Page 68 of Rising Tiger

As the Bronco drove off, the little man began unpacking the Storm Cases from the cargo area of his side-by-side. It was hard, taxing work, but it needed to be done.

By the time he and the dogs returned to the house, a truck and a team from the NSA were waiting in the driveway. Putting his side-by-side away in the garage, he then showed the team inside, grabbed a Gatorade, and accompanied them upstairs.

The master bedroom not only had his-and-her bathrooms, but also gigantic his-and-her walk-in closets. In fact, the termwalk-inwas an understatement. You could have driven a truck through each of them.

Nicholas had used the majority of his closet to set up an at-home SCIF. Because of its steel paneling, it doubled as a safe room. He had decided that was where they would install the experimental shielding. If he could keep Nina largely confined to the bedroom, and something did happen, it would be a short hop to get into the SCIF.

The material the NSA provided looked like the Mylar blankets handed out to marathon runners and disaster victims, except that it was gold, rather than silver.

No matter how many questions he asked the team of geeks installing it, it was obvious that they had been instructed not to reveal anything about the makeup of the material.

They measured, noted, and photographed every square inch that was installed. At the end, many hours later, he was required to sign a ton of documents before they packed up their kits and left.

Once they were gone, Nina stepped into the closet and studied their handiwork.

“It looks like a bunch of crafters blew through here with a boxcar full of gold leaf and a couple dozen hair dryers,” she said.

Nicholas chuckled. Next to her sky-high IQ and tough-as-nails attitude, he loved her sense of humor. “Baller that I am,” he joked, “rose gold is much more my style, but if we need this and it works, color isn’t going to matter.”

“Good point,” Nina replied. “Let’s hope we don’t need it.”

“Speaking of needing things,” said Nicholas, changing the subject, “what are you and the baby in the mood for tonight for dinner?”

“Will you make your special risotto for us?”

“With the poached egg?”

Nina nodded her beautiful head of jet-black hair and fluttered the lashes of her incredibly green eyes.

How could he say no? He was so deeply in love with her. Out of all the men in the world that she could have had, she had chosen him. He would have done anything for her.Anythingat all.

Leaving her in the master, he headed downstairs, dogs in tow, to begin cooking dinner. Though he had offered to fix some food for the security detail protecting them, they had politely declined, sending one of their backup guys into town for takeout sushi.

Picking up his tablet, he returned to his playlist of favorite arias and pushedPLAY.As he gathered the spinach, leeks, fava beans, and chanterelle mushrooms that were the stars of his signature risotto, “Habanera,” from Bizet’s operaCarmen,began to play from the overhead speakers. It was one of the most beloved arias in the classical canon and one of his all-time favorites.

After getting the food going, he opened an exquisite white burgundy—a Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru. He poured himself a glass and spent several moments breathing in the wine’s aroma.

Then he took a taste. It was amazing. Buttery and complex. Worthevery precious penny. Putting the glass down, he transitioned to preparing an accompaniment to the main course.

During her pregnancy, Nina’s cravings for frozen French baguettes, which could be popped into the oven and served with slabs of salty, sunshine-yellow Irish butter, had gone through the roof.

Setting the oven to the right temperature, he pulled one from the freezer and set it on the counter.

The final notes of “Habanera” played and as they did, Nicholas had a pep in his step as he anticipated the next aria.

“Toreador Song,” also fromCarmen,was one of the most uplifting and energetic opera songs he had ever heard. No matter how good his mood, it could always be made better by this brilliant piece of music.

By the time the “Anvil Chorus” from Verdi’sIl Trovatorecame on, the risotto had been plated, poached eggs atop, and the bread had been pulled hot from the oven and wrapped in a linen towel.

As Nina was, rightly, abstaining from alcohol until after the baby was born, Nicholas downed the wine left in his glass, put the cork back in the bottle, and returned it to the fridge.

He took a moment and indulged in a deep breath. The kitchen smelled amazing. There was something about its design that seemed to concentrate all of the flavors of his cooking right over the island where he was working.

He loved this house. It really was the best home he had ever owned. And it was made that way because of Nina’s presence. Everything would only get better once the baby arrived. Nicholas, truly, had never been happier.

Filling a pitcher with ice water, he placed everything on a room service–style cart, covered it with a crisp white tablecloth, and rolled it toward the elevator.

Knowing he would want an after-dinner drink and that Nina wouldn’t begrudge him one, he paused at his liquor cabinet. In the mini fridge, he found exactly what he was looking for—a 1975 Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes.

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