White Nights (White Nights 1)
Nudging me gently, he says, “Call your friend. I’d like to meet them if they’re free.”
“You would?”
“I already told you so.” He tugs a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think it will cheer you up.”
“You’re very kind,” I say and mean it.
He smiles. “I know you’ve never been separated from your mother for so long. The two of you are close. It must be difficult, even if it’s in her best interest.”
Thankful that he understands me so well, I take my phone from my bag and dial Joanne.
She’s happy to hear from me and says that they were planning on going to the movies but will gladly change their plans to meet us.
“I’ll take care of the arrangements,” Alex says before I hang up. “We’ll send them a text message with the details.”
I convey the message and sink deeper into my boyfriend’s embrace while he takes out his phone and starts making calls to organize our evening.
I watch the snow sifting down through the windows as we enter the city. A few months ago, I never would’ve dreamed I could feel this complete and fulfilled. A few weeks ago, I was adrift, returning Alex’s gifts and debating the wisdom of going out with him. And here I am, the luckiest, happiest girl alive. All because Igor got shot. Despite the terrifying fact that someone wanted to end Alex’s life, I can never regret the way things have turned out.
* * *
An hour later, Joanne, Ricky, Alex, and I are sitting at a table in Romanoff’s. Alex didn’t book out the place, but he got a table at the back with a clear view of the stage. This way, we can enjoy the entertainment while still being able to make conversation.
Alex orders on behalf of all of us. Ricky is a vegetarian like me, while Joanne is an adventurous eater who gives Alex the green light to order her a traditional Russian dish.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she says to Alex. “It’s good to see my friend so happy.”
Smiling, Alex takes my hand under the table. “Consider her happiness my goal in life. What about you? Katherine tells me you work in finance.”
“I’m an investment banking associate at Goldman Sachs. I just got the promotion a few weeks ago.”
“Congratulations. That’s a hectic job,” Alex says with sympathy. “I admire your work ethic. It’s not an easy profession you’ve chosen.”
“Thank you,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.
Alex turns his attention to Ricky. “I’ve been told you’re an artist. When is your next exhibition?”
Ricky smiles. “I’m working with a gallery to have something ready in July.”
“I hope you’ll spare us an invitation?” Alex says.
“With pleasure,” Ricky says. “Do you like contemporary art?”
“I like all kinds of art, but I lean toward contemporary in my personal style. I’m a minimalist at heart, and contemporary fits better with the decoration of my living space.”
“Do you have some pieces?” Ricky asks.
“I own a couple of Jeff Koons’s earlier paintings,” Alex replies, “but my personal favorite is Boxer by Jean-Michel Basquiat.”
Ricky’s eyes bulge. “You own Jeff Koons’s early work? Those are as scarce as hen’s teeth.”
“I was lucky. My interior decorator has a personal relationship with an art dealer. However, it’s my dream to own a Cecily Brown one day.”
“The gallery I’m exhibiting with in July works with Ms. Brown,” Ricky says. “If you’d like, I can ask them to extend an invitation the next time she exhibits.”
“That would be great, thank you.” Alex glances at me. “I never make enough time for culture and entertainment, I’m afraid. Work-life balance is something I need to work on.”
By the time the waiter arrives with our food, we’ve polished off a bottle of wine among the four of us. Alex has ordered a selection of starters to share, and the tasting menu for our main course.
During the meal, it becomes clear that my friends are as smitten with my boyfriend as I am. Alex possesses the kind of charisma one normally finds in the best politicians, and as I watch him interact with my friends, I can see how he was able to rise to the top so quickly—and why I’ve fallen for him so fast. His charm is downright magnetic, and it doesn’t hurt that he seems genuinely interested in others’ thoughts and opinions. I can’t imagine anyone not liking him, never mind trying to kill him. Thinking about it always makes my stomach contract into a ball, so I shove the thought away. I’m having fun, and I don’t want to spoil our good time with negativity.
We all dance and try to sing along to the Russian imitations of pop songs, much to Alex’s entertainment. By the time the bill comes, it’s long past midnight. A slight headache building at the back of my head tells me I’ve drunk too much.