He grins. “It’s easier.”
“For who?”
“For people who forget keys,” he teases.
I raise an eyebrow. “Rich people have weird problems.”
“They do.”
The elevator climbs silently. Thirty floors. It reminds me of those fancy hotels in New York.
When the doors slide open...I forget how to breathe. The entire rooftop overlooks the city. Glass railings disappear into the night. Thousands of lights stretch toward the horizon. Heaters are placed between tables like tall plants.
Live violin music drifts through the cool evening air. The place feels expensive. The kind of restaurant where people whisper because the view already says enough.
A hostess approaches immediately. “Good evening, Mr. Vikiar.”
“Evening,” he replies with a nod.
“Your usual table?”
“If it’s available.”
She smiles. “It always is.”
She leads us toward the very edge of the rooftop. One table is separated from the others.
I look at Azriel as we sit. “You come here often?”
“When I want to think.”
“I thought rich people thought on yachts.”
He laughs. “I get seasick.”
“I was joking.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if they had yachts at their disposal to just think.
The server appears, and I notice they did not offer us any menus. “Your usual?”
Azriel nods before looking at me. “You okay with steak?”
“I love steak.”
I do.
I was kind of worried about what I would order. When I was with Roman, I was embarrassed a few times trying to pronounce certain dishes on the menu. Roman always pointed out the fact that I needed to learn how to order. It was one of his many insecurities. To him, not knowing how to pronounce dishes on the menu was an embarrassment to him.
“Perfect. She’ll have the same,” Azriel tells the server.
The server disappears.
I blink. “Did...did we just order without ordering?”
Azriel smiles. “I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen. They remember.”
I lean back in my chair. “This isn’t exactly normal.”
