She held the menu right up to her face, like she couldn’t decide what to get. “Jesus, I could eat everything…”
The waitress came over and addressed us in French. “What would you like?”
“A bottle of water for the table and two glasses of Bordeaux.”
She walked away.
Raven lowered the menu. “What did you say?”
“Ordered some drinks. What do you want?”
“Uh…I don’t know. What are you getting?”
“Steak and frites.”
“Ooh…I think I’m going to get the ravioli.”
When the waitress returned, I ordered for us both in French. She took the menus and left.
Raven looked around for a while, watching the people at nearby tables, the flowers that bloomed in the pots, the pedestrians on the sidewalk. When she’d taken it all in, she looked at me. Her gaze settled on mine, and she hardly blinked as she regarded me, her bubbly joy slowly simmering down into the intense expression she usually gave me. “I feel like I’m in a dream or something.”
I grabbed the glass and took a drink.
“Just last week, we were sleeping on this tiny bed in the middle of nowhere—and now we’re having lunch in Paris. I’ve seen those brown eyes look at me so many times, but never like this.”
I held her stare, ignoring the world around us and just focusing on her.
She dropped her gaze and grabbed her wine. “I don’t want to go back…” It was a whisper so quiet that I wasn’t meant to hear it.
But I did.
We entered the apartment, the sunshine coming through the windows and filling the room with light from the beautiful afternoon. I intended to go upstairs and work on my laptop and just be alone.
But her hand grabbed my wrist.
I stilled at her touch but didn’t turn around.
“Thank you…for today.” Her fingers stayed on me, gently pulling me toward her so I would turn around.
I turned around and looked down at her, her hair curled in a pretty way, her eyes bright even though the sun wasn’t shining on her face anymore. There was sincerity in her gaze, like taking her outside for the afternoon was equal to the other things I’d done for her. I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge her gratitude because it was a bit sickening that it was something she needed to be grateful for. I turned away again.
Her hand squeezed my wrist so I wouldn’t go. “Do you forgive me?” Her voice turned desperate, like she hoped for something more now that we were back at the apartment, now that I hadn’t been a complete ass to her.
I didn’t turn around to face her completely.
She waited, her fingers still clamped onto my skin.
I didn’t know the exact reason I’d taken her out that afternoon. It was an impulsive decision that I didn’t make until I saw her sitting there looking out the window. Like all the other times I’d done something for her, there wasn’t any thought put into it. It was just instinct. I pulled my hand away and headed to the stairs. “No.”
Fourteen
Stasia
The valet took my car, and then I entered the estate, joining the crowd of women in their fancy dresses and the men in their tuxedoes. A flute of champagne was handed to me, and I took it even though I didn’t drink that piss.
I made small talk with people I didn’t want to make small talk with.
These parties were the bane of my existence.
They just reminded me how corrupt the world really was.
The president invited us.
We donated money to his causes and his campaigns, and in turn, he looked the other way about our enterprise. We were even friends, if friendship was a real thing. After long and meaningless conversations about the weather, the changes to the Republic, and the immaculate estate that entertained us, I eventually found Fender.
With his arm around Melanie, he spoke to someone I didn’t know, his hand holding a flute of champagne even though he hated it too.
Melanie was in a black cocktail dress that barely had a back or a front. She was the trophy that Fender wanted everyone to know he had. With heavy makeup, her curled hair pulled back to reveal her face, and her bare skin in all the places the dress didn’t cover, she stood there with a diplomatic smile, being an accessory more valuable than a watch or a ring. She noticed me, and her fake smile quickly dropped when we made eye contact.
I came to her side and greeted her with a nod.
She looked slightly past me, as if she hoped her sister would be behind me. “You didn’t bring her?”
“Why would I?” She was my prisoner, not my woman.
Fender finished his conversation before turning to me. “Stasia is looking for you.”
I’d forgotten about her.
“Who’s Stasia?” Melanie asked.
I didn’t answer.
Neither did Fender.
“Have you come to a decision about Napoleon?” I asked, hoping he took my gut instinct seriously.
He nodded. “It’s fine, Magnus.”
I couldn’t hide my annoyance. “It’s not the right choice.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s the right choice or not.” He quickly turned on me, raising his voice like he didn’t care if anyone overheard. “It’s my choice. Maybe I would value your input more if your decisions didn’t cause me to lose my entire camp, nearly all of my workers, and some of my guards.”
Melanie looked at the floor like she was the one on the guillotine instead of me.
Fender stared at me with a fiery gaze, like he dared me to respond.
“I’m just looking out for you—”
“If you wanted to look out for me, you would have let that cunt die the first time.” He walked away and pulled Melanie with him.
I stared at the spot where he’d just been, looking at the wall now that he was gone. I brought the glass to my lips and took a drink even though it tasted like garbage. I just needed to get something down to wash away the bile flooding my mouth.
A hand grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me away.
My eyes moved to the brunette woman in front of me, pulling me down a hallway and into a deserted room full of vintage wine, an overflow because the cellar down below couldn’t hold it all.
“What is it, Stasia?” I pulled my hand free once we were alone and looked down at her. Even in heels, she was still substantially shorter than me.
She had dark hair that was almost black, green eyes that were confident and playful, and full lips that were the perfect seal around my dick. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “What is it, Stasia?” she asked, mildly incredulous. “An odd way to greet the woman who lets you come in her mouth.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wearing a red cocktail dress with a single strap over her shoulder, short to reveal her nice legs all the way to her thighs.
“I… This isn’t the best time.”
“Fender piss you off again?”
He always pissed me off. “Something like that.”
A soft smile moved on to her lips as she came back toward me, her hands flattening against my chest so she could feel my hardness underneath. She crept closer, our noses touching, and then she kissed me, her hands sliding down to the front of my pants. With her full lips, she kissed me hard, pausing after the first embrace to savor the taste, and then she kissed me again, breathing deep like she liked it.