Alpha (15 page)

I felt myself blushing. “It’s incredible, Roth. Thank you.” I ducked my head. “For the dress, for the whole experience so far.”

“Do you like the jewelry?”

I let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Like it? Roth, it’s…incredible. That’s not the right word…there aren’t any words. I’ve never worn anything like it.”

“That’s the point, my lovely. No one has. That set was designed for
you
, for
that
dress.”

“I…what?”
 

Roth’s thumb caressed my knuckles. “You deserve the best, Kyrie. And that is what I intend to give you.”

“I just…I don’t even know what to say, Roth. Everything is so…
much
. I can’t even fathom how much you spent on what I’m wearing.”

“You want to know?” He sounded amused. “If you want to know, then I’ll tell you. Altogether, what you are wearing cost over one hundred thousand dollars.”

My mind was boggled. “Why?”

He laughed. “It’s nothing, Kyrie. We’re not even going to be seen tonight, either. Not in the public sense, when what we wear would be judged.”

“Do you do public appearances like that?” I asked.

“Very, very rarely. And only if I absolutely have to.”

“So then all this,” I gestured at myself with both hands, “is just for…what, for kicks?”

“For…kicks?” I heard the puzzled frown in his voice. “You mean just because? No. Not at all. You are the most beautiful woman I know, Kyrie. You should be adorned to showcase your beauty. I had this dress made so you would feel beautiful, and so I would enjoy looking at you all the more this evening.” His voice lowered, became intimate, close, rumbling. “Do you feel beautiful, Kyrie?”

I gave myself time to think before answering. “Yes. I do. Very much so.” I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on his
most beautiful woman I know
comment. I’d go crazy if I did.

“Then it was money well-spent.” A pause. “Stop thinking of the cost of things. That is my business, for me to worry about. I spend what I want, when I want. All you need do is be yourself, and try to trust me.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I know. Now, if I’m not mistaken, Kim is here with the first course.”
 

At that very moment, a door opened, and I smelled food. This time, having eaten with Roth once before, I simply sat and waited. I felt Roth lift my hand and place a glass in it. I lifted it to my lips, sniffed, smelled white wine. I heard utensils clicking and tinkling, bowls being set down, and then the door closed.

“This is Sichuan Beef,” Roth said. “A little spicy. Open.”

I opened my mouth, felt chopsticks touch my lips, felt his hand at my chin. I bit down, and he withdrew the chopsticks.
A little spicy
, he said. It was fiery, and I had to blink against the burn.
 

“God, Roth! That’s not just a
little
spicy, it’s f—it’s crazy hot!” I just barely remembered his dislike of cursing and caught myself. I took a sip of wine to wash away the heat in my mouth.

Roth laughed. “It’s not spicy to me. But then, I suppose I do enjoy things a little spicier than most. I spent several years in China and the surrounding countries, and developed a taste for spicy food.”

“Let me try another bite, now that I’m ready for it.” I parted my lips, bit down when he fed me a morsel of meat and rice, with some kind of vegetable. This time, ready for the heat, I was able to taste past it, and actually enjoyed it, although it did clear my sinuses a bit. “So, what were you doing in China?”

He answered as he chewed. “I was…developing business contacts, you could say.”

“That’s vague.”

“On purpose. Perhaps eventually I’ll tell you more about what I do, how I made my fortune. But not now. It’s not relevant at this time.”
 

I had kept my hand on my glass the entire time, so I wouldn’t have to find it again, or have him give it to me every time. I took a drink, sniffing past the bite of the spice. We talked more as we ate, again the conversation staying light. It was the kind of thing I usually hated, but it was also exactly what I needed, the appearance of normality to offset the oddity of being blindfolded. There were several courses to the meal, each better than the last, and almost all of them spicier than I usually liked. By the time the meal ended, my tongue was tingling.

“Not so much spicy food next time, huh?” I said, taking a sip of my second glass of wine.
 

