Page 149 of Emerald Malice
Natalia cringes. “I must have freaked them out.”
“Only because they love you.”
“Andrey…” She squeezes my wrist, holding me in the pool house for another second longer. “Thank you. For everything”
“Put your money where your mouth is.” I unwrap myself from her arms and get to my feet. “You can thank me by having dinner with me.”
She brightens. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.” I wink. “Wear something pretty.”
53
ANDREY
She steps onto the porch, and even the breeze goes still to admire her.
Her hair is a silky waterfall cascading over one shoulder. The cherry pendant I gave her for her birthday dangles from a thin chain around her neck, catching the moonlight until it seems to glow.
“Remi was not happy to be left behind,” she informs me as I hold the passenger side door open for her.
“That dog has hogged your company for long enough. It’s my turn tonight.”
Her lips curve up as she slides into the Porsche without mentioning the blacked-out Wrangler looming behind us.
Leonty and Leif have specific instructions to be as discreet as possible tonight. Shura will be at the restaurant, too, scoping out the perimeters, making sure everything’s safe. With any luck, we won’t even notice they’re there.
The ride is smooth and quiet. Natalia’s thigh is warm beneath my palm as I drive, and the scent of her perfume floats through the car, just subtle enough to make me wonder if I’m dreaming the whole thing up.
She holds her chin high as we emerge from the car, proud and defiant, though she lets me lead her into the restaurant. Just like the perfume, I wonder if I’m imagining the tremor in her hand.
It’s as though she’s determined to prove that she belongs here.
Whether “here” means at this restaurant or at my side, however, I don’t know.
She spends an inordinate amount of time talking to the waiter, and when he finally leaves, it’s with three pages of his notepad filled with damn near every item on the menu.
The door to the kitchen clicks shut and she winces. “I overdid it, didn’t I?”
“You’re pregnant. You get to order whatever you want.”
“I’ll never be able to finish half of it.” She twirls a lock of hair between her fingers. “Mom had a rule about wasting food. If we couldn’t finish it ourselves, we had to make sure someone else could. There was a homeless shelter nearby. We used to drive down after every holiday with all our leftovers.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say. “I know a bridge not far from here with a homeless camp beneath it. We’ll go by after dinner.”
She blinks at me, lips parted, head cocked to the side. I’m just as confused, to be honest. The offer flowed naturally from my lips; I didn’t say it to mock her or patronize her or even to flatter my way into her bed tonight.
It just felt right.
When the first appetizers hit the table, Natalia samples each dish, but leaves most of it untouched.
It makes me wonder if she’s purposely eating less so the homeless people she hasn’t even met yet can have more. I’m happy to take care of them on her behalf, but my primary goal tonight is to take care of her.
“What did your parents do?” I ask when the first courses have been cleared away.
“Dad was a music teacher,” she says. “He was the one who taught me the piano. He played a whole bunch of different instruments, though. Guitar, flute, accordion. Even fiddled around with drums a little. Mom was a temp. That’s how she met my dad. She took a position at the school he worked at.”
Her eyes are brighter than usual as she talks about her parents. I get the feeling she doesn’t do it very often.