring in a riot of color that draws my eye. Pavel holds the chair out for me, chasing away some of my worries.
When the waitress looks at me, I give her a curt smile.
Pavel sits across from me as she sets our menus on the table. I massage my fingers casually, shifting the gorgeous ring on my left finger a few times, flashing it as much as possible. Dawn glances at me, then my hand, and then turns to Pavel, offering him a grin that begs for attention—or my fist.
“Are you ready to order?” she asks while touching his upper back lightly. “We have added a few new items to the menu since your last visit.”
My fists curl on top of the table. Am I going crazy? Or is this waitress getting cozy with Pavel?
I pluck the menu from the table and hold it so I can see over the top. She’s still standing close to him. It’s like I’m not even here. Fancy dining isn’t my thing, so I don’t know what kind of etiquette is involved, but I’m pretty sure it’s not getting intimate with my husband right in front of me.
I scan the menu.Christ, most of this is in French. I throw a helpless glance over the top of the menu at Pavel. He doesn’t notice my lost-at-sea look. If I draw attention to myself, I’ll look even more out of place than I feel. God, he’s going to see right through me. He’s going to shove me right back into my prison cell if I don’t get it together.
I take a shaky breath.Act like a queen. Act like you belong here. You have nothing to worry about.
But I haveeverythingto worry about.
“Liya?”
I hum while peering casually over the menu. “Yes,darling?”
“Are you ready to order?”
“Yes, I’ll have the, uh…” I latch onto the first thing my eye catches. “Bacon-wrapped pork with rosemary potatoes, please.”
Dawn nods and collects my menu. She tucks it under her arm while leaning toward Pavel, practically drooling over him while looking at the menu. Her eyes flutter toward his neck and then back to the menu.
Jealousy turns me about three shades of green as my stomach flips.
“That,” she says while resting her hand casually on his shoulder. “I know you’re eyeing the Chilean sea bass. You have such a refined palate, and that dish is sosucculent.” She practically moans the last word, as if it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted.
My lip twitches. I play with my ring as I watch her fingers drift toward his collar. I’m two seconds from lunging across the table when Pavel laughs at something she says, breaking me out of my trance.
“The pan-seared salmon isdelicious,” she continues. “Simply the best in the city. You’ll never find anything better.” Her grin turns flirtatious. “Don’t believe me? Try it for yourself.”
“I’ll take the salmon. And what would you recommend for an additional appetizer?”
She leans forward to study the menu and then nods after a few seconds of silence. No way this chick needs to look at the menu, which I knowfor a factshe has committed to memory. “The artichoke heart.”
“We’ll take it.”
She collects his menu, her smile widening. “Excellent choice. Would you like a drink while you’re waiting? We have your favorite vodka in the back.”
“Your best bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with two glasses, please. Thank you, Dawn.”
“You’re very welcome, sir.”
The wink she shoots at him sends me into a dizzy tailspin. As the room tilts, I try to focus on something else—the delicate flowers, the breathtaking view of the city, the cool air caressing the back of my neck just like Pavel does every so often. My heart shudders in my chest, attempting to find a calm rhythm again.
I must be imagining things. I must be going absolutelynutsfrom being locked up in that penthouse all the time. This is my first time out of that cell. I’m probably just overreacting.
My eyes float to the kitchen door as doubt swirls inside me.No, I don’t think I’m imagining anything.
And then Pavel’s voice breaks through the fog of my anxiety, saying, “You were right.”
I tear my attention away from the cream-colored walls, the dark wood privacy screens, the soft hush of activity thrumming beyond our booth.
