“Come on, then.” He puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me forward, and I feel a flutter in my chest. And lower—much lower.
“So,” I laugh nervously at the opulence around us, “do you have a reservation here tonight that you made years ago, and we just happened to meet?”
“No, no.” Viktor nods to the hostess, who doesn't even ask his name before leading us to a table. “I’ve invested heavily in this place. There is always a table for me when I want it.”
What I want to say is “Holy shit, are you kidding me?” But instead, I just turn wide-eyed to him.
He chuckles. “I'm trying to make a good first impression on you. Is it working?”
“You mean, like the first impression I made on you this morning? That I'm a complete klutz who can't control her friend's dog and made a huge idiot out of herself?” I respond as he pulls out the chair for me gallantly, and I sit.
“I don't remember it that way,” Viktor says as he takes his seat.
“You don't remember me flashing everyone on the sidewalk as the giant Great Dane ran away with half my jeans?”
“Oh, I remember that very clearly. What I don't remember is the bad first take. In fact, you made quite an impression on me.”
The way Viktor is looking at me, the silk in his voice, sends a shiver down my spine that's about anything but danger. No, this is an awareness of every inch of him, the way he fills out his suit, the way his mouth moves when he goes to take a sip of the wine the server is pouring, the way humor flits across his full lips.
How I wish I were that wineglass, that I could feel those lips on me—everywhereon me.
There's no menu tonight—it's aprix fixemenu, and the dishes are served one after the other. They're tiny, one bite each, and they're good, but it feels like something is missing. I don't say that out loud, of course. You don't come to a restaurant like this and complain about any part of the meal.
We're on the third tiny dish, which is the foam of something and little pearls of something else overfoie gras,magically shaped into a shell. It's briny and creamy, with a slight bite that's all wrong on my tongue. But I chew thoughtfully and swallow as Viktor watches me before I smile.
“This is amazing. Thank you so much.”
Viktor doesn't respond right away. Instead, he watches me before placing his fork back down onto the table. “You don't have to lie for my sake.”
I choke on my small sip of wine. “I'm not—” I start hurriedly while trying to stifle my coughing fit.
Viktor waves away my concern. “Not to worry, you're not hurting my feelings.”
Before I can say anything else, Viktor stands and offers me his hand to pull me up. And in only a few more minutes, we’re back in the car with the driver, headed elsewhere.
Had I said something wrong? Offended Viktor somehow by pretending to like the food at the restaurant he invested in? Is he already taking me home, the date over?
My question is answered when we pull up outside what looks like a small hole-in-the-wall with a scrawled sign over it that reads “Bambino.” Viktor whisks me out of the car again and takes me inside what turns out to be a small Italian restaurant with an open kitchen, only ten tables, and a Michelin star. The air is redolent with the scent of garlic, herbs, and olive oil. The freshly baked bread that comes to the table is a masterpiece, as is the first course: littleneck clams in a white wine stock.
“Better?” Viktor asks, a smile on his face after watching me savor clams, one right after the other.
“To be fair,” I tell him, “I was perfectly happy at the other restaurant. That was a once-in-a-lifetime experience very few people get to have.”
“I want you to enjoy tonight,” Viktor says, his eyes intently focused on mine. “Just because something is an experience doesn’t mean you’ll like it.”
I nod appreciatively and continue to enjoy the meal.
4
LEAH
Viktor watches me as I savor a bite of burrata with a seared peach, thick, syrupy aged balsamic, and salt and pepper—it’s heaven, and I treat it like it is.
He chuckles. “You appreciate good food.”
I take a moment to think about my reply. “I like anything that makes me feel happy. I enjoy traveling, but it doesn't have to be to an exotic place. It can be upstate in a little town with an art scene. I like to read for the same reason. I enjoy attending all the local festivals in Philly and in Jersey, you know, to discover new things.”
“I see,” Viktor says, a smile hovering on his mouth again.
