Page 65 of Wicked Serve

I’m used to the wealth now, but I rarely take advantage of it. My Mercedes, sure. Clothes, no problem. I don’t protest when Grandfather greets me each birthday with a new Rolex watch. But a hotel suite like this, booked on a whim, and the Cartier necklace resting in its case on the coffee table? This is on a different level. It’s a reminder of the amount of money I have at my fingertips.

I’ve never been so glad to spend it.

I move on to my tie, then my cuff links. I opted for a navy-blue suit, to match the dress hanging in the closet, and looking at my reflection in the window, I know I made a good choice. I can’t do anything about the scar, but the rest of me is plenty put together. You’d hardly know that my favorite thing in the world is playing a violent contact sport.

There’s a knock on the door; I told reception to send Isabelle up when she arrived. She reaches for a kiss as soon as I open it, but stops short as she looks me over.

“Oh, wow,” she says, smoothing my suit collar.

“Something tells me this should be resulting in more kisses, not less.”

She shakes her head, lips pressed together in a smile. “This is just... wow. All of this for Izzy Day?”

She spins in a slow circle, taking in the details of the suite. I asked for the best available, and the space definitely delivers. There’s a gorgeous wood-burning fireplace in the living room, views of the Boston Public Garden from the bedroom, and an enormous freestanding tub in the pristine white bathroom. I’m already having visions of eating her out in that bathtub, should I be so lucky.

“I know you missed out on a few,” I say, my heart jumping. I’m risking bringing up bad memories for her, but hopefully, we can make good ones tonight instead. “I wanted to make up for it.”

I swipe the jewelry case from the table and open it, holding it out to her.

“Oh my God. Nik, that’s way too many diamonds.”

I cock my head to the side. “I’m talking to Isabelle Callahan, right?”

“And it’s rose gold,” she practically whispers. She meets my gaze. “I really don’t have anything to wear.”

“Check the closet.”

She hurries to the bedroom. I lean against the doorway, not bothering to fight my smile, as she pulls open the closet. She gasps at the ball gown, a deep ocean blue that I know will match her eyes perfectly, but it’s the white fur stole that she pulls out.

“This is beautiful. Is it vintage?”

“It’s my mother’s.” I join her in front of the closet. I stopped by Mom’s apartment before I drove to Boston, and she didn’t mind me taking it out of storage. “It was a present from my father, back when they first got married.”

Before things changed, I think but don’t add.

“She didn’t... take much, from Russia, but she did bring this. I remember her wearing it a lot when I was a kid.”

“And you want me to wear it.” Her eyes are shining. She blinks rapidly before pecking me on the lips. “You drove all the way to Boston with this? For me?”

“I wanted you all to myself.” I take the stole from her gently and set it on the bed, then pull her close. She’s in leggings and a thick sweater with a Patagonia jacket. She must have blow-dried her hair before she came over, because it falls in gentle waves over her shoulders. She looks stunning just like this, no dress or diamonds required, but I’m still relishing the thought of her dripping in finery. The stole has a complicated past, and when I look at it, I can’t fully shake it, but it’ll be beautiful on her. “I thought we could make a better birthday memory. Together.”

And maybe when we return to New York, I can take her to dinner without hiding it.

“Oh, Nik,” she says softly.

“Happy birthday, solnishko.” I give her a luxurious, lingering kiss. “Let me dress you.”

Chapter 32

Izzy

My breath crystallizes in front of me as I laugh at the dirty joke Nik just told. He has a mouth on him when he wants to use it, and tonight, he’s been full of laughter and wit, unabashedly kissing me all over Boston. He presses the button for the crosswalk by our hotel, but there isn’t much traffic this time of night, so I tug on his hand until he runs across the street with me. My feet are freezing in my heels, but my shoulders are snug underneath his mother’s stole. My laughter turns breathy as we hit the sidewalk on the other side.

“Reckless,” he murmurs in my ear, but I can sense his amusement. He walks me to the building, pressing me against it. His eyes glitter in the light from the streetlamp as he gives me his trademark smirk.

Maybe it’s the bottle of wine we split over the tasting menu at Menton, but I’ve never felt heat like this.

I trace his scar. A million wishes crowd my mind, yet I manage to hold them inside.

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