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The familiar interior of Henry’s End is rustic, with exposed brick for walls and natural-wood counters. The narrow space is filled with simple black-painted wood chairs and tables. I’ve come here countless times with Pyotr, as it’s one of his favorite restaurants.
“Welcome, welcome!” Oscar greets us, gesturing for Pyotr to take the table nearest the front window.
I scan the room for anything I might need to keep my eye on, then take my position against the wall, a perfect spot to see anyone who comes, goes, or passes by on the sidewalk. And for the first time, I’m distinctly aware of the separation between my station and Dani’s.
Because as she settles into a chair, her dimpled smile light and happy, she’s here to enjoy my employer’s company. I’m here as the hired help.
It’s never bothered me before, even though I’ve stood in this exact spot with these same four people sitting around the same table. I don’t mind staying separate from the levity, ensuring their safety while they enjoy the night. It will always be my honor to protect the Veles family—an honor I intend to carry out as long as I live. They’ve done more for me than I could ever repay.
But after my last conversation with Dani, I can’t help but notice her reticence to be seen with me. And yet she’s still willing to dine publicly with my boss. She’s supposedly concerned about our association to the Veles Bratva and how that might impact her father’s run for governor. Still, when it comes down to it, I’m the only one she tells about the need for discretion.
“How are the art projects going?” Pyotr asks, his attention turning to Dani as he sips a martini.
“Oh, good,” she says, her dimples flashing as she tears a piece of bread from her roll and picks it apart with her fingers. “We’re supposed to be doing a runway theme for one of my term projects. Actually, I wanted to ask you both, do you think Mel and the girls would be willing to help me with that? I thought it could maybe be a fun, freeing exercise for them. Have them model some nice clothes and, you know, do a proper photoshoot kind of thing. I’m supposed to put together a whole portfolio with headshots, set design photos, and catwalk stills.”
“We can definitely ask,” Silvia agrees. “I bet they’d enjoy that. A few are still struggling to see a path forward, and a fun day with you might just help take their minds off the past for a moment.”
“Great.” Dani smiles, and her eyes flick to meet mine.
My stomach drops as I realize I’ve been watching her, not paying attention to our surroundings. Forcing my eyes away from hers, I scan the street, the restaurant, the bar.
This night is going to be pure torture.
And something new has come to my attention. While Dani seems fully engaged in the conversation and other people around her, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.
22
DANI
“You went out todinnerwith them?” my mom says incredulously as she stands in the doorway to my room.
“Mom, it’s not a big deal,” I moan, closing my art history textbook and sitting up on my bed to look at her.
“You better just pray your father doesn’t get wind of this. Though I don’t see how he won’t since gossip’s probably traveled halfway around the city by now,” she says, stepping inside my room and closing the door behind her. “I don’t understand why you insist on spending time with the Veles family when you know how much it upsets your father.”
“Who told you about it anyway?” I ask, ignoring her dig as I feel my defenses flying up. I know what comes next—a guilt trip about what a stain my actions put on the family image, how much strain I’m putting on Dad’s heart.
“Kathy Sternolm,” Mom says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“That nearsighted old rubbernecker?” I demand. “How can you possibly trust anything she says?”
“Whether her eyesight is questionable or not, the fact that you didn’t deny it is confirmation in itself. You can just count yourself lucky that no paparazzi happened to catch another photo of you with that family. One more story like the last one, and you really could end up killing your father’s career—if not your father.”
“Moooom,” I groan, so tired of hearing that same line over and over. And yet, that same wave of guilt comes crashing down on me once again.
“If I were you, I would start thinking about getting ahead of the negative chatter,” she states.
“According to you, I’ve already missed that opportunity,” I point out dryly, opening my textbook again.
Mom sits on the corner of my bed, and I glance up to meet her eyes.
“We have a charity dinner to attend tonight. Join us. It’ll go a long way to smoothing things over, and I’m sure it would make your father very happy.”
Sighing heavily, I consider her argument. It feels like nothing I do is going to be good enough for my parents. I’m not just free to make my own choices. Because every choice I make somehow has to impact them—and that just makes what I want wrong. But I also don’t want to ruin my father’s chances at governor. Not when he’s been working toward this election for so long.
And maybe going to the charity event will help get them off my back for a little while.
“Fine,” I agree. “How soon do we leave?”
