Page 67 of Ivory Ashes

It’s his turn to dodge when I take a swing at him.

“It’s not a date!” I call as he jogs away down the hallway, still laughing.

24

VIVIANA

It’s not a date.

It’s just dinner… Dinner on the rooftop of a restaurant I’d feel too underdressed to walk past, let alone eat at.

I freeze as soon as the door to the rooftop opens. Blush and fuchsia pink flowers trail up brick columns and span the gaps between the exposed wooden beams running overhead. Candles flicker in the center of the table and in lanterns scattered around the roof. The space is large enough to fit twenty other tables, at least, but tonight, there is only one.

It’s gorgeous.

And definitely not a date.

Mikhail’s hand lands firm and warm on my exposed lower back. Stella chose a low-back, champagne-colored satin dress for me to wear. At the time, I thought it was overkill. Now, it’s obvious I’d fit right in here… if there was anyone else around to “fit in” with.

Mikhail directs me out of the doorway and to our table.

“Is this for us?” I ask dumbly.

“No, actually,” he says, pulling out my chair. “But don’t worry—I killed the couple it was for on our way in. Their bodies are in the back alley. They won’t be making their reservation, I’m afraid.”

I blink at him, stunned for a full three seconds before I realize he’s joking.

“Relax. Everything tonight is for us, Viviana.” Mikhail gently pushes me back into the table.

He’s in a blue suit that does dangerous things to his eyes. They are like melting glaciers. When I look into them, I swear I can see forever.

The thought jolts me back to reality. I lunge for my napkin and accidentally send the silverware inside clattering across the table.

I’m sure Mikhail notices my nerves, but he doesn’t say anything. He orders wine and thanks the waitress as she pours our glasses. When Mikhail lifts his glass for a toast, all I hear is Anatoly’s voice in my head.

Maybe he’ll treat you extra right on your date tonight.

“Why did you bring me here?” I blurt.

Mikhail sighs and lowers his glass. He takes a sip before he answers. “I thought I should get to know the mother of my child.”

A breeze blows across the rooftop and a pink flower petal flutters down from above, landing perfectly in the center of my plate. I arch a brow. “We can get to know each other back at the mansion.”

Where there are other people. And fewer flowers. And I don’t have to imagine what it would be like if this was a date and there was some chance that the night would end with Mikhail’s lips on mine and this dress on the floor.

“I didn’t want any distractions.”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that suit,” I mumble.

Mikhail leans closer and I can smell his minty freshness from here. “What was that?”

“I want to get to know you, too,” I say quickly. “I have it on good authority that Stella and Anatoly are helping Dante make homemade slime. He definitely would have roped us into that experience if we were at the mansion.”

“What is homemade slime?” he asks.

“It is what it sounds like: slime. It’s just goo made from glue and food coloring and a bunch of other stuff from around the house.”

Mikhail, a man I’ve seen beat his own brother into a pulp, looks horrified. “What do you do with it?”

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