Page 56 of Cruel Delights
We drive by the Easton Opera House with the full moon haloing its glass dome ceiling in light, and my heart skips several extra beats.
Soon I could be there; soon I could live my dream.
Kaden catches me staring, then grins. “We’re almost there.”
We pull up outside of the Arcadia, one of the most well-known, Michelin-starred restaurants in the country.Celebritiesregularly dine here.
My jaw drops open, though I don’t move. I stay cemented where I am.
“C’mon.”
Kaden presses the button, and my car door swings open. I’m on his arm again on the approach to the front entrance, which might as well be the fine dining version of a red carpet. Paparazzi stay camped out on either side, snapping away photos and shouting at guests about various celebrities and famous members of the elite.
I bow my head and pretend I’m invisible as we’re escorted inside. Is this what it feels like being famous?
We’re seated in a private section, cordoned off by a half wall and frosted partition. The section is cozier and candlelit, carrying a sweet, warm scent I can’t place.
Kaden once again demonstrates a side of him I’ve rarely seen—the wealthy, privileged man of means used to the finer things in life. Upon taking our seats at our table, he orders our server to retrieve the bottled water he prefers as well as a four hundred dollar bottle of Cabernet.
My eyes bulge. I could buy two months’ worth of my meds for that amount… or a few months’ worth of weed…
“You get this look on your face,” he says, unfurling his dinner napkin. “It’s very funny.”
I loosen up by rolling back my shoulders. “I forget how the other half lives.”
“You’d be surprised to know we’re insecure, boring people. Look around you. Every last person sitting in this room is worrying about whether or not they’re perceived as good enough. A bunch of vapid idiots wearing gold watches and silk threads, hoping it impresses their friends. They’re stuck in the mentality of fifteen-year-olds trying to belong. Like I said, it’s all very boring.”
I offer a polite smile to the waiter as he returns with our bottles. “But you’re a part of this world.”
“I am.”
“Then are you talking about yourself?”
“No. I have never tried to impress anyone.”
I raise a brow. “Never? Ever? Not once?”
“Not in the manner of which I am speaking. No. You don’t seem to grasp that I can’t stand these people, Lyra,” he says plainly. He gestures to my glass of wine. “Something tells me you’d feel the same if you spent enough time around them.”
A shudder captures me, thinking of the night of the party. “Oh, trust me. I already do.”
“Tell me about Fyodor. What exactly did he say?”
“I stuttered a lot. He sounds very aggressive. I almost hung up. But then I introduced myself and he was the one about to hang up. He assumed it was a prank call.”
“You mentioned my name.”
I nod. “And after some silence, he told me he wanted to hear me play.”
“That’s what I presumed. This is your chance. If you play for him, and he enjoys it, he will make an offer. Have you been practicing?”
“With what piano? The only time I get to play these days is when I have lessons with a client or dueling at the Velvet.
Kaden makes a humming noise as he sips from his Cabernet and stares narrow-eyed past my shoulder.
A beat of uncertainty strikes me, and I follow his lead. I twist in my seat to check out what he’s staring at—a somewhat distant table of three men enjoying drinks over lukewarm conversation. Normally, I’d think nothing of it except their gazes are on us.
They’re watching us with interest. Kaden must know them.