Page 53 of Keeping The Virgin

Chapter 18

Igor Vasiliev toastsus once again with what easily has to be his eighth vodka of the night.

“To Mr. Cage Bryant and his delightful Miss Lively! A good man who has finally found his match…after much seeking, of course!”

We laugh at the jibe as the three of us toast one another with our ice-cold tumblers. Then the men throw down their vodkas. I have to go slower, and I’m pretty sure Igor has made an exception for my delicate sensibilities, although the vodka is supposed to be taken in one shot.

The alcohol hasn’t affected Cage a bit, but it seems Igor is even happier and ruddier than usual, his skin flushed against the silver of his hair and the watery blue of his eyes. I’m still on only my second shot, nervous and mindful about getting drunk. Also, the alcohol isn’t sitting very well with the food Igor keeps ordering family-style like an indulgent king who’s entertaining diplomatic guests: herring, blini, caviar, borscht, chicken dumplings, shish-kebabs, sweet and sour cabbage… The list goes on, and I politely eat as much as I can as Igor watches approvingly. He wants us to “get a taste of Russia” in this Brighton Beach Boardwalk restaurant where he obviously holds court when he’s in town.

All the servers know him, chatting with him in their mother tongue. In our booth that’s set in the corner of a room with red walls and velvet drapery, other diners even come over to pay homage.

As for how Cage and I are getting along with him? So far, so good. He’s having a fine time and I haven’t made any mistakes that have earned a chiding glance from him yet. As a matter of fact, he keeps watching me with proud tenderness, and I only wish it were for real.

My stomach tumbles once again with disappointment, and I put down my vodka and eat a bite of some black bread, soaking up the alcohol in my system.

A server arrives with what looks to be a pastry dish, and Igor says something to him in Russian before he leaves. Then our host politely returns his attention to us.

“Miss Lively,” he says while gesturing to the newest plate, “please try the coulibiac. It is filled with salmon, rice, onions, and hard-boiled eggs, a true Russian pleasure.”

“Thank you,” I say as he cuts into it and slips it onto another small plate. “And, please, call me Karini.”

Igor nods at me, but I know he won’t stray from his old-school manners. I’ve asked him to call me by my first name once before.

I smile at him. “It looks delicious. Everything is delicious.”

“Nothing is too good for my guests.” His eyes twinkle.

Cage is sitting back as if measuring every moment that goes by. He’s still on edge, and believe me, I would give anything to have this dinner go perfectly. I would give anything if, after dinner, he would take me back to his place and tell me that everything tonight was no act—that every time Igor makes a toast to us, it’s because all the words we’re saying and the loving looks we’re exchanging are real.

Igor hands me the small plate, then works on preparing one for Cage. “So. We have talked our small talk, chatted about my adventures in New York with my grandchildren. What is next, my friends?”

He doesn’t add that I’ve asked him many questions about Russian food and culture and his life up until now. I think that’s what inspired Igor to bring on this food orgy, so I could experience part of his life for myself.

He gives Cage the plate, but his gaze is on me. “I have many burning questions for the two of you.”

Here it comes.

The big stuff.

My stomach flips, but I cut into my coulibiac as if this is no biggie. Igor hasn’t given any sign that he’s about to come on board with Bryant Industries just yet, and we need to close this deal.

So let’s do it. Please.

Cage lightheartedly says, “What can we enlighten you about, Igor?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “How long have the two of you known each other?”

This is where I close my mouth except for shoveling more food into it.

Cage sends me an affectionate glance that almost makes me sigh.

“We met a month ago,” he says. “Things have been happening pretty quickly between Karini and me, but I realized early on that she’s different from the others.”

“Different how?”

“Keeper different.” He smiles. “What I mean by that is…”

“She is a keeper,” Igor says, winking at me. “And that is the reason you have kept her ‘under wraps,’ as you told me before. Because you did not wish for anyone else to have the opportunity to keep her.”

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