Page 49 of Lord of Pain
The terror of every near miss, the adept movement of the bike between a construction zone and the street. The construction guys shouting, "Hey, nice bike!"
I lean with him as he cuts left, heading down an alley, and I see the surprised expressions of people hanging out on their balconies above us before he hits the next right, opening the throttle again.
There's something mesmerizing about it, the city speeding past us in vivid streaks of color with a symphony of honking and shouts, and the low, rumbling buzz of the motorcycle between my legs. My nipples are getting hard and I can only hope Romancan't feel them pressed against his back because I know that would please the hell out of him.
After fifteen minutes of near-death twists and turns, we pull up in front of a walled garden. The high brick walls show only the tops of some beautiful greenery and two magnolia trees that are still holding their flowers in the summer heat.
I try to swing my leg off the bike and nearly topple sideways before Roman catches me around the waist. "Easy," he chuckles. "It takes a minute to get your legs back." He takes my helmet from me and smooths back my hair, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Your eyes are so bright," he says, his voice husky. "Like the gold of the sunset."
"That's very poetic." There's a deep voice behind us. "Shall we eat before Roman's inner Shakespeare gets loose?"
We turn to greet the couple behind us. Dmitri, I recognize from the fundraiser and his wife Ava. She has her arm linked with his and she's smiling at me with friendly curiosity.
"Hey," she holds out her hand, "I'm Ava, it's so nice to meet you. I've heard about Hope House." She pauses as Dmitri gives a low growl. "We can talk about Hope House later. If I don't get food for my husband, he's going to become something extremely unpleasant."
"That's true," Roman agrees. "Dmitri gets hangry, and when a man has access to long range missiles that seems like pushing your luck. You really don't want someone like that getting low blood sugar."
The maître d' standing at the little podium by the open iron gate pretends not to hear us.
"Dmitri Morozov," he says, shaking my hand. "Good to meet you, Violet." He's handsome, like Roman, with the same formidable height and thickly muscled build. As he looks down at Ava, though, there's an immense tenderness in his expression that makes him much less intimidating.
Inside the walls, the garden explodes into bloom around us. I've always thought there were probably a million of these hidden pieces of magic sprinkled throughout the city, but actually finding one is so exciting. There are beautiful trees and flowers spilling out of urns, with stone statues in little alcoves..
"Hidden away, like a secret to be found," I whisper. Roman's arm slides around my waist and he squeezes me gently.
The garden holds only ten tables, and while they're covered with white linen tablecloths and elegant little flower arrangements, it still has a very "backyard host" feel, reinforced as the hostess shows us to our table.
"You might want to take a little walk around the garden after dinner," she says. "This is one of the largest private gardens in Manhattan." Nodding toward Dmitri, she smiles. "It's helpful when the chef is friends with the biggest real estate developer in the city."
"Your family's in real estate?" I ask Roman.
"Among other things," he gives me a wink.
"Sex andgunthings," I whisper, pinching his side as he smothers a chuckle. The men are about to pull out chairs for Ava and me when another couple arrives, the man's long legs slowing down to match the shorter ones of his wife.
"Oh, it's so nice to have dinner together!" the woman beams. She's almost startlingly beautiful, with pale green eyes and blackhair. I can see Roman takes after her, right down to those thick, long lashes of his which are absurd and unreasonable for a man to have. She turns to me. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Violet. I'm Ella, Roman and Dmitri's mother."
"The resemblance is pretty convincing," I say, squeezing her outstretched hand. "Lovely to meet you too."
"Maksim Morozov." A large hand comes toward me with a certain menace that makes me wonder if he intends to shake my hand or choke me with it.
"Hello," I say, gingerly putting my fingers in his before deciding to be brave and do the man handshake thing - shoving my hand against his until the space between our thumbs meet - and I squeeze his knuckles as hard as he squeezes mine.
Maksim raises his brow in a way that is strikingly similar to Roman's, and a quick quirk passes his lips that might be construed as a smile. "Let's sit down," he says. "It will be good to catch up."
I notice during the introductions that both Roman and Dmitri have rigid posture, their shoulders straight like they're fresh out of military school. When they see their father - sort of - smile at me, the energy around the table instantly calms.
We start with scallops with cloudberry and salmon caviar, a taste so sublime that I'm having trouble keeping up with the conversation.
"Are you all right?" Roman leans close, brushing his shoulder against mine.
"I'm having a conversation with the caviar," I sigh lovingly.
By the time the brioche with duck and Kamchatka crab is served, dusk is falling over the garden, the last of the sun's rays lightingup the flowers in the planters with one last burst of glory as the candles on the table burn brighter, illuminating everyone's smiles. Ava's passed her phone around, showing the latest pictures of Lev, her and Dmitri's extremely adorable baby.
"So, Roman tells us you have two sisters?" Ella asks.
"Twins, they just graduated from high school," I smile proudly. "Straight A's. Rose and Iris."
