by Hughes, Mary
Dragan laughed. “Touché. What is your problem?”
“I’ve been…coerced into escorting someone to the ball.”
“You?” Dragan laughed harder. “The untouchable Steel? You let no one near you, not since you were a fledgling.”
“Yeah, well, someone got inside my guard. It happens to the best of us. And the worst of us.” He gave Dragan a particularly black look.
“Not to me, my friend. Who has that much sway with you? A past lover? A dear donor?”
“I’m still not sure how it happened.” His dark look dissolved into a confused stare. “But I’m taking Rocky’s mom.”
“We’re both going to the ball!” Mom popped out a table leaf and set it next to the wall. “I’m so excited.”
I was helping Mom clean up from the dinner party. Dragan had dropped me off at home as promised. I sneaked inside, hoping she’d gone to bed, but I found her bustling around. She’d put away the food and washed the dishes but had waited for me to help her with the table and living room.
And to exult…and maybe gloat…about Luke taking her to the ball.
We pushed the table halves together and walked it back against the wall. As Mom chattered, I slipped into the kitchen, found my glasses and put them on. She was so excited. I hurt to let her down. If only I hadn’t had that experience in eighth grade. If only she hadn’t been part of that fiasco.
“Mom…” I finally broke into her enthusiasm, blinking behind the thick lenses. “I’m not going.”
“What? Of course you’re going. Why wouldn’t you go? It’s a lovely event and you have a marvelous date. Why, Maestro Zajicek is even a VIP for the ball, isn’t he? Why would you not want to go with him?”
I pushed the nose piece of my glasses up. It was because he was a VIP. Because it was right and proper he have a confident socialite on his arm, not a bumbling wannabe. I shrugged. “How did you manage to talk Luke into escorting you, anyway?”
“As a good hostess I kept the conversation going after you and the maestro and then Julian left. I asked Luke what he was doing while he was in town. He replied he had nothing to do while waiting for his brother and sister-in-law to have their babies. Nothing. So I suggested we do something together sometime, and of course he agreed.”
“Of course,” I echoed faintly. Like a sitcom rerun, I could see where this was going. Nooo, Lucy.
“Then I asked Nixie what she was doing and she said Julian had a couple tickets to the Grand Vienna Woods Ball they couldn’t use because their poor baby girl has colic. So terrible.” She clucked sadly. “I hope the little tyke grows out of it soon. Well, as soon as I heard ‘two tickets’ I immediately thought of you. You’re working all the time, never having fun and Luke is a nice looking young man. But then Dragan called me on his cell phone to ask my permission to take you.”
“B-but he just asked me tonight.” I think my eyes bugged out at her. I know they felt a bit strained. Hopefully he’d called her when he’d first gotten the motel room key. Because if he’d phoned after his hot kisses and hotter thrusting…
My face must have shown what I was thinking because my mother’s eyes narrowed at me in a shrewd frown. “He wanted to let me know you were all right and that he’d bring you home presently. Well, since I knew you were nicely taken care of, I asked Luke whether he’d go to the ball and he said he would like to go to watch Maestro Zajicek.” She paused putting the placemats into a box labeled Rocky’s Art and beamed. “Probably he wishes to learn conducting techniques.”
More likely he wanted to practice his decapitation techniques. “Dragan is conducting the opening waltz.”
“Exactly. He is eminently watchable. But I couldn’t let poor Luke go alone, could I?”
“Sure you could. Luke is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
Mom tsked. “He’s a stranger in town. Besides, a fellow that handsome? He’s man bait to all the single women. He needed protection.”
Man bait? That sounded like something Nixie would say. I wondered how much my punk imp friend had cemented Luke’s fate. “You were going to throw poor Luke at me, remember? I’m as single as they get.”
“That’s different, isn’t it? As that great German philosopher Kautilya said, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ But of course, now you’re going with Dragan and I’m going with Luke, and everything has worked out for the best.”
