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The air inside the tailor's shop is scented with aged wood and leather, providing a rich aroma that blends with the musk of freshly pressed fabrics. The opulent surroundings stand in stark contrast to my raw, ink-laden skin. As the tailor assists me into the sleek, charcoal-grey suit I'd requested, I can't help but smirk at my own reflection. The sight of someone like me—rugged, marked by life's battles, clad in a suit that could grace the pages of a high-end magazine—is an irony not lost on me.
"A perfect fit, Mr. Nicolaevich," the tailor, an old man with spectacles resting on the tip of his nose, comments.
I nod, still struggling to reconcile the duality of the image before me. There's a gnawing sensation in my gut, an unfamiliar flutter. Damn, I’m nervous and it's been years since I felt like this. But I square my shoulders, masking any hint of my internal conflict. Tonight is significant, and I've got a part to play.
Exiting the shop, the sight of my private car, sleek and black against the evening hues, welcomes me. Nikolai, my trusted driver for special occasions, stands by, ready to take me to this all-important rendezvous.
As we approach the penthouse, the anticipation of the evening ahead envelops me, but all those thoughts evaporate the moment I see Ana. Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the building's entrance lights, she's the embodiment of ethereal beauty. She wears a flowing midnight blue dress, its fabric hugging her curves, cascading down to the floor in a soft shimmer.
The gown contrasts beautifully against her fair skin, and the silver pendant resting on her collarbone only adds to her allure. Her raven-black hair is pulled up in a loose updo, allowing stray wisps to frame her face. Her eyes, usually fierce and determined, tonight hold a glint of mischief, framed by delicately applied smokey eyeliner.
I momentarily forget to breathe. She's always been beautiful, but tonight? She's transcendent.
As she gracefully makes her way to the car, I rush to open the door for her, like a teenager on his first date. Once she's seated inside, I can't help but be overtaken by emotion. I walk around to the other side and get in beside her.
"Ana," I begin, searching for the right words, "I've seen you in many lights, in many roles. But tonight, you look like something out of a dream. Absolutely breathtaking."
She smiles, that radiant, heart-stopping smile of hers. "Why, thank you, Samuil. You don’t look too bad yourself," she teases, her gaze appreciative as she takes in my attire.
I chuckle, the moment's intensity lightened by her playful jab. But in the silence that follows, our interlocked fingers speak volumes of the night ahead.
Inside the dimly lit car, the intimate atmosphere lends itself to whispered conversations and shared secrets. I reach into the mini bar, retrieving a chilled bottle of champagne, its label boasting of its age and pedigree.
"How about a little bubbly to start the evening?" I suggest, pouring the liquid into two flutes, the bubbles rising with a tantalizing sizzle.
A flicker of conflict crosses Ana's face. For a heartbeat, she looks like she's going to say yes, but then she hesitates. "I think I'll pass tonight," she murmurs, a hint of unease in her voice.
I nod, setting the second flute back on the tray. "No problem." But internally, alarms start ringing. Was it just a simple refusal, or was there something more? She'd hinted earlier that she had something on her mind. Is it related to her last checkup? The poison from the attack had taken its toll, and every appointment since has been tense, filled with worries about any lasting damage.
I banish the grim thoughts, forcing a smile on my face. "Everything okay?" I ask, my voice deceptively casual.
Ana nods, her gaze distant for a moment before refocusing on me. "I just have some things on my mind. Let's enjoy tonight."
My relief is short-lived as my mind goes into overdrive, mulling over the 'what-ifs'. But I rein in my fears, reminding myself that tonight is about us and the promise of a future together.
The car soon pulls up to our destination. The restaurant is one of Moscow's finest—a grandiose establishment that's retained its old-world charm. The façade is majestic, with intricate carvings and large arched windows adorned with flowing drapes. As we step inside, the interior takes our breath away.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the space. The floor is a gleaming expanse of polished wood, and large round tables draped in crisp white cloths are spaced generously apart, ensuring privacy for each patron. The walls are painted in muted golds and reds, with elegant patterns reminiscent of a bygone era. Grand paintings of Russian aristocracy line the walls, each frame lit up by a dedicated light.
Waiters in crisp uniforms move around gracefully, attending to the guests with a practiced ease. The sound of a live string quartet fills the air, their melody a blend of classic and contemporary, setting the perfect mood for the evening.
Ana's eyes widen in appreciation. "This is stunning, Samuil."
I grin, taking in the ambiance. "Only the best for tonight," I murmur, escorting her to our table, which offers a prime view of the room and the musicians.
As we settle in, the unease from the conversation in the car lingers, casting a shadow on an otherwise perfect setting. Yet I vow to myself that whatever it is Ana needs to share, we'll face it together, as we always have.
Our waiter, a tall man with slicked-back hair and a quiet grace, arrives with a bottle of wine. As he pours the deep red liquid into my glass, Ana gently places her hand on his wrist, signaling her choice to abstain. The waiter nods in understanding, setting down sparkling water for her instead. I note her refusal of alcohol again but decide not to press her at the moment.
With a deep breath, I lean in closer to Ana, making sure my voice is for her ears only. "I met with Andrei and Sandra today."
Her eyes, bright and ever curious, meet mine. "And?"
A smirk forms on my lips, "We're going to New York. We've been approved."
Her face lights up, the infectious energy of her happiness making everything else insignificant. Without a moment's hesitation, she lunges forward, throwing her arms around me in a tight embrace. I hold her close, my own joy reflected in hers.
But that isn’t the only thing I want to tell her, and as I pull back, there's a glint in my eyes that she recognizes, a hint of mischief, of something left unsaid. "There's something else," I say.
