I can see why, it’s a desirable table.
But still. My brother cuts his eyes at us, sending an Arctic blast with it. Demyan’s reaction is less than promising, especially since his smile is stiffer than the tense line of his shoulders.
As Erin gets up to hug both me and Ilya, I get a front-row view of Demyan pretending Ilya doesn’t exist and a look that suggests I’m some naughty child who shouldn’t b here.
Underneath his stiff smile, there’s a layer of promised retribution.
“Alina,” he says.
Ilya turns to the host as though to ask for a different table, when I take the plunge.
“What a great surprise to find you both as our neighbors.”
Demyan grunts, and Ilya’s silent.
“We can have the tables moved to make one,” the host says.
“No.” That comes from both Demyan and Ilya.
I shoot Ilya a look as Erin does the same to my brother.
“No,” Ilya says again, “we don’t wish to be a bother. This is fine.”
The host hesitates, nods, and then leaves. A waiter appears and pulls back a chair for me to sit next to Erin. The tables are close enough that we’d be able to talk that way.
But Demyan vetoes that.
My brother makes her switch seats with him so he can glare at Ilya from his table to ours and I’m positive the evening goes downhill from there.
My stomach is a leaping mess of nerves, and when the waiter offers me wine, I say no. I don’t even think of the pregnancy at that point. I’m thinking of the fact that alcohol’s going to make me throw up, as will whatever I eat.
I order simple things, a broth with delicate ravioli stuffed with morels and porcini and a simple salad. Because I can’t stand how my brother watches me like a hawk, I get the cauliflower and fennel risotto, too.
I don’t even know if anything has a taste.
Ilya’s smooth talking and attentive while he ignores the dark looks my dear brother throws him, along with the barbed comments.
“I’m wondering,” Demyan begins, ready for round two, “if?—”
“How about those White Sox?” Erin asks, full of sugar.
Demyan frowns. “I don’t own any white socks. Unless you count for workouts. Which I don’t.”
Ilya snickers. I throw him a look, so he takes a swallow of his wine, followed by a bite of his lamb.
“The Chicago White Sox?” Erin shakes her head. “Demyan, I’m trying to make you stop being provocative.”
He grins at his wife. “You love it when I’m provocative,lyubimaya.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief as their conversation continues at a low murmur.
Ilya strokes my thigh beneath the table. He’d hold my hand, but I moved it out of the way. I don’t want to be responsible for a bloodbath at Occo.
But the reprieve and the pull back into their world and us into ours doesn’t change the thick air of tension, the awkwardness, and the smell of smoke from the fire sitting near the end of the fuse.
All it’ll take is one of them to flick those flames toward the fuse, and things will go boom.
But the two men pretend the other doesn’t exist, which makes it hard for me and Erin to talk.