“Um, Mom….” Where did I start with the not-bestness of all that? I sighed. Might as well skip to the upshot. “Problem is, I don’t want to go the ball. It’s for sophisticates and I don’t think I’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, of course. I understand.” She breezed past me. “Luke and I will have to watch Maestro Zajicek without you.”
“Yes, that’s…wait, what?”
“I said we’ll go without you and keep an eye on the maestro.”
Her keep an eye on Dragan? Who’d keep an eye on her? “No, that’s not—”
“I’d better call Dolly Barton’s salon and make an appointment. A man like Luke has certain expectations, you know.”
Oh flutefarts. It would all end in tears, but I was not one to shirk my duty, especially where my mother was concerned. I stepped up to the plate. “Make the appointment for two.”
Monday after I got home from work, Mom and I went dress shopping at our local thrift store. I planned to wear my ankle-length velveteen concert skirt and bought a pretty shawl-neck blouse to go with it for three bucks. Mom got a poncho-style dress that was…well, colorful was kind; honestly it looked like a rainbow had vomited. She also got a multi-strand gold bead necklace that went past bling into blang-blam-zowie territory. Eh, it made her happy.
Tuesday night was orchestra. On the way in I peeked through the newly repaired door into the sanctuary. No dead bodies, yay.
Rehearsal was…stimulating. Dragan left the podium to check a bowing with the Wicked Witch, and when he got back his baton was broken. I think I was the only one who saw the blond flash.
Didn’t faze Dragan. He did the whole rehearsal with his bare hands. I felt every stroke, every caress of those long, elegant, expressive fingers. Every cue made my undies boil.
Strangely, he didn’t try to talk to me at break or arrange a meeting later. As I left rehearsal I looked for him, just in case, but he wasn’t waiting to be discovered in the hallway. That might have been because my chaperones, Julian, Nixie and Luke, packed around me like chess pieces protecting their king. As they hustled me to my car, I couldn’t have tripped on the uneven sidewalk if I tried.
My friends shoveled me into the driver’s seat, then stood there and waved as I pulled away from the curb. They stood staunchly waving until I was around the corner and they were out of sight.
I sighed. I loved them dearly but after Dragan’s hot cues and steamy looks I could have used another lesson. Guess it’d be solo practice for me.
As I was resigning myself to a night alone, Dragan jumped in front of my car.
Chapter Twelve
I freaked, jammed on the brakes and tried desperately to stop, but I didn’t have a vampire’s lightning reflexes. I hit him.
Or I would have hit him. He burst into mist the instant before I made him road pâté. My car finally jerked to a halt. I sat there, stunned.
He materialized with a pop outside my window. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He tapped politely on the glass and waited for me to buzz it down before leaning in. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want us to be interrupted by well-intentioned pests. I mean friends.” He spoke in a low voice, almost whispering. “Heaven grant my enemies such friends. Go forward two blocks and make a right. I opened a parking space for you.”
Vampire ears must be extraordinary, if Julian and Luke could pick up normal voices a block away. Although that meant all I had to do was holler and my pests in shining armor would come running.
Knights. I meant knights.
While Dragan scared me with his popping out of nowhere and his hustling me places I’d never been bef
ore—both externally, like the fancy restaurant, and internally, like the dark, damp spaces in my sexual psyche—I was curious. Hadn’t he gotten me out of his system Sunday?
Besides, I could always holler later.
I took my foot off the brake, drove two blocks and turned right. Dragan kept pace with me, much as Luke had. I glanced at the speedometer. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. I glanced at him again. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Vampires were kinda scary…and really intriguing.
The parking space he’d found, or made, as the cars looked a little crumpled—how strong were vampires, anyway?—was big enough to drive into straight, a miracle in that neighborhood. I turned off my engine and got out. “What do you want?”
“You.” He swept me into his arms for a brief kiss that set fire to my lips. “But that will have to wait. You don’t feel comfortable going to the ball on Saturday. I will take you to dinner and teach you dining etiquette.”
“How do you know I’m going to the ball?”
