Page 75 of Silken Chains
I watch as Laura’s cheeks flush a deep crimson as she chugs her glass of water. She tries to force a smile that barely conceals her embarrassment and discomfort.
I signal to the server to refill her glass and then quickly reach for her hand. I give it a small squeeze, silently communicating for her to stay calm. As I release her hand, I place my hands back on the table and cut into a slice of salmon, taking a bite and savoring the flavor.
“So, Laura,” my father continues, eager to know more, “how did you two meet?”
Laura turns, and when our eyes meet, a jolt of electricity shoots through me.
Laura’s eyes dart between me and Papa, then lock onto mine. Her expression is a comically exaggerated mix of fear and panic, silently begging me for help. I can’t hold back a silent chuckle at her ridiculous face, trying to hide the absurdity of the situation from the old man who sits clueless in his chair. Laura looks like a trapped animal, pleading with me through her wide eyes. I give her a subtle wink, reassuring her that I’ve got this under control.
She glances back at Papa. “We… uh… It was at the club,” she stammers out while I confidently state: “At her bookstore.”
Quickly jerking her head around, staring at me intently, her lips press together. It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at her expression.
This little interaction might just be the highlight of my day.
One eyebrow arched in amusement, Papa asks, “So, it’s the club? Or the bookstore?” His gaze shifts between me and Laura.
Taking another sip of my wine, I feel it burn a trail of heat down my throat.
I lean back and start to spin a tale. “I was hunting down a debt owed to us when I stumbled into her dingy bookstore,” I say, bending the truth just a bit. “Then, she ended up at my club.” I continue, stealing a glance at Laura.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nervously take a sip of water. I press on with the story. “That’s where she fell for me, like a fool,” I say, a smirk playing on my lips. I catch Laura trying hard not to roll her eyes at me, a vein in her neck standing out as she restrains herself.
“So, I proposed, and she said yes.” I struggle to hold back my laughter when she nearly chokes on her water but manages to catch herself just in time. She quickly dabs at her mouth with a napkin and shoots daggers at me with her eyes.
“And just like that,” I declare, the smirk fully formed now, “we’re getting married in three days.”
I look over at Eli, noticing her gaze fixed on me, her eyes wide with fascination. She’s hanging onto every word, thinking this is some kind of epic romance. I give her a playful wink, and she responds with a bright, innocent giggle.
“Sure you did,” Papa scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at my brief summary of our “love story.” He then shifts his focus to my soon-to-be wife, who seems to be wishing for the floor to swallow her up.
Turning his attention fully toward her, he asks, “So, you own a bookstore?”
“I assure you, Papa, she will fit right in with our family,” I cut him off, looking for a way to switch gears. “How about we start with dinner?” I pivot to Eli.
“YES!” Eli’s excitement cuts through the tension. She rubs her belly, lips pressed in anticipation. “I’m starving!”
“Indeed, the kitchen is ready to impress, especially for you, Papa,” Ksenia adds, smoothing over any remaining awkwardness.
Our father exhales a tired sign and gives a nod of approval, and I catch a server’s eye, nodding to bring in the feast.
A knot twists in my gut as I catch sight of the old man, so fragile after the stroke. It’s like the backbone of our family is bending, about to snap. He’s got to get back on his feet, and soon.
Derr’mo, it’s on me now. Can’t let anyone see the worry, the crack in our armor. It’s bigger than just him; it’s about keeping the empire from smelling fear.
Right then, my phone vibrates. I pull the device out of my suit jacket, and a message from Misha flashes on the screen: “Eyes on the prize at Dockside Warehouse. The goods are there.”
Misha’s reliable, as always.
Just as I’m about to stash the phone away, another message blinks into view:
“We lost track of Dave Jankowski.”
Chapter 28
Laura
THE CLOCK on the wall chimes nine. Its sound is rich, like everything else here.
