“Have you tried the custard, Kotik? It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.”
I choked, and reached for him again because how dare he—
“Careful.”
“Or what?”
“Katya, I will rip those nylons and fuck you bent over this table—I don’t care who’s watching—if you don’t stop. It’dbe a shame—those are nice nylons,” he warned quietly. “If you want me to finish what I started, behave.”
I opened my mouth to make myself a bigger problem, but a low whistle snapped my head up. His expression immediately withdrew, becoming something harsher.
“Vitali,” Misha said, nodding toward the bar.
Boris and Ivan’s faces went cold-serious, and they slowly stood.
Beside me, Vitali adjusted himself. His gaze locked on something in the crowd.
“What’s going on?” I hissed.
“Just have to make sure things get done,” he said, his tone full-on professional as if I wasn’t just feeling his pulse through the fabric of those expensive slacks.
He straightened out his shirt, shoulders back, and ensured the cuffs were lined up just right. The four of them separated from the group without so much as a head turning. I twisted this way and that, but there were a lot of people, and the lighting not so great for espionage.
The music matched the late hour, but the beat had no lyrics, just resonant bass like a slowed heartbeat. I became intensely aware of the high-pitched laughter of my girlfriends and the sharp smell of vodka—their personal stash, this time—mixed with that of rye bread.
“What…” I murmured as I spotted Vitali slip into the men’s room, followed by Misha closely behind. Boris and Ivan stood on either side of the doors, completely inconspicuous with their large arms crossed.
And then, the waiter blocked my view, and when he moved, they were gone.
“Forgive me,” I said to the man beside me as I bumped himtrying to wiggle out of my seat. I squeezed between beautifully dressed people and quickly made my way toward the restrooms. No Ivan, no Boris, and I would guess no Vitali or Misha—but I wasn’t about to go in the men’s room to find out.
My heart beat against my chest, and I ducked into the women’s restroom to gather my thoughts. It was empty, and I had already taken a few steps forward when I glanced my reflection.
Some of the makeup came off, leaving behind tributaries of purple and blue. In this poor lighting the swelling was still visible on the right side of my face. Foundation collected on the scab, widening it with longer shadows and giving the impression that my head was cracked, like an egg.
I lightly touched it with my fingertips, applying pressure until I winced. A stark reminder that the ugly doesn’t go away just because you had a good evening.
My stupid little purse couldn’t even fit makeup to touch things up, so I’d have to count on the restaurant’s shadows and generous amounts of vodka in everyone else’s cups.
And then I thought of Vitali, and this being the first time he wore a normal person shirt in public… maybe since New Zealand. Because he had no one else he cared to impress.
You’re an idiot, I thought, coaching myself up the steep mountain of self-esteem.Go back out there.
And so it happened that I forgot why I went to the bathroom in the first place, and it was a surprise when I returned to the table, and both Vitali and Misha were standing beside it, looking at me.
“Are you ready for your birthday present, Kotik?”
30
Happy Birthday, Kotik
“Ready for your birthday present, Kotik?” Vitali took me by the hand, his eyes nothing but adoration. “This way.”
Boris walked behind us, softly closing the doors that Vitali threw open as we passed the bar and went into the back, where service staff were dashing to and fro with various glassware and stacks of decadent dishes on large trays.
I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright, fluorescent lighting. Everywhere, plates clinked, water sizzled on oil, and someone shouted orders. I almost slipped, heels unstable on the tile floor, but Vitali held me up, smiling at my newborn calf-like movements.
“There is no hurry, Katya,” he said.
