Page 123 of My Dark Horse Prince

His frown deepens. “That’s concerning. There’s something off about that guy. I swear, no matter how many times I go over it, it’s like he had some kind of pressurized air or something. Like a leaf blower in his pocket, or…” He shakes his head. “I hated him.”

“He didn’t like you much, either,” I say.

“Let’s not talk about him anymore.”

“Done.”

The maître d’ seats us right away, as I’d expect with Danils, no matter how busy it is. There are a few perks to going out with someone who has connections in the modern world.

“I assume you still like šašlik,” Danils says. “But if that’s wrong, I can also personally recommend their burgers and their spiced chicken with adžika.”

“Sounds like you know the menu better than I do,” the waitress says with a smile.

I hate being out with someone with whom everyone flirts. It always happened with Danils, and recently, the same thing happened with Grigoriy. I mean, it’s probably all powerful men, but why can’t women just do their jobs? Why do they always have to be flirty with men when they’re out with other women? I don’t even like Danils and it still annoys me.

The waitress hands Danils his menu first and then drops mine on the table.

I pick it up. “I still like šašlik, but I’ll take a look and let you know what sounds best.”

“Sounds like you two are getting to know each other again?” The waitress asks.

“I’m hoping to win her back.” Danils half-smiles at her. “What do you think my odds are?”

The waitress looks between us, her eyes dropping to my leg. That means she noticed my limp on the way in. I can tell she’s evaluating my face—not bad—and my figure—slim, but not very curvy. “I’d say you look like you’d have your pick of any woman in the room, Mr. Andris.” She smiles. “Including your current date.”

“Waitress,” a man with a deep voice says. “Excuse me.” He points at a table. “The host said I could sit here?”

He’s so loud that I can’t help turning to look as well. And that’s when it hits me—I turned because I recognized the voice, too.

Grigoriy Khilkov, dressed in an impeccable suit I’m quite sure I never saw him purchase, is sitting down at a table not three feet away from us. I have to do a double take, because he’s gotten a haircut. What used to be a shaggy mess is now the latest style. Longish on top, swept sideways, and close cut on the sides.

The waitress rushes over to hand him a menu. “Certainly, sir.”

I look away immediately, but it’s too late.

He saw me looking. And his knowing smile tells me he’s pleased.

Somehow, miraculously, Danils didn’t notice. For the first time since meeting him, I wish Grigoriy had a phone of his own. He’d be getting a blistering text.

I have to settle for messaging Kris instead.

“Is something wrong?” Danils asks.

I slide my phone back into my purse. “No, I’m fine. I think the chicken šašlik will be perfect. With the fries and soup.”

“I’ll get a burger and you can try it.”

He’s showing off, and it’s kind of cute. I knew the teenage boy who had his parents’ money but not much confidence, and now I can watch the man he’s turned into. I almost wish poor Henri could be here, too. We should set up some kind of reunion for all our high school friends. I barely see any of them around, which is silly. I’m sure they all live relatively close.

The waitress shows up a moment later to take our order. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any burgers.” She sighs.

“What?” Danils asks. “How can you not have burgers?”

“It was a really bizarre thing, actually,” she says. “It just happened in the last few minutes. The grill fire just blazed up, and every burger our chef put on burned up over and over. It was like there was someone blowing on the fire to make it too hot every single time.”

Blowing on the fire? I glance sideways.

Grigoriy’s smiling.

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