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I press a hand to the necklace. “Thanks for this. Should I read into the black diamonds?”
“Only in that they’re rare and precious.” He lowers me into the passenger seat, bringing my knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. “Just like you.”
Fifteen minutes later, when we walk through the gilded doors of some fine dining restaurant I’m too winded to catch the name of, I don’t feel rare and precious. I feel like an overstuffed sausage.
We’re two steps into the establishment and I’m already eyeing the tables in the back corner where I might be able to discreetly unzip the back of my dress and let it all hang out, when a couple slides into our path.
She’s in a red cocktail dress with diamonds sparkling from her ears, neck, and hands. He’s wearing a tailored three-piece suit with the largest and most ostentatious diamond watch I’ve ever seen.
“Frederick,” Arsen greets, shaking hands with the man reluctantly. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Laila Adamov. Laila, this is Frederick and Alicia Stewart.”
Laila Adamov.
It’s the first time I’ve heard my name that way, and it’s surreal enough that I have to blink back to reality as Alicia Stewart turns her assessing gaze on me.
“How lovely you look, Laila.”
“That’s generous of you.” I pat my bump.
“Nonsense. You’re glowing,” she says kindly. “Although, I’m sorry it’s preventing you from tasting the fruit of your husband’s labors.”
My zipper is starting to dig into my side, and in the hustle to get from physical therapy to here, my hip has started aching. Which must be why I blurt out, “Is that a euphemism?”
Frederick spits back into the glass he’s been drinking from, and Alicia rears back. “Oh my.”
Arsen, on the other hand, snorts with laughter.
My face is on fire. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
That’s a lie. I did. I just didn’t realize this was the entirely wrong crowd for crude humor.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Arsen says, placing his hand on the small of my back, “I need to get my wife off her feet.”
I manage a half-hearted, apologetic wave in their direction before Arsen steers me towards our table. “You should get your wife away from the civilized humans,” I groan. “That was mortifying.”
“I found it entertaining.”
“What did she mean?” I ask, looking around the room so that I can avoid the amused glint in my husband’s eyes.
“She meant you can’t sample any of the new products Adamov Liquor is working on. She and her husband were early investors in Pobeda.”
“Oh.Oh. That makes a lot more sense.” I drop my face into my hands. “I must have sounded like a complete idiot.”
“You certainly made an impression.”
He takes my hand and helps me into the booth, then follows in after me. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my fingers. To my surprise, it feels natural. Easy. Like he wants to hold my hand for no other reason than I’m his wife and he can.
Now, if only my dress wasn’t cutting off blood flow to my extremities, I might be able to appreciate this moment.
As dinner progresses, things go downhill.
Eating makes the already dire situation even worse, and while I was hoping for a shadowy corner where my exposed back might go unnoticed, Arsen and I could not be any more in the center of things. If seams start ripping, the entire restaurant is going to get one hell of a show.
When the dessert menus are doled out, I decline.
“You never turn down dessert,” Arsen remarks with a raised brow.
“I’m too full,” I lie. Well, more like the dress I’m wearing is too full of me, but hey—details, shmetails.