Roth laughed. “Sure. For you, anything. But here, that’s just the way Kim cooks. He’s a master with
la jiao
.”

“La what?”

“
La jiao
,” he repeated. “The chili peppers that made the food spicy. It’s Kim’s signature.”

“You mean Kim was the chef?”

“This is his restaurant. I provided the capital and some of the direction, but he runs it and does the cooking. It’s very exclusive, very expensive. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to get a table here unless you had reservations six months out.”

“But for you….” I insinuated.

“I get my way.”

“Clearly.”

I heard his chair scrape, felt his fingers trail over my shoulders and back. “Would you care for dessert? Or would you like to proceed to the show?”

“I’m full,” I said. “We can go if you’re ready.”

“Good answer.” He took my hand and led me back the way we came.
 

I heard the heavy doors open, and then the sounds of the kitchen and the low chatter of voices receded. I heard the elevator whirring. A short ride later, we were moving across what sounded like a large foyer with marble floors, my heels echoing with sharp
clicks
. Another door opened, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me through and outside. The sounds of New York assaulted me, horns honking, voices, shoes, rushing vehicles, sirens. It was a warm evening, in contrast to the cool of the restaurant and the lobby we’d just left.
 

I heard voices nearby. “Look…she’s blindfolded. I wonder why?”

“Look at that dress!”

“Did you see her necklace?”
 

“That’s a Maybach, I think….”

“Holy shit, he’s gorgeous….”

And then I heard a car door open and Roth helped me into the car, gently nudging my head to make me duck. I slid in and across, feeling leather underneath my hands. The door closed and I felt Roth beside me, and then the engine purred and we were moving.

Tension rolled off Roth. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I would have preferred a private entrance, but that wasn’t possible, unfortunately.” He took my hand, and I found myself naturally threading my fingers through his. “We have a private entrance at the Met, thankfully.”

“What are we seeing?” I asked, ignoring my own embarrassment over the things I’d overheard, and the fact that I wouldn’t be really
seeing
anything.

“
La Bohème
. A very enjoyable presentation. The bel cantos performing this are wonderful, and really, you won’t be missing much being blindfolded. The music is the thing.”
 

I’d heard of it, but knew nothing about it. The rest of the ride was quiet, but Roth’s tension was still palpable.

“You really don’t like being around people, do you?” I couldn’t help asking.
 

“What makes you ask that?” His voice was thin and razor sharp.

I shrugged. “I can just feel how tense you are. That whole scene back there really upset you.”

“You can feel all that?”
 

I nodded with another small lift of one shoulder. “Yeah. It’s coming off you in waves.”

I heard him suck in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You are very perceptive, Kyrie. Especially considering you don’t have the use of visual cues.” His fingers squeezed mine.
 

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I heard car horns, and the sense of motion ceased, indicating we were stopped at a traffic light or were stuck in a traffic jam.
 

“You are correct, of course,” Roth said, after a few minutes of silence. “I dislike crowds. It’s not that I don’t like people, per se. I merely prefer my interactions to be…one-to-one, on my terms. There is so much one cannot control in a public, crowded setting. And my life experience has taught me to…shun…such situations whenever possible.”

The vehicle moved again, and we rode in companionable silence. After twenty minutes in the car, which was punctuated with sporadic conversation, Harris stopped the car, and I heard him get out and come around to open our door. Roth slid out, and I extended my hand. He pulled me, helping me out of the car. A wash of overlapping voices hit me from my left, cameras clicking, questions being shouted.
 

I heard another door open, this one right in front of us, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me forward. I moved as quickly as I could in my three-inch heels and tight dress, knowing Roth would want to get inside before the photographers caught sight of us. After a dozen steps, the door closed behind us, shutting off the babble of noise from the street.
 

“This way please, Mr. Roth,” I heard a soft, awed female voice say.
 

