Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1)

“Will mine?”

Milan gave her lips a lingering kiss.

“Oh yes. You will be more than welcome, I’m sure.”

She sat, half asleep, through the whipping of the man with the leather shorts and a variety of additional humiliations. There followed a more general orgy, from which Milan released her by paying his respects to the host and leaving, pleading early rehearsals.

As they passed through the lobby—Lydia yawning hugely and carrying the gold stilettos, no longer caring about going barefoot—she caught sight of a shadow behind a bust of some nineteenth-century archduke.

“Oh, Evgeny!” she said.

He emerged from behind the plinth, scowling, tie loosened and collar undone.

“You are still here,” said Milan coldly.

“I have no money for a taxi,” he replied.

“You have legs.”

“Milan, come on—” pleaded Evgeny.

“No, you come on. There’s no room for jealousy in my cab. I’ll see you.”

He pulled Lydia along beside him, out of the door.

“Milan, it’s miles—you can’t leave him here.”

“He didn’t have to come. He didn’t have to leave. I don’t have to take him home.”

The cab was waiting for them in the driveway. Milan nudged Lydia on to the back seat, from which she saw Evgeny running down the steps, shouting.

“Would you do that to me? Leave me somewhere with no way of getting back?”

Milan, sliding into the seat beside her, tutted and tossed his hair, but didn’t reply.

“Because that’s not the kind of man I want to be with, Milan. That’s not the kind of man I like at all.”

Milan tutted again and put a hand on the driver’s shoulder, instructing him to wait.

“Okay,” he muttered, winding down the window. “Get in, then. But if you’re going to sulk, you can get straight out again.”

Evgeny threw himself into the front passenger seat and clicked his seatbelt.

“No need to thank me,” sniped Milan. “Though it isn’t me you’ve got to thank. I’d have left you there. It’s Lydia.”

Evgeny twisted his head around to glare at her.

“Thanks,” he said, though the word sounded like an insult.

“Don’t mention it,” said Lydia.

The journey passed in silence.

Chapter Ten

The Viennese rehearsals and concerts went well enough for Mary-Ann to regain a modicum of her confidence. At breakfast on the morning of their departure, she breezed through the buffet over to the cereal station, alighting on Lydia, who had to look away from trying to work out whether Milan and Evgeny were making up over pastries and coffee and try to appear interested in company.

“Good morning, lovely one,” trilled Mary-Ann, filling a bowl with muesli. “Ready for part three of our odyssey?”