Page 83 of For a Price

I glance across the table at him in his simple black dress shirt and slacks. He makes the chair and table seem unreasonably small, and even the tailored shirt he wears can’t hide the muscles bulging underneath.

I’m not the only one out of my element.

Fancy restaurants aren’t exactly Roman’s scene either.

“You’re telling me you know what this is?” I ask, picking up a pair of tongs.

Humor dances in his sapphire gaze. “Those, kitty cat, are tongs for the escargot.”

“Escar—what?”

“Those.” He juts his chin as our server returns with two plates of snails.

Snails!

My mouth drops open in disgust as the plate’s put down in front of me.

Roman sets right to work, picking up his snail with his pair of tongs and using another kind of fork to fish out the insides. I watch wide-eyed as he dines on the buttery garlic snail he extracts from its shell. He goes for another before he notices I haven’t touched mine at all.

“Try it,” he urges. “You might like it.”

“I’ve eaten some unconventional things in my life—including a half-eaten loaf of bread out of the trash once at a local bakery when I was starving—but snails? I think I draw the line.”

“It is a delicacy, devochka. When in Rome.”

“Says the Russian man to the American woman in a French restaurant.”

He laughs throatily dining on the second snail he extracts.

I decide to give it a shot. One hand reaches for the pair of tongs while the other grips the fork. It takes some clumsy work, but I’m able to dig out the inside of the shell.

Escargot tastes like it smells. Butter and garlic hit my taste buds. The chewy texture slides down my throat.

“That’s… that’s not so bad…” I say slowly, my face brightening.

Roman almost grins before he eats yet another snail. “Look at that, kitty cat. You survived the snail.”

The rest of our dinner is just as lighthearted and playful. We’re served several more dishes until my stomach is aching and they’re carrying out dessert.

Crème brûlée.

“You’ve got to stop feeding me so much,” I groan on our way out. My hand rests on my stomach as we walk toward our car. “One of these days I’m going to pop.”

“You say that, and then you clear your plate every time.”

Roman steps back for me to crawl into the back of the town car first.

After dinner we head to the city center to watch the infamous light show that runs nightly this time of year. I can’t look away as I’m inundated with so many bright and colorful lights. The displays are true works of art, from giant flowers to animals and even abstract pieces.

Roman curls his arm around my shoulders and holds me close at his side the entire time.

The mood between us feels romantic. It feels tender.

A real man and woman on a date. Not some bratva crime boss and his captive.

I rest my head on his shoulder on the car ride home. It vaguely occurs to me once again how deeply I’m falling for him.

I’m developing real feelings for this man.

---