Following the usher, I assumed, Roth guided me onto an elevator, down what I guessed was a hallway and into—I assumed—a private box. I could hear the orchestra warming up, the jarring cacophony of instruments. Now more than ever I hated the blindfold. I wanted to
see
. My first time at the New York Met, and I was blindfolded. I couldn’t see the stage, the architecture of the theater, the seats; I couldn’t watch the people filing in and taking their seats, adjusting wraps and suit coats. I couldn’t look for famous faces.
 

Roth helped me find my seat, and then I felt him settle in beside me. “The show should begin shortly. Would you care for a drink?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you feel like is fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never been to the opera, never been to the Met, and I…I just want to see everything. This blindfold is frustrating.”

His thumb skated over my shoulder, and I felt him lean in close to me. “I know, Kyrie. I know. I’ve got a phone call to make. You can look around while I’m gone.” His lips touched my shoulder, my neck. I shivered, felt my skin pebble, my blood race. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll send someone in with a glass of wine.”

“Okay. Thank you, Roth.”

“Of course.” I heard him leave, and I was alone.

I reached up behind my head and untied the blindfold, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light. Oh…oh, my god. I’d seen pictures of the Met, of course, so I sort of knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality. It was
huge
. The box I sat in was directly opposite the stage, at the very top, so the entire theater was on display for me. Of course Roth would have the best seat in the house. The seats were filling quickly, the stage curtain was pulled closed, and couples filed down the aisles, led by ushers, to find their seats. A pair of opera glasses sat on the seat beside me, recently vacated by Roth. I used them to get a closer look at the people in the audience, scanning for familiar faces. The door to the box opened and a server came in, carrying a tray bearing a single glass of white wine.
 

“Anything else I can get for you, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I expected him to leave, but he didn’t. He shrugged and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’ve been given instructions to wait here with you until Mr. Roth returns.”

I frowned. “Well, whatever makes you happy.” I went back to scanning the crowds and sipping my wine, making the most of my time without the blindfold.
 

A few minutes later, the lights began to dim, and the orchestra struck a single note. A knock on the door behind the server made me jump in my seat, but he seemed to be expecting it.

“I’m supposed to…errrr, tie a blindfold on you…now. Ma’am. I’m sorry, but those are my instructions.” The server was a very young man, barely out of his teens, acne-scarred and awkward.
 

He took a step toward me, and I handed him the blindfold. “Ah, that explains why you had to wait here.” I closed my eyes as he placed the cloth around my head and tied it. It was way too tight, but I could feel his hands shaking, feel the awkward nerves billowing off him, so I took pity on him. “That’s fine, thanks.”
 

“Sorry, ma’am.”

I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Can I…can I ask why…? Why the blindfold?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “I—um. It’s kind of a long story, actually. It’s…a game my boyfriend and I are playing.”

The door opened, and I heard Roth’s tread behind me. “And it’s none of your business, Michael. More wine for the lady, and your best single-malt Scotch for me, please. Thank you.”

“Right away, sir.” Michael sounded relieved to have something to do that would take him away from me, from the blindfold, and from Roth.

I heard a chuckle from beside me. “Poor kid was about to wet himself, I think.”

“He did seem a bit nervous. Especially when he had to tie the blindfold on me.” I touched the knot. “Speaking of which, I think I’m losing circulation, he tied it so tight. Can you loosen it for me?”

Strong fingers worked at the knot, loosened the blindfold, and then retied it. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Roth said as he fussed with my hair, feathering his fingers through the ends. “I don’t blame him, but he was…rather openly ogling you.”

“Ogling? I don’t think he was ogling.”
 

“He was ogling. Staring down your front, actually.” He traced the line of my clavicle, and then down, down, closer and closer to the opening of my cleavage. “It’s not his fault, though. Not entirely. You are…impossible to look away from. You aren’t his to look at, however.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then whose am I?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear his reaction.

“Mine, Kyrie. You are mine. You belong to me. To me alone. I won’t share you, not even with harmless children like our friend Michael the server.” At that moment Michael returned, and Roth replaced my empty glass with a full one. “Thank you, Michael. Now, that will be all until intermission. Here you are.”