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“Sadie? There’s a car here for you.” My mom’s voice jolted me out of my thoughts, and I swiped a fleck of mascara out from underneath my eye before pulling away from the mirror.
Little black dress I barely fitted into. Smooth, if battered legs. Respectable makeup. Curls that were supple instead of frizzy.
This was as good as it was going to get.
I opened the bathroom door and the triplets swarmed around me.
“Why’s your leg bleeding?” Tristan demanded immediately. “Do you need a bandaid? Use one of my Paw Patrol ones.”
“No!” Fern immediately screeched. “Mine — princesses because you look like a princess, Mommy. Except not Cinderella. Don’t take my Cinderellas.”
Cooper simply looked down at the black heels I’d slipped on and gently stomped on the toe.
“Ouch, Coop,” I told him, then looked up at my mom. “Wait. Did you say there was a car here for me?”
“Yes.” She looked perplexed. “A really nice car. With a driver who’s wearing a uniform.”
“I thought we were all going to meet at the restaurant,” I said. “Does Misha not think I can drive myself?”
My mom handed me the wristlet she’d stuffed my essentials in. I usually hauled around a tote bag. “You know how the car is. And so does he. He probably doesn’t want you risking it all the way to Seattle and back tonight.”
I grimaced. “Are you sure you’re okay with watching everyone? I feel bad — weekends are your days off from these little monsters.”
“Enjoy yourself,” she urged, shooing me toward the door. “Go on before you get left behind.”
The car was a blacked out sedan, engine purring as the driver got out and opened the door for me to slide in the spacious backseat, which was decked out in delicious leather and warm track lighting. I tried to imagine myself driving a vehicle like this to work at Tides every day and simply … couldn’t.
“I didn’t expect this,” I said needlessly as we backed out of the driveway.
“Sit back and relax,” the driver told me, glancing up at me in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Turgenev wanted to make sure you were comfortable. You’ll find chilled champagne in the center console, to your left.”
Sit back? Relax? Champagne? That was a collection of words I wasn’t sure how to process. The concepts of free time and pampering were so foreign to me that I actually felt guilty. Should I check job postings on my phone? Plan next month’s menu while I rode?
“Mr. Turgenev specifically said that you needed to have at least one glass of champagne before we reach our destination,” the driver said.
I sighed. I supposed there was nothing I could do then but try to enjoy myself, just like my mom had told me to do. I knew I was working too hard, but I didn’t see any alternatives. We needed the money, and my mom deserved to be able to enjoy her retirement.
The champagne was just the right balance of sweet and dry, and I sipped on a glass and tried not to feel guilty that I was being driven to the city for a fancy dinner with Mikhail while my mom was watching the kids. But guilt eventually gave way to nerves. What would this interaction be like? Would I be able to see any of the Mikhail I had once loved?
The heavy trees gave way to city lights, and Seattle spread out in front of us, dreamy and otherworldly. I loved this city, rain or shine, and I wished I could spend more time in it.
Just outside of downtown proper, the driver stopped in front of a restaurant I had actually heard of. I gaped at it in disbelief. This place had two Michelin stars. “We’re here,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”
I was thankful for the little black dress, which was understated but could still be mistaken for something a lot nicer. Because this was a really nice restaurant. One that I salivated to imagine myself working for.
“Good evening, Ms. Ware,” the maitre d’ said, smiling politely at me. “Your party has already been seated. Please follow me.”
I managed to fall in behind the man, trying to shake off the shock of being called by name in a strange and fancy place. The entire restaurant was decked out with an old-world feel, wood-paneled walls and leather banquettes dimly lit with Tiffany lamps.
I heard my brother laughing before I saw him and Mikhail, tucked away from the rest of the diners at what was probably the restaurant’s nicest seating. Jonathan had his back to me, but Mikhail noticed me right away. His gaze was laser-sharp and searing, blue eyes flicking up and down. I felt like I’d gone through the scanner at airport security, nude and vulnerable in front of everyone.
I tried to convince myself that my flushed cheeks were from the champagne I’d had — not Mikhail’s avid attention.
He stood as the maitre d’ bowed and withdrew, taking my hand and kissing it. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but time seemed to stand still. His thumb swept over my knuckles, and his lips pressed into the thin, sensitive skin of my hand, lingering for perhaps a moment too long. “Sadie. You look beautiful.” His neatly trimmed beard tickled.
I swallowed hard as I wondered what it might feel like tickling me elsewhere.
“Nice that you could join us,” Jonathan said, throwing back the last of what smelled like an expensive whisky.
