Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
We are shown to a glass-topped table. How You Remind Me by Nickelback is playing in the background as I slip into one of the marvelous chairs … and holy cow, it is easily the most comfortable chair I have ever rested my ass on.
‘We have to find a way to take one of these chairs back with us,’ I joke, leaning back and feeling like a Queen. I haven’t forgotten that he left me high and dry at the back of the car, but I plan to bide my time and take my revenge when the opportunity presents itself.
‘Take it if you want,’ he replies with an offhand shrug.
‘What?’
‘If you want the chair I’ll have it sent over to your apartment.’
I stare. The idea was kind of gross. Like a big kid stealing candy from the smaller children. ‘Are you able to just walk into any restaurant and demand their furniture?’
Zane looks at me strangely. ‘This is my restaurant, Dahlia.’
My eyebrows fly upwards. ‘This is yours?’
‘Hmmm … what’s so surprising about that?’
‘Well. I never expected you to have an Asian themed restaurant called Uncle Ho. I mean. You’re so … Russian. Russian breakfast. Russian staff. Russian artwork.’
An exotically beautiful woman in a red and white pants suit brings us both food and drinks menus. I open the drinks menu and there are at least fifty different vodka cocktails to choose from. I dither between Agent Orange and White Russian, but eventually decide on the latter. Zane has the Moscow Mule.
‘Well,’ I prompt after the woman leaves us. ‘What made you open such a restaurant?’
‘It’s actually inspired by Ho Chi Minh,’ Zane explains.
I frown. I’m sure I’ve heard of him before. ‘Isn’t he some kind of Vietnamese Communist?’ I ask.
‘I’m glad to see they teach you world history in America,’ he observes mockingly.
‘Why? Don’t they teach world history in Russia?’ I retort.
‘Yes, but we probably learn a different … um … version than you do.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You recognize him as some kind of Vietnamese Communist, I know him as a great revolutionary figure.’
I look at Zane, curious and intrigued. ‘There are so many great revolutionary figures. Why him particularly?’
His eyes glint and his lips seem very red and erotic. ‘I admired his ferocity. He took on the French Union and won.’
‘So you admire ferocity in a man?’
‘Ferocity gets you what you want.’ His gaze hasn’t unlocked from mine. I feel mesmerized by his raw beauty, but the subject we are talking about is important.
‘Maybe in your world, but not in mine,’ I whisper fiercely.
‘You don’t think ferocity rules your world?’ he asks with deceptive softness.
I look deep into his icy, dispassionate eyes. Yes, he is strong, and rich with power and wealth, however I saw something in his eyes once. Just once, but it was enough for me to know ghosts blew through the deserted corridors of his soul like gusts of cold wind.
‘I know it doesn’t,’ I say clearly.
He says nothing, just smiles, calm and cool.
The waitress comes with our drinks. My White Russian is not what I expected. It is not the color of milky-coffee I am used to. Instead it comes in two layers, the Kahlua in a rich brown bottom layer, and the cream and vodka as a glossy-white top layer. There are little rectangles of Kahlua jelly resting on the surface of the concoction. I use the two little black straws to stir the drink and watch the Kahlua swirl into the white layer.
He lifts his glass in my direction. ‘To ferocity.’
I copy the action, but not the words. ‘To kindness.’
Seventeen
Dahlia Fury
Over the rim of his glass he watches as I remove the straws and sip the fragrant cocktail. It is like a liquid dessert.
‘Good?’
‘Poetry in a glass.’
A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. ‘That good?’
‘This is Oh-My-God good.’
The waitress comes back to check if we have decided what we want to eat.
‘What’s good to eat here?’ I ask Zane.
‘Do you like prawns?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then the flaming prawns dish is exceptional.’
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘I’ll have that. Any suggestions for the main course?’
‘I’m having pork with broken rice.’
‘Sounds suitably exotic. Why not?’ I say.
Zane gives our order to the girl.
A young woman with a long luxurious plait down her back comes and puts prawn crackers on the table. She gives a lingering sideways look at Zane and I feel a tightening in my belly. I can’t be jealous! It’s the last thing I need. I shift my gaze to Zane and realize that he doesn’t even notice her, and I feel an enormous sense of relief, and my body relaxes. Oh boy, you’re in so much trouble.
‘By the way,’ I throw in casually. ‘I need to go to work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll just be an hour.’
Zane nods. ‘Sure. Let Noah drive you there.’
‘Uh. No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be quicker if I just take the tube.’