The Last Dance (20 page)

Roman nodded. “I can cancel if you prefer the café.”

Georgina shook her head. “No. I think Percorso would be lovely. Thank you,” she added. Even after everything, today had turned out to be a nice day. Parts of it were the worst since she’d met Pavel, but being here now with Roman had turned it around, gave her a few moments where she was able to pretend everything was going to be okay. He reminded her what it felt like to be happy. She would always be grateful for that, even if he was the one who made it all go pear shaped to begin with. He had given her a good day, a memory to take with her.

A car was waiting for them outside. “Vlad.” She squealed when she spotted the dark-haired man behind the wheel. Georgina smiled until her face ached again. “You didn’t fire him.”

“No. I should have, but you seem fond of him. Next time I will,” Roman warned. His tone was harsh, but the sentiment was not lost on her: he had spared his job for her.

Georgina threw her arms around Roman’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you. And there won’t be a next time,” she promised. Georgina caught Vlad’s eye and smiled.

* * * *

The Four Seasons was even grander than she expected. The floors were polished marble fit together in a geometric art deco pattern. Massive jade-colored granite pillars held up the vaulted ceiling. The cornicing and woodwork were all painted gold just like her favorite rooms in the Hermitage.

The maître’d greeted them at the entrance of Percorso, taking their coats and welcoming them in English. Again Georgina considered telling Roman she was fluent in Russian, but she didn’t. He smiled at Roman a bit too broadly. He was nervous. Roman had that effect on people. The man seated them at the table in the corner. The walls on both sides of them were mirrored. The seats were tufted maroon leather and the floor black-and-white marble tiles laid in a herringbone pattern. The center of the room was dominated by a chandelier with hundreds of red glass shades, which gave the room a sophisticated boudoir feel. The restaurant was smaller than she expected for a five-star hotel but impressive.

“Thank you,” she said as the waiter handed her a menu and then bent to light the candles on the table. She smiled across at Roman. He looked softer in the candlelight, his features less harsh. Suddenly she realized they were the only people in the restaurant. “Did you book the whole place?”

Roman nodded without looking up from the menu.

“Of course you did.” Georgina smiled and shook her head. Mentally she took a picture to add to her memory box. She would relieve this day again when she was sad, to remind her that things could get better.

“There is no fish on the menu, but I phoned ahead. They have salmon and halibut and lobster of course.”

“Of course,” she said, like it was a given. She didn’t care what she ate. She just wanted to speak to Roman. She enjoyed his company. Even if there was no attraction between them, she would choose him as a friend. He was loyal and smart and considerate. A small voice reminded her of all his transgressions, but she chose to ignore it. If only for right now, she was going to let herself believe in him, let herself be happy. “You pick.”

Roman looked up over his menu. “I won’t pick fish,” he warned.

Georgina smiled. “I know.” Tonight she was throwing caution to the wind. The only man that needed to be able to lift her was Roman, and he could manage even if she were the size of a compact car.

Roman ordered in Russian for them both: starters, main, and dessert. Good thing she was wearing pants with an elasticized waistband. She took a sip of water as she studied him. “I love tomato and mozzarella salad but risotto could go either way. I really don’t love mushrooms. But the truffle oil might be nice. That is what you said, right? And yes to the chocolate soufflé. That is a great choice.”

Roman’s lips parted. For a moment he did not speak. He just stared at her incredulously. “You speak Russian.” His tone was somewhere between awe and an accusation.

“Of course.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Not a very good spy if you don’t, I suppose.”

Georgina shook her head. “No. I learned to speak Russian to understand the other dancers. And then it was to speak to Lev.”

The mention of her lover’s name made Roman’s mouth flatten to a tight white slash. She smiled inwardly at his jealousy.

“But it must have come in handy, knowing what you were reading,” he pressed.

