He sets down his espresso. “Where?”
“A restaurant on the waterfront in Coconut Grove. It’s quiet, with outdoor seating, and easy for your people to cover.” I’ve already done the work of selecting a location that meets hissecurity requirements, and I present it that way deliberately because it’s me applying his logic on my own terms instead of waiting for him to apply it for me.
He looks at me, registering what I’ve done, and his expression is approving. “Fedor will drive. It’ll be the same setup as the campus visit.”
“I know.” I pour myself more decaf. “Adrian, you didn’t forbid it.”
“I wouldn’t unless it was unavoidably unsafe.” He softens slightly. “I’m trying to make sure your safety is the only reason I ever override your wishes.”
“I know that too. It still matters that you didn’t.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, and the tension we’ve been carrying between us eases. We’re not finished with that conversation, but we’re past the worst of it.
The security convoyassembles in the garage thirty minutes before departure. Fedor will drive my vehicle in the middle of the convoy. A dark SUV will lead with two of Viktor’s men, and another will follow behind us with two more. The four civilian-detail operatives are waiting at the garage entrance, and I stop walking when I see them.
They’ve been shopping.
Arseny, the stocky one who complained about hiding his gun in casual clothes last time, is wearing a Hawaiian shirt with palmtrees, cargo shorts, and sandals. He looks like a tourist who bench-presses sedans in his free time.
The other three are in khakis, polos, and boat shoes, which is at least geographically appropriate for a waterfront restaurant in Coconut Grove. One of them is even wearing sunglasses on a cord around his neck, which is either dedicated method acting or borrowed from a lost-and-found bin.
“Much better.” I look at each of them. “You almost look like you’re here on vacation.”
Arseny adjusts his shirt over what I’m fairly certain is a waist holster wedged between his shorts and his stomach. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You look like a normal person, and that’s the point.” I smile at him. “The Hawaiian shirt is a nice touch. Did you pick that yourself?”
He scowls but the corners of his mouth twitch. “Fedor’s wife chose it.”
“Tell her she has good taste.” I get in the car and close the door before my amusement becomes too visible. They’ve clearly put effort into blending in this time, and I don’t want to undermine that by laughing at the image of Fedor’s wife dressing a two-hundred-forty-pound Russian operative in tropical print.
Denise is already at the restaurant when we arrive. She’s sitting at an outdoor table near the railing overlooking the marina, and she stands when she sees me. She’s wearing a sundress and sandals, her hair is freshly done, and the effort tells me she’s nervous about this meeting in a way she wouldn’t be for a routine mother-daughter lunch.
“You look good, baby.” She hugs me and holds on longer than usual. “You look rested…different.”
Marisol said something similar, making me wonder just how tightly wound I was for the last six years and couldn’t see it. “Different good or different concerning?”
“Different like someone who’s sleeping well and eating regularly, which means you’re either in love or you joined a cult.” She sits and picks up her menu. “Tell me which one.”
I sit across from her and set my purse on the chair beside me. Fedor positions himself at a table twelve feet away and orders a coffee he won’t drink. “I have a few things to tell you, and some of them are big.”
Denise sets down her menu and gives me her full attention, which isn’t something at which she’s always been good. “I’m listening.”
“I’m pregnant.” I start with the biggest piece because Denise processes better when the shock comes first and the details follow. “Twins. I’m about twelve weeks along.” I don’t bother with explaining the LMP to her, or that the babies are only ten weeks into development. She probably remembers all that.
Her mouth opens as she presses both hands flat on the table. She looks at my stomach, then at my face, then at my stomach again. “Twins?”
I nod with a smile. “Two babies, and both are healthy so far.”
She takes a few breaths to compose herself. Still looking at my stomach, she asks, “Who’s the father?”
“His name is Adrian. He’s the reason I’ve been traveling.” She takes it in and doesn’t rush to fill the silence with advice orassumptions. When she nods, I continue. “He’s in the hospitality business. He owns hotels, clubs, and real estate in Miami and the Caribbean. He’s protective, and he asks me what I want instead of telling me what I need.”
“That doesn’t sound like Eric.” She says it almost to herself, and the comparison surprises me because Denise spent two years defending Eric’s concern as genuine.
“He’s nothing like Eric.”
“I know.” She looks down at her hands. “I owe you an apology for pushing Eric on you. I’ve seen lately just how pushy he can be. I had to ask him to stop calling me because he was so…insistent.” She shudders for a second. “I wanted to believe he was good for you because believing that was easier than admitting I couldn’t tell the difference between care and control. I’ve spent my whole life confusing them.”
