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He settles into the chair next to me, with his back to the brick wall, as his bodyguards position themselves discreetly, not far from us.
“To drink this evening?” our server asks, approaching the table promptly.
I haven’t even had a chance to look at my menu and glance down quickly, biting my lip.
“I’ll take the El Diablo, as usual, Oscar. And for the lady….”
I glance up to meet Pyotr’s eye as he scrutinizes me like he’s trying to work out a puzzle.
“Let’s try the Cynar Spritz.”
“Very good, sir.” Oscar bends slightly at the hips and scurries off.
“Pyotr,” I whisper, leaning forward so no one can hear us, “I’m not twenty-one. Neither are you. What are you doing?”
He just chuckles. “Trying to guess what drink you prefer.”
“Won’t we get in trouble?”
His eyebrow rises pointedly. “Wewon’t. Relax. I come here all the time.”
I try to do as he says, easing back in my chair, and glance over to the third menu. “Who’s joining us?”
“After seeing your excitement over art, I thought you might hit it off with this person, so I invited her to dinner with us.” He pauses playfully, that mysterious grin returning and making his strong masculine face appear suddenly more youthful. “I figured you might like to know a few friends in the city.”
“Wow, that’s really… thoughtful,” I say, surprised.
Emotion flits across his face so quickly, I can’t be sure what I saw. Then he busies himself with unrolling his silverware and placing his napkin on his lap.
“Yes, well… I suppose I have a few redeeming qualities.”
I swallow hard as I realize my observation was more like a backhanded compliment combined with my shocked tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–” I bite my tongue, not sure how to finish my sentence.
“It’s fine.” He flashes me a smile, but it’s stiffer now.
I want to kick myself for accidentally muddying a perfectly wonderful day.
Our server sets our drinks down a moment later, and Pyotr raises his glass in a toast.
“To your first day in New York City. Was it everything you ever dreamed?” His tone is playful once again.
I giggle as I clink my amber-colored bubbly drink served in a champagne flute. “All I ever dreamed and more, actually. Thank you for the wonderful adventure.”
“You’re welcome.” Pyotr’s smile holds a warmth now that I haven’t seen before, and it lights a fire deep in my belly.
To distract myself, I take a sip of the cocktail he ordered me. “Mmm,” I moan, closing my eyes and savoring the bitter, almost herby flavor with a hint of citrus bite, all fizzing across my tongue. “What’s in this?”
“Can you guess?” Pyotr’s eyes dance.
“Well, I’d definitely say prosecco–or some kind of sparkling wine.”
“Good,” he agrees with a single nod.
“Is there lime? Something citrusy.”
“Right again,” he says, his smile growing.
“Well, I have no clue what Cynar is, but considering it’s in the name, I would say it has to do with the herby flavor.”