“No. I never read any of the documents I handed over to Pavel. I didn’t want to know.” Georgina shivered. Suddenly the restaurant felt cold. She wrapped her arms around her center. “I had to separate myself from it, all of it. That’s over now.” She cleared her throat and glanced away. It was over now, no more targets. Roman was her last.

ROMAN STUDIED HER intently. He knew her reactions now, when she was lying, or even just omitting the truth. Now was not one of those times. “How much did you know about your targets?”

Georgina shifted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable. She let out a stream of air. “Nothing. I told myself…” She shook her head. “I told myself lots of things to get through that. Lots of lies, but mostly I told myself that my career made it all worth it. I didn’t know much about any of my targets, nothing most of the time. I knew you of course. Everyone in Russia knows you.”

“Were your targets connected?”

Her eyes narrowed. She shrugged her shoulders. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I suppose they all had done something to bring themselves to the attention of the Federal Security Service.” Georgina paused for a moment, glancing up as she thought. “No, I don’t think they were connected. They couldn’t have been; they were all different nationalities, different professions…different ages.” No doubt she was mentally going through the list of targets, and it was long.

Anger mounted in him. He clenched his hands into fists under the table where Georgina could not see them. Pavel would pay, for what he had done to Roman and to Georgina. Pavel had used her, put her in an impossible situation, and made her give her body to men, strange men.

Roman had been one of those men, a stranger she was forced to fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Thinking about her with other men made his body physically hurt.
Mine.
Every cell in his body screamed it. He tried to ignore his feelings or blame it on lust, but it went beyond that. His need to protect her was primal.

The waiter brought their starters. Georgina took a piece of bread from the basket. She sighed as she bit into it. It was the same soft noise she made when he kissed her. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Ooh, taste this. It is like brioche and French bread and sourdough all rolled together.” She buttered a piece and held it to his lips.

Roman smiled as he chewed. It was nice but not nearly as nice as she seemed to think. “When was the last time you had bread?” he asked when he swallowed.

“When I was in New York. It has been a long time.”

“I can tell.” He smiled.

“It is beautiful. Why are you not eating yours?”

“I am saving it for you.”

Georgina shook her head. “You’ll make me fat.”

Roman shrugged. “I would like to see that. You with soft curves, maybe a belly. That would be beautiful. You would look like a Renoir, with your red hair.”

Georgina eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t like art.”

“I don’t. I like you.”

The answer seemed to please her. A pink blush crept up her neck and settled high on her cheeks. There was no faking that. There was something there, between them. They both felt it.

They continued to eat and talk and drink wine, the waiter keeping their glasses full. Georgiana paused, a forkful of risotto balanced inches from her mouth, “Do you know something? I know nothing about your life before you were Roman Zakharov the oligarch. You know about… Well, just about everything about me.”

“Surely not everything.” There were plenty of secrets she still kept from him.

Georgina swallowed before she responded. “Everything worth repeating. I don’t even know where you’re from. St. Petersburg isn’t your hometown. And your family. I don’t know about your family. You never talk about them. And the magazines never say anything about them. And yes, I’ve seen the articles about you in all the glossy magazines. You’re more myth than man. ”

Roman put down his fork. He stared at Georgina intently, trying to read her delicate features. She kept so much hidden, but she seemed genuinely interested. Could this still be an act? It was almost impossible to tease out what was her and what was Pavel—her curiosity versus information that could be used against him. “Severouralsk. That is where I was raised, in the Ural Mountains.” That much was public record. She could easily find it with an Internet search.

Georgina smiled. “I’ve never been there. I’ve not spent much time out of St. Petersburg, really. I have been to Moscow of course, but that’s it. Maybe someday. Who knows?” She took another bite of risotto, her mouth curving into a smile. “Good call on dinner. This is delicious. Here, try.” Georgina scooped up another forkful and held it to his mouth.

Roman hesitated only a fraction of a second before he accepted. Even if this was only an act, they both fell into it naturally. “Nice,” he agreed.

“And your family. What about them?”

