Page 15 of Sin Wager
"Tell me about Ukraine," he says. "You mentioned your family immigrated when you were a teenager."
"We came here when I was seventeen. My father thought there would be better work opportunities, and my mother wanted us to learn Russian properly." I trace the rim of my wine glass. "We lived in a small village outside Kharkiv. My father trained horses for local farmers, and I spent every day in the stables."
"Is that where you learned to handle them so well?"
"Yes. I could ride before I could properly walk, according to my mother. She used to joke that I spoke horse better than Ukrainian."
"What happened to your mother?"
The familiar ache settles in my chest. "Cancer… Five years ago. The treatments here cost so much, but she refused to go back to Ukraine. She said we were Russians now, and Russians don't run from problems."
"She sounds strong."
"She was. Stubborn as a mule and twice as determined." I smile at the memory. "Elvin gets his fighting spirit from her."
"And you? What do you get from her?"
"The ability to worry about everyone except myself, apparently."
He laughs, a low sound that makes me want to hear it again. "That's not a weakness."
"Sometimes, it feels overwhelming. Taking care of Batya, making sure Elvin's treatments continue, keeping up with work…" I stop myself. I don't want to sound whiny on our first date.
"You're allowed to want things for yourself too," he says. "What do you want, Vera? If money weren't an issue, if your family was taken care of, what would make you happy?"
The duck arrives before I can answer, accompanied by roasted potatoes and green beans that glisten with butter. The cherry sauce pools around the meat, dark and glossy. My mouth waters.
"Try it," Misha says.
I cut a small piece and bring it to my mouth. The meat falls apart on my tongue, tender and rich, the cherry sauce adding sweetness that complements the gamey flavor. I close my eyes and savor the taste.
"Good?"
"Incredible. I had no idea food could taste this complex."
"Most people settle for simple when they could have extraordinary."
We eat without speaking for a few minutes. The lamb is equally impressive, seasoned with herbs I can't identify but that make every bite a discovery.
"You never answered my earlier question," Misha says. "What would make you happy?"
I consider the response while I sip my wine. "I'd like to travel. See places I've only read about in books. Maybe take a cooking class and learn to make dishes like this." I gesture toward our plates. "I'd want to live somewhere with space for a garden, maybe keep a few horses of my own."
"Those are good dreams."
"They're expensive dreams."
"Not impossible ones, though."
I meet his gaze across the table. "What about you? What makes you happy?"
"Control. Knowing that I can protect the people who matter to me. Building an enterprise that lasts." He pauses. "Good conversation over excellent wine."
"Is that what this is? Good conversation?"
"The best I've had in months."
The waiter refills our wine glasses. I should slow down—I'm not used to alcohol this strong—but the warmth in my stomach feels too good to stop.
