As soon as they entered, the hostesses took their coats and greeted them. Then they were escorted back to their normal table, where Dmitry had placed a large bouquet of roses for his lovely pair.
When they were seated, Dmitry came out of the kitchen with one staff member and several trays of food. One special plate had bowtie pasta and alfredo sauce for Anya.
"Hello, Mrs. And Ms. Medlov," Dmitry greeted with a bright smile. "How was your morning?"
Royal hesitated. Something about the strange man made her feel as though she should instantly tell Dmitry, but something else told her to hold her secret.
"We had a very interesting day," she finally answered.
"I wore big shoes, daddy," Anya explained. "And they had diamonds on them."
"Diamonds?"
"Big, big diamonds."
Royal smiled but was quiet.
"I know your momma sells some expensive digs over there, but I didn't know that she sold diamond shoes," Dmitry bent over and kissed Royal on the forehead.
She ran her hand through her daughters long black locks of silky hair. "It's part of the new Anya Only Collection," Royal said, trying to play the part and rid herself of the memories of the stranger.
Dmitry noticed a sort of disconnected daze on Royal's face but chose not to comment further. He was sure, when it was time, she would tell him. Instead, he served them a wonderful meal and sat down to have lunch with his family.
* * *
Dorian left the boutique soon after his meeting with Royal and quickly jumped on his motorcycle to head across town to the airports private airstrip. His heart was in the bottom of his chest after seeing that his ghost was not only still alive but also had given birth to Dmitry's daughter, a child that he swore belonged solely to Ivan. It made him wonder if the girl was his old friends.
He admonished himself and tried to focus. His planned could nearly be ruined if he allowed himself to unravel. But the woman was strikingly beautiful, so much so that he instinctively wanted her for himself. Thou shalt not covet. He heard the words in his head as he drove through the streets of Prague.
Had he forgotten himself so much that he could not remember his commandments? He held himself to a higher standard than most, hence his nickname as a holy man, yet he found himself wanting Dmitry's wife so badly until he could taste her perfume in the back of his throat.
He was certain that she did not know who he was, but what if she went back and told Dmitry about him coming into the boutique? Something in her eyes promised that she would not.
For now, he had to stick to his plan. He had a meeting with an aircraft pilot in forty minutes. The deal was that the man would receive a small fortune for simply not showing up for work on tomorrow morning, leaving his clothes and passes for another person to use.
The bomb would be placed on Dmitry's jet and detonated after it left Sochi. The plan was flawless, all accept for the possibility of Royal being on it, or even Dmitry's daughter. The possibility of a second chance from God to redeem himself from his horrid sins seemed to be clouded by revenge. He needed to pray, to figure out why things had happened as they had.
* * *
When Dorian was finished at the airport, he gave his assistant a call to follow through with things as planned. She did so swiftly. Within the hour, she had notified Anatoly about the meeting set for tomorrow night in Sochi.
Anatoly was ready. He nodded at Victoria and put down his cell phone. She sat across from him in living room on the couch wearing one of Royal's cashmere dresses. He cleared his throat and picked another cigarette up to light it.
"That was phone call we were waiting for," Anatoly confirmed. "You flight out tomorrow. I'll arrange for a first class ticket for you. Don't be late. Don't fuck up."
Victoria raised her brow. "I won't." She watched him pour another shot of vodka as he smoked his cigarettes. His blue eyes squinted as inhaled the nicotine. "What's next? After this, what I am supposed to do?"
"You go to Memphis with me. I told you." His voice was a growl.
Victoria rolled her eyes and grabbed the back of her neck to massage her aching muscles. Her dark, thick hair fell over on her arm, catching Anatoly's eye.
He looked over at her and put down his glass. There was an inquisitive look on his chiseled face. He clenched his jaw and tilted his head, puzzled by the woman.
"What?" she asked, realizing he was eyeing her.
"Why are you the way that you are?"
Victoria frowned. "What way am I?"
Anatoly took another drag from his cigarette. "Twisted. Damaged."
She bit her lip. "I don't know. Why are you the way that you are?"
"I think it's genetic. It could be inferiority complex. Mostly, it's just because I like money."
"So you admit that you're fucked up?"
"Yeah," he said quickly.
"And you like woman who are?"
Anatoly nodded. "I think I do." He was sincere. "I feel like most good women are too good for me and most of the others are out to get something."
"Well, at least you're honest," she said, scratching her head. She sat up straight and crossed her legs as he waited for his answer. They were silent for a moment. He watched her go through the motions before she finally spoke.
"My father never gave me the attention that I wanted. My mother never thought that anything I did was good enough,"
