“I don’t consider English fluffy at all. It’s a criminal language.”
“No.”
“In order to make it in any sector of the crime world, one needs to know English. There’s nothing dirtier and more based on blood than the US and UK.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Either way, you’ll love La Cuisine Perdue.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“The Lost Kitchen. Recently, they’ve had some scandal, but I’m ignoring it for this evening.”
“What happened?”
“The owner was accused of aesthetic snobbery as only the French could be. He had his hosts allegedly seat guests according to attractiveness. Good-looking diners were automatically upgraded to the best tables in the house. The ugly ones sat near the bathroom or in the far back.”
“That sucks. What one person thinks is beautiful is another person’s ugly.”
“That being said, his food is amazing enough for me to ignore his stupidity.”
I’d heard Paris was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I had to agree. Even the streetlights glittered like diamonds, painting the blocks in a gorgeous glow. Large elegant fountains and manicured trees shaped to perfection. Ancient structures towered over us as we sped by. Some were green, marbled, and some had gold lettering at the bottom. Some appeared to be hundreds of years old. Among large streets, I saw small lanes, cobbled roads, and even grand boulevards. I couldn’t wait to stroll around the city.
Sidewalk cafés stood here and there. Many lovers strolled hand-in-hand. Each block resembled a picturesque postcard about love. There was a modern feel among the timeless structures, and I instantly understood how this place had inspired poets and artists for centuries.
“So...” I scanned the pretty city. “If I had said I wanted to eat Italian or even Chinese, we would’ve gone to those countries?”
“Of course.”
Of course.
I held in my laughter.
“I’m glad you chose Paris.” He rounded one corner. “Valentina always talks about how romantic it is. I’ve been here many times and never agreed, but now...”
“Now?”
“I’m feeling pretty romantic.” He winked. “I want to show you everything.”
“How long will we be here?”
“As long as necessary.”
I eyed him. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m getting a sneaky vibe from you.”
“You New Yorkers are always suspicious.”
“Hmmm.” I spotted a tall structure and pointed. “Is that the Eiffel Tower?”
“Yes. That’s the Iron Lady.”
“I’ve never heard that nickname.”
“The French are odd, but that’s what they call her. To me, it looks like a big metal penis.”
I giggled. “It does not look like a penis.”
He shrugged and sped through traffic. For a few seconds, I worried the cops would stop us, then hoped they wouldn’t for their sake.
“Where do you want to go tomorrow?” he asked.
“Wow. I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“This city is full of monuments—Notre Dame Cathedral. The Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Paris National Opera.” He slowed as we hit a stop light. “But I have somewhere that may intrigue you.”
“And where’s that?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
What are you up to, Kaz?
Twenty minutes later, we drove up to a large building in the center of bustling Paris.
“La Cuisine Perdue is at the top of Paris’ Centre Pompidou. You’ll love it.”
“I already do.”
“We’ll stay here for a while.”
“What’s a while?”
He ignored that question. “You’ll get to see the French capital and the Louvre.”
Those words were a perfect distraction from my wonderings. Excitement drummed through me.
I grinned. “We can go to the Louvre?”
“Yes.” Kazimir stopped the car right in front of valet. “Maybe we can spend some time in France for a while, see some art, buy a little, waste a few weeks, and then go back and start your lessons.”
“A few weeks?”
“Whatever’s necessary.”
“Hmmm.”
You’ve been wanting me to get away from Russia and rest for a while. Probably didn’t want me sleuthing around the Bratva for monkey head guy. And now we happen to be in France. Well-played, Kazimir. Well-played.
“Thoughts, mysh?”
“We could stay a little.”
“I brought Xavier’s ashes with me just in case you wanted to drop by the French Rivera.”
Skepticism must’ve covered my face. “You just happened to bring his ashes?”
“I did.”
Sneaky lion.
“Thank you.” I glanced out the window. “But I don’t want to dump Xavier’s ashes yet.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Plus, I want to wait to take Maxwell with us when I do the ashes. I just wanted to talk to you both about that plan first.”
“Whatever you want, I will do.” He left the car and handed the key over to the valet attendant. “There’s plenty of other things to do here.”
He wants me to take a break. Maybe he even needs a break too.
I sighed. “Okay. Let’s do Paris for a few days, a week at the most. I don’t want my crew to feel lost or anything.”
“Oh no, we don’t want that.”
“I hear the sarcasm.”
“From me? Of course not.”
Of course.
With a wicked smile, Kazimir ushered us into the steel and glass edifice. It was a quick ride up the elevator, and then we entered an extravagant spread with a gorgeous view of the city.
We traveled through a mahogany doorway where yummy aromas danced in the air.
I entered the main dining area. The whole place was empty. Instead of walls, there were large glass windows. A coffered ceiling dangled huge crystal chandeliers. Green leather chairs surrounded shiny black tables.
Five men stood at the back, staring in front of them and showing no emotion, all professional and dressed in white uniforms. They must’ve been in their fifties.
A chubby man hurried from the back wearing a black suit and gray tie. “Kazimir! They said you were coming. It’s been too long.”
They hugged and then spoke in French.
After a few seconds, Kazimir gestured to me.
The chef pulled out his glasses from his pocket and placed it on his face. “Your mouse?”
Really, Kaz? You could tell people that my name is Emily.
“My name is Pierre. I’m the chef of this meager little place.”
Kazimir huffed. “Meager?”
I extended my hand and shook his. “Nice to meet you. My name is Emily.”
“Aww. Emily is so much better than mouse.” The chef took my hand and kissed it. “Your experience will be magnifique.”
“No kissing.” Kazimir shook his head, although a smile remained on his face. “I know how you French are. Don’t get any ideas.”