“Please.” The word held a note of arrogance. “The minute you made a beauty appointment with the amusing Dolly Barton, the whole world knew it.”
“Ah. Liese always did suspect she had a timeshare on a spy satellite.”
“Who said anything about sharing?”
“Um, right. Okay, I admit I’m going. But why teach me about eating? This is a dance, right?”
“There’s a dinner as well.”
“Crud. I’ve just remembered an appointment for that day—”
“Raquel.” He cupped my face between his hands, his palms warming me from my chin to my crown. “I wish I knew what caused your dread of society events.” He searched my eyes as if he could read the horrors there. “I am so, so sorry for whatever it is you endured. But this time, you’ll have my help. Do you trust me?”
“Well…yes.” I was surprised to find I did. Conducting, he was solid; as a flute player I felt I was in excellent hands. Maybe that had translated to the personal sphere.
So, because I thought there was an infinitesimal chance I could pull it off with the proper training and help, I said, “Okay. Take me to dinner.” His joyous smile sent my heart soaring.
His car was parked at the end of the block. When he vroomed out, I heard a distant baritone shout, “Zajicek!”
Poor Julian.
Half an hour later, Dragan pulled into the car port of Konrad Richtig’s, an elegant German-themed restaurant. I knew of the place even though I’d never eaten there; their sauerbraten, made of the finest grain-fed veal, was to die for, and even their vegetarian options were fancied up with things like caramelized onion and garlic-toasted pine nuts.
He tossed his keys to the valet parking attendant along with a twenty. “Two spaces, please.”
Yikes. Rich restaurants were not only out of my comfort zone, even the amenities were prohibitively expensive. It reminded me I was wearing my rehearsal getup of jeans and a white sweatshirt, its lace collar and cuffs added by my mother in a fit of “exploring other mediums”.
Dragan opened the heavy restaurant doors and allowed me to enter first into the dark hallway scented heavily with oiled woods and old money.
A gentleman stood behind a walnut podium, sashed up in a Count Cristo stiffsuit—the maître d’hôtel. He took one look at me and his eyes bulged in outrage.
Dragan swept in behind me, his expensive black coat encasing his broad shoulders, his long hair flowing as if an adventuresome wind had run loving fingers through it, that silver lock marking him as Somebody Special.
The sun came up on the maître d’s face. “Maestro Zajicek, how extremely good to see you again. Your table is this way.”
We were led to the best table in the house. I knew that, not because I’d suddenly gotten socially savvy, but because we passed four women dressed in various shades of LookAtMe and one muttered, “Why are they getting the best table in the house instead of us?” Her table mates shushed her, one breathing, “Because that is Dragan Zajicek.” I was unfortunately getting used to those creamed-estrogen coos.
At our table I started to sit when Dragan stopped me. “First lesson. I will hold the chair for you. Remember how we did it before?”
“Yeah, but why? I can do that myself. This is what I don’t get about fancy manners. They make no sense.”
“Then it will be my pleasure to explain. This is from a time when ladies wore constrictive garments and chairs were heavier. It was a gentleman’s privilege to make the lady’s life easier.”
“Reasonable,” I said grudgingly. “But it’s way out of date.”
“Formal manners, like formalwear, are often old-fashioned,” he chided me. “But never out of date.”
“Fine. I don’t agree, but I’ll let you do the chair thing.” I stood between the chair and the table and waited.
He murmured in my ear, “Raquel, I’m ready. You must sit.” His warm breath tickled my softest spot; my legs trembled and my knees buckled. Again he caught me perfectly. Then he took his own seat.
I shook my head. “Except for you, that always feels like one of those trust exercises where you fall backward and people are supposed to catch you. Emphasis on supposed to.”
He raised a brow as he took a cloth swan from his plate and fluttered it into a napkin. “Someone didn’t catch you?”
“Yeah. Sixth grade. Twyla and her cousin, Synnove, had expanded their repertoire from playing pranks on each other to playing them on everyone. It was a phase. They grew out of it.”
“Good thing, or I would have to chastise them.”