Roman looked up. The waiter stopped beside them ready to pour more wine. Georgina shook her head to indicate she did not want any more.

How much had Pavel told her? Surely he would have reveled in the details about his family. All too familiar anger swelled in him. Few things still affected him that way. From everything else, he had distance, but not from that. Was she asking because she was interested or because she wanted leverage on him? Fresh doubt seeped in. Georgina had run from him. After everything, she saw him as the monster that was ruining her life. Always smart to know about people’s family, to use against them. Either way, her motives did not matter now. He bit back his emotion enough to say, “I had two brothers.”

“Had. Past tense. Did they die?” Georgina’s eyes widened as if she realized what she had asked. Alarm radiated off of her. “Sorry. Of course. They were among the miners killed in the uprising.” Georgina cleared her throat, her gaze settling everywhere but on him.

She had heard then, the rumors that he had murdered his own father and brothers in his bid for power, or maybe she was figuring it out now for herself, putting two and two together. Roman had never confirmed or refuted the accusations. Let people believe what they wanted, as long as they feared him. “Yes, they died, along with my father. He was a miner also, as was his father and his father before. And so would my son be had I not”—Roman paused for a moment, considering his words—“gotten out.”

Georgina bit into her full bottom lip as if she was considering what to say. “What were they like, your family?”

The question surprised him. He expected her to ask if the rumors were true but not what his family was like. Roman took a long sip of wine. He had not spoken about them with anyone since they died, not even his mother. It was too much for her, and so they put them aside. “Alexei was the eldest. And the most clever. He wanted to be a scientist or a doctor. Of course we could not afford for him to go to university, so he worked in the mine beside the rest of us. But he didn’t belong there. He was too smart. His intelligence wasted.” Roman’s voice trailed off. He’d looked up to both his brothers but especially Alexei. He was the calm one, the sensible one, the one that cleared the path for the rest of them.

Roman cleared his throat. “Mikhail was the middle brother.” He smiled as his brother’s face appeared in his mind: blond like him but always with a devious smile. “He was a cautionary tale of why to never have three children; the middle one will always be wild. Mikhail was always in trouble. If there was an argument he would always find it. And then escalate it. He was short-tempered and impulsive and always the first to throw a punch.” Roman shook his head. “And he was loyal and kind and always protected the ones he loved. He would give you the shirt off his back.” A boulder settled in the pit of his stomach. He missed them. He never let himself speak of them, but he always remembered.

“And your father? Did you get along with him?” Georgina asked after a while.

Roman did not register the question at first or even that Georgina had spoken; his thoughts were miles away, hundreds of miles actually, in the Urals with his family. “Yes. Yes, I got along with him. My father was…quiet and strong. He was smart like Alexei.”

“And like you,” she said softly.

Roman smiled faintly. “No, not like me. I am a poor imitation of them.”

Georgina shook her head. “I find that hard to believe. What about your mother?”

“My mother died two years ago of breast cancer. The event we met at was for the charity I set up in her name.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Roman took another sip of his wine. “Neither of us was honest about our reason for being there that night.”

Georgina’s lips pulled down into a frown. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it as the waiter appeared.

“I can’t face another bite,” Georgina said, as the soufflé was set in front of her. “But it’s chocolate, and it would be rude not to at least try.” She sank her fork into the dessert. “Mmm…that’s lovely. We need to have another date here and only eat dessert.”

“Another date? I would like that,” Roman admitted. He wanted to bring her back again. He wanted another date with her, and another, and another. He would always want more. He would never get enough of her. He accepted that now. His heart clenched painfully as he realized she was the one thing he wanted and he could never really have her. The situation with Pavel would never allow it. Their days were numbered, but he would enjoy them. “Let’s go home.”

“Thank you, Roman. Thank you for today. This was the nicest evening I have had since I moved to Russia, maybe ever.”

Roman’s chest tightened. Their end was coming, and it was too soon.

Georgina opened her eyes and glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

Shit. It’s eight thirty.