And I had… fallen for him.
I now stared out the window of his Mercedes, the night having fallen an hour ago, my worry still at the forefront of my mind. I glanced over at him, but he was once again hard to read. He’d closed off from me, put that wall up so it was too solid for me to get through. A part of me just wanted to cancel tonight, because whatever bond I felt we’d started to share, the intimacy that I craved, was slipping through my fingers.
The restaurant Arlo was taking me to was a short drive from his apartment and still within the heart of the wealthy district of the city. I was glad he hadn’t taken me back into my side of Desolation. He pulled to the curb, where a young man dressed in valet attire helped me out of the passenger side, and another man in the same uniform took the driver seat before pulling from the curb to park the car. Arlo placed a firm, warm hand on the small of my back and led me inside. I felt that touch through my entire body and glanced down to make sure my arousal wasn’t betraying me through my clothing in the form of hard nipples.
Fortunately I was safe for the time being.
Arlo had told me to wear something more formal for tonight, so I’d picked one of the dresses he’d gotten for me. It was a black, thick, ribbed-knit, long-sleeve dress that fell to my knees. The gray wool jacket that had been among the clothing he’d splurged on for me, and the dark tights covering my legs protected me from the chilly, nearly winter air of New York.
Vasyli’s looked like one of the many skyscrapers in this part of the city, but the brickwork and artistic flair were very much Russian. The cathedral depiction etched into the massive red double doors was so detailed you could tell whoever created it had put their heart and soul into it.
Rectangular windows were in even intervals along the front face of the building, ornate golden wrought iron covering most of the glass so you couldn’t see inside. But the metalwork was so delicate and beautiful that it was almost prettier to look at than the open sky itself.
Arlo opened the door for me, and I stepped inside, the warmth of the restaurant and the sights and smells bombarding me in the best ways. Traditional Russian music played softly overhead, and the scent of savory and sweet food filled my nose every time I inhaled.
An older gentleman came forward, his smile big and adding even more wrinkles to his face. He looked more like a grandfather than anything else, especially with his thick cable-knit cardigan over his white button-down shirt. He had a full head of white hair, his eyes so blue and light they almost seemed transparent.
The older man and Arlo started speaking Russian, but I never felt left out even though I couldn't understand them, not with Arlo’s hand still resting on the small of my back, his body pressed close to mine. After a long moment the older man turned to me and introduced himself as Akim, welcoming me to his restaurant. He kept a respectful distance, and I wondered if it was the way his gaze lowered to where Arlo’s hand rested possessively around my waist.
We were led through the restaurant, and I took in the vibrant red booths on either side of us. A row of four-seater square tables was lined in the center of the room and between the booths. There were only a few people dining, and I assumed the lateness and that it was well past a normal dinnertime was the reason. But I liked that it was more intimate. I didn’t think I’d feel as comfortable if the restaurant had been packed.
I was transfixed by the decor, at the very traditional and culturally aesthetic Russian theme. A gold Russian imperial eagle was front and center on the wall, vibrant colors splashed along the wings and spread out through the wall. A red and gold chandelier hung from the ceiling and cast an ambient, soft glow through the interior.
We were led to a booth in the back, and once at the table, the older gentleman asked me in a heavily accented voice if I cared for him to take my coat. Once it was off and hanging on the wall beside us, I slid into the booth across from Arlo. I felt nervous over this dinner date, or maybe it wasn’t the date at all but everything I’d admitted to him this morning and the fact that he’d been acting off all day.
I hadn’t realized I'd been so tense, but the fact that this was a date made me feel anxious even when it shouldn’t, especially given all the things Arlo and I had done just the night before and the personal things I'd shared with him. But for some reason tonight felt more intimate than when he’d had his face buried between my thighs.