“I would like that,” I say. But then I glance coldly at Aria and add, “But not her. Only Fredrik.”

Aria’s face falls and then twists faintly into something bitter.

Victor’s expression remains standard and I take that as a secret sign of his approval for my decision to exclude her.

Before I lose my confidence, I keep the dialogue flowing.

“You should’ve known better than to invite her, Victor.”

He touches my wrist upon the table.

“Very well,” he says and then looks to Fredrik. “Meet us at my hotel in two hours. Alone.”

Aria goes to stand up and she angrily gestures for Fredrik to move out of her way so she can remove herself from the booth. He stands and steps over to the side, but when he reaches out to help her she pushes his hand away and snaps at him, “Get the fuck away from me,” and she trots off on her six-inch heels away from the table.

It’s odd how I actually feel bad about ‘hurting her feelings’ regardless of the nature of the situation.

Fredrik sits back down and the mood at the table changes as he and Victor start talking about this company expansion to Sweden that I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. What confuses me even more is how fluent the fictional conversation about such a fictional thing goes on between them. It seems as if they discussed this entire scenario at length and even had time to rehearse before we all came here. But I’ve been with Victor the entire time and he hasn’t had an opportunity to go over something like this at length with anyone other than me. Fredrik seems to know more about what’s going on than I do.

And quite frankly, that ticks me off a little.

“I’m ready to go,” I say icily both as Izabel and Sarai.

“We’ll leave when I’m ready,” Victor says.

“But I want to go now,” I snap. “I don’t like this restaurant. It’s too fucking dark. I feel like I’m in a dungeon.” I take my purse from the table and go to stand up.

Victor grabs my arm and pushes me back into the seat.

“I said we’ll leave when I’m ready. And stop talking or you can sit on your knees underneath the table between mine.”

I swallow hard, a look of shock consuming my features. Seeing Fredrik in my peripheral vision, I gather my composure quickly.

I set my purse back on the table and relent to Victor fully.

And once again, I’m trying to swim my way out of my dirty thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The waiter comes back over to our table to offer us more wine and to check on things. Victor indicates with a nod that we need our glasses topped-off. As the waiter pours more wine into mine, I notice Victor’s hand move along the edge of the table toward me and just as the waiter pulls the bottle away, my glass falls over spilling wine onto my dress. It happened so fast that if I hadn’t of been watching Victor I never would’ve known that it was him who did it and not the waiter.

I gasp and my mouth falls open. And as I go into full-on Izabel mode, the waiter scrambles to clean the wine from the table and apologizes profusely in the process.

“Un-believable,” I say, standing up from the booth with my hands up and my mouth fallen open, my eyes rife with ire. “You idiot; look what you did to my dress.”

“I-I’m so very sorry,” the waiter says.

“I want to speak with the owner,” Victor demands, standing up at the booth now, too.

We have successfully caused a scene, at least.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter says. “I will get my manager right away.”

He starts to walk off quickly but Victor says, “No, I said the owner. Do not waste my time with anyone else.”

A little bit terrified, the waiter bows and scurries off through the restaurant.

Staying in character, I ignore my need to ask about what’s going on. Fredrik is still sitting with us, after all, and as far as I know…Who am I kidding? I don’t know anything, really.

“Look at my dress, Victor!”

Victor picks up the cloth napkin on the table in front of him and starts wiping my dress with it.

“It’s ruined,” I hiss through my teeth.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says. “Or better yet, the owner of this restaurant will buy you a new one.”

Fredrik sits quietly sipping his wine.

In less than two minutes, the waiter is approaching us again following behind a tall, broad-shouldered man with salt and pepper hair and a dimple in the center of his chin. The man walks with his head held high and his hands folded together down in front of him.

“I do apologize for the waiter’s accident,” he says. “Your wine and your meal if you have one tonight will be on the house.”

“Oh, but that just won’t do,” Victor says stepping right up to the man. “And I am offended that you would not offer to pay for the dress along with the dining. What kind of restaurant is this? Certainly one I will never come to again. Are you the owner of this…establishment?”

The man reaches out his hand for Victor to shake it but Victor declines.

“I am Willem Stephens,” he says, withdrawing his hand. “I run this particular restaurant.”

“So then you’re just the manager?” Victor accuses.

The waiter looks down at the floor to avoid Victor’s angry gaze.

“I asked for the owner,” Victor adds.

Willem Stephens nods. “Yes, Marcus here did inform me of your request, but I am afraid that is not possible this evening. Mr. Hamburg is not here.”

Fredrik stands up from the table now and all of our eyes avert to him. He takes one last sip of his wine.

“I apologize,” Fredrik says to Victor, “but I should go.” Then he looks at me briefly. “I will meet you at your hotel in two hours.”

I don’t offer him any secret looks or smiles, I just nod and turn back to Victor and the issue with my dress.

Fredrik and Victor exchange quick farewells and then Fredrik leaves us at the table with the manager.

“On behalf of Mr. Hamburg,” Willem Stephens says, “the dress will be paid for in-full and you are welcome to enjoy a meal on the house.”

Victor’s hand hits the tabletop and then suddenly a bouncer in a suit is standing next to Willem Stephens as if he’d appeared out of nowhere. The skinny waiter uses this opportunity to move back several steps to put distance between him and the rest of us.

“Please, sir,” Willem Stephens says, gesturing one hand toward Victor and trying to diffuse the situation. “There is no need for a scene. Would you like to speak with me somewhere more privately?”

Victor steps right up to him, confidence and intolerance emanating from every pore. Likewise the bouncer steps right up to Victor. Two seconds of silent tension passes between the two, but neither of them make a move. I know Victor could easily take him and this is all part of the plan.

“I want the dress paid for tonight,” Victor demands. “Thirty-five-hundred dollars. Cash. And I’ll think about not suing you or Mr. Hamburg for the dress and my girlfriend’s emotional distress.”

I find that ridiculous, but at the same time, I’ve heard of people suing for dumber things and getting away with it.

Willem Stephens nods. “Very well,” he says. “I will go and get your funds. If you’ll excuse me.”

Victor’s solid nod matches his and then Willem Stephens walks away, the waiter and the bouncer following close behind. Once they make their way through the quietly watching tables, Victor turns to me and gestures for me to sit down with him.

“I loved this dress,” I say with gritted teeth.

With the same cloth napkin as before, Victor delicately dabs the fabric on my chest for show. “Everything will be right once we leave here,” he says. Then he kisses me on the forehead. “I think you’ll like Fredrik. He has control.” He kisses me again a little lower between the eyes. “He’ll wait until we’re finished before he masturbates.”