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“Go ahead, but I don’t think—”
He breaks off as my lips touch the glass where his were a moment ago. It’s faintly warm from his mouth, and the butterflies in my stomach do a barrel roll as I see his eyes hesitate, then flick down to where my matte, rosy lips are resting against it, almost as if he’s trying not to look.
But he can’t help it.
I hadn’t meant to be a tease, not really, but suddenly it feels as if you could cut the tension between us with a knife. The amber liquid touches my tongue, hot and sharp, filling my mouth with a smoky taste that has just a hint of orange—and it burns all the way down.
I cough, handing him back the glass. “Is that whiskey?”
“It is,” Max confirms, looking very much as if he’s struggling not to laugh. Whatever sexual tension there might have been a moment ago, vanishes as he takes the glass back, and I dab at my lips, trying not to smudge my lipstick.
“I don’t think I like that.”
“Try this, then.” He motions for the bartender, who comes over in an instant, looking expectant. “The ‘violette flower.’”
“That sounds lovely.” I peer down at the menu. “Gin, elderflower, crème de violette, and…egg white?”
“It’ll be good, I promise. A little herbal, a little sweet, a little flowery. You’ll like it.”
I’m not so sure. But as the bartender passes me a martini glass with my drink, and I lift it to my mouth, I once again feel Max’s eyes on me. That’s all it takes for me to be brave enough to try it, and when the first sip touches my tongue, I realize he’s right. I do like it.
“This is really good!” I take another sip, enjoying the pleased look on Max’s face as much as the taste of the drink.
“Well, I think gin might be your poison of choice, then.” He half-sits on one of the leather-topped barstools, glancing over the menu again. “You might like sake, too—”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask him teasingly, leaning against the barstool next to him as I lift the martini glass to my lips again, a tiny hint of my lipstick left behind.
In an instant, his entire demeanor changes. I can feel him tense, his shoulders stiffening, and the relaxed, teasing manner he’d had before dropping entirely. “Of course not,” he says firmly, picking up his glass. “And if you were, I’d make sure Caterina and Viktor got you home safely, before going back to my own home.” He glances around the restaurant, nodding. “Levin just walked in. I should go say hi. Excuse me—and happy birthday, Sasha.”
To my horror, I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I have to fight them back, my butterflies doing an instant nose-dive at the sudden change from warm to chilly as Max had shot down my insinuation in a second. I’d meant to tease him a little, but his response felt like rejection, plain and simple.
Happy birthday to me.
I finish the cocktail, looking at the menu. “I’ll have the sake sour,” I tell the bartender, who obligingly pushes a glass towards me filled with the new, more citrusy drink a moment later. Liquid courage in hand, I go to mingle, pointedly avoiding Max as I go for the buffet spread of food that’s been laid out while I was at the bar.
It’s all various Spanish tapas, arranged on artful small plates. I pick up one that has scallops and shrimp arranged on greens in a light orange sauce, nibbling at it as I look around the room. Everyone has gathered in various groups, talking and mingling, and I suddenly feel like the odd one out at my own party.
It’s my fault I’m at what feels like a business mixer instead of dancing at some club with girls my own age, I tell myself for the thousandth time, to quell what feels like a hint of disappointment curdling in my stomach—and that feels ungrateful, considering the lengths Caterina went to in order to make sure I had a good night. But—I didn’t really ask for any of this.
You never ask for anything.
I finish my plate, picking up another with small slices of beef and a mustard dip as I walk through the room, wishing Max would come and talk to me again. He’s deep in conversation with Levin and Viktor, his brow furrowed, and I don’t dare bother them. Instead, I lean against the bar, alternating picking at my food and sipping my drink, until a tall blond man in a dark suit approaches me, an interested smile on his sharply handsome face.
“I hear you’re the lady that got us all here tonight,” he says, standing in front of me as he swirls his drink—clear with a lemon peel floating in it—and looks down at me with piercing blue eyes.
“I think technically that’s Caterina.” I bravely take a sip of my own drink, privately thinking I preferred the gin to sake. “She arranged all of it. I just showed up.”
“It’s your birthday, though, yes?” His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “I’m surprised Viktor hasn’t introduced you to any of us yet.”
“And who are you?” The words come out before I can stop them, my skin prickling slightly. This man has that predatory air that so often puts me off, and I find myself wishing for Max again, who always puts me so at ease. Even the tension between us earlier didn’t make me feel like fleeing, the way this man does.
“Adrik Lebedev. One of Viktor’s brigadiers. And unmarried.” He grins at me, and I wince, sliding a little to one side.
“I’m not anyone important,” I say quickly. This man has a look in his eye as if I’m a ward of Viktor’s, to be married off for political gain. “Just the nanny.”
He grins wolfishly. “Just the nanny, hm? Quite a party for the household help. Quite a—outfit.”
His eyes rake over me, and suddenly the dress that I’d loved so much earlier feels too short and too tight, too much of me on display. My heart starts to race in my chest, the butterflies turning to shards of ice in my gut, making me wish I hadn’t opted for the second drink. I rarely drink at all, and now I feel a little dizzy, from this man’s nearness as much as the alcohol—and not in a good way.