Okay, probably just me, but the way he said chastise tightened my nipples and chased goose bumps up my arms.
He pointed at the white swan on my plate. “Take your napkin within a minute of sitting and place it on your lap. If you leave the table, fold it loosely and set it by your plate. Never use it as a handkerchief or wad it into your glass.”
“Good to know.” I took the heavy silk and shook it out like I’d seen him do. It stayed stubbornly folded. I had to shake it hard to make the folds let go and managed to whip it into my water glass. The glass went crashing. Ice cubes leaped over the rim and skidded onto the table and, like the poor meatball of song, onto the floor. My cheeks filled with hot coals and my brain with cold mud. Somehow the single thought which popped into my head was, Those ice cubes are perfectly clear.
Dragan’s vampire reflexes caught the glass before the water followed the perfectly clear ice cubes and Niagara Falls-ed onto the tablecloth.
I cleared my throat. “Um, maybe I should get a water without ice.”
“Of course.” He waved two fingers to a guy dressed like Count Cristo but with a different color sash. The guy zoomed in. After he cleaned up my ice, he and Dragan spent a while discussing wines, which, because they were German, I actually understood. Dragan also asked for water without ice for me.
When the man left, Dragan started instructing me again. “Now, the flatware. Start at the outside and work your way in. The exceptions are the butter knife, which is often on the bread plate, and the dessert spoon or fork, which is generally above the dinner plate.” He waved over another guy, this one in a plain dark suit, albeit of better quality than even my good concert wear. The guy deposited a heaping napkin-covered basket exuding a heavenly scent, and I was distracted remembering big bread rolls and Dragan’s pecs. I wondered if there would be nookie after dinner as there had been on Sunday. Sure, he’d already done the orgasmic duet with me but maybe it only counted as a bedpost notch if we rubbed naughty parts directly. A gal could hope.
Then Dragan lectured me on the proper way to eat a salad, and I forgot about his chest in the twitching of my eye.
I was well-fed and actually starting to feel as if I understood some of the maze of rules and regs that made up dining etiquette when a delicate chime went off about Dragan’s person.
He frowned. “My apologies, Raquel. That ringtone means this is a call I must deal with. If I may…?”
“Sure.” I didn
’t have a cell phone but my friends did. I knew what was proper and what was rude, and Dragan had been the epitome of polite.
He smiled at me then left the table to deal with his call.
My eyes soldered to his narrow hips as he glided away. Sweet pipers piping, the man was music in motion. A fire roared into life inside me and I drank off half my glass of water trying to put it out. Steam came out my ears but at least my internal temperature lowered.
Until the quartet of well-dressed harpies rose and descended on me.
Their haughty expressions forked up bad memories. In particular, the disgust sloughing off the painfully thin woman in eye-stabbing red reminded me of all Todd’s condescending friends sneering at me at the dance, hating me… Hundreds of icicles stabbed my belly. It was happening again.
No. I was an adult now. I was here with Dragan. I belonged. Sort of. I pasted on a welcoming smile but behind it I was braced for a blow.
A large matronly woman—a well-dressed, well-coiffed steamship in slime green—raised a judgmental brow. “Blue jeans, really? Here?”
“Who let you in?” the thin woman sniffed. “You obviously don’t belong.”
My smile felt stiff and was starting to hurt. But I tried to be polite. “May I help you, ladies?”
“What are you doing with Dragan Zajicek?” said the woman in screaming firetruck yellow. “Are you his hooker?”
The woman in a rather conservative shade of orange—for an organ grinder’s monkey—said, “I overheard them talking. He’s teaching her how to behave. Trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, if you ask me.” She raised her nose and turned away, like I was smelly garbage.
My smile faltered. Why had she done that? Why were they picking on me?
The thin woman said, “Obviously, she’s his charity case.”
My ears started to ring. I was outclassed and out of my depth, sure. Awkward as shit in this refined atmosphere, fine.
But I wasn’t a case. I was a human being, just like them.