Page 81

By Mirdza.

She’s literally frolicking everywhere she goes. She also can’t stop beaming. It’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, ninety percent of her giddy joy is directed at Grigoriy, and about five percent is directed at Aleksandr and Alexei, who did just work together to save her. But I’m the one who bludgeoned her into trying it. Where’s all the bubbly, effervescent happiness that should be directed my way?

One hug. That’s what I got.

Which is fine.

Mostly I’m just happy for her. But I did let her grind the bones in my hand together during the whole ordeal, and I was willing to take all the regret and all the misery if it failed, because I was the one pulling for her to try it. A little “Oooh, Adriana, you’re the best,” or “You were right, Adriana,” might be nice.

Still, even without any credit, it’s nice to see her dancing around while they discuss the menu like we’re at a five-star restaurant.

“Which one has pomegranate seeds?” Aleksandr asks. “I don’t think those should be on a burger.”

“If you don’t want those, you’ll hate the Hawaiian one too, because it has grilled pineapple.” Grigoriy squints. “But what’s a wrap?”

“What exactly is a burger?” Alexei asks.

It hadn’t even occurred to me he wouldn’t know what it was. “It’s bread with a slab of beef in between. They also put toppings on the meat.” Luckily, an order comes up just then. I point. “The toppings and the bread types are the big decisions. What I love about this place is how many buns they have. Charcoal infused, pretzel, sesame, whole wheat, and plain.”

Alexei still looks confused.

“Are these burgers really only three euros each?” Aleksandr asks.

I nod. “My kinda place.” Artisan burger and fries for five euros? Yep.

“But which one should I get?” Alexei asks.

He’s not someone who’s accustomed to choosing his own meals, I imagine, plus this is something entirely new. “Start by trying the bacon burger,” I say. “Everyone likes bacon, plus it’s pretty basic. Maybe just get the plain bun.”

Then it’s sauces and toppings that stump them.

We wind up letting three parties order ahead of us, but finally we get them all chosen, and Aleks gives the cashier fifty euros—they all got milkshakes—and we wait. It’s a little awkward when we look for seats. There’s a four-top table, which Aleks, Grigoriy, Kris, and Mirdza take immediately.

Then the guys startle, stand up, and look at Alexei.

“What?” I point at the table next to them. “We can sit here.” It has a bit of a triple date vibe, but that would be true with literally anyone I came here with. I don’t blame Alexei. I’m not that crazy.

“Would you prefer to sit here?” Aleksandr asks.

“Or here?” Grigoriy asks.

“What’s going on?” I glance at Kris and Mirdza.

Kris laughs. “They’ve been like that ever since he got back. I think they’re so used to him being their Czar that they can’t quite wrap their heads around not deferring to him.”

“We still defer to him.” Grigoriy’s eyes are intense. “He’s still our czar.”

The people who just walked past are giving us strange looks.

“Maybe we should speak something other than Latvian when we say super crazy things,” I whisper in my horrible Russian.

“You should never speak in our language,” Alexei’s smiling. “You were better off pretending you couldn’t.”

I think about kicking him, but that might get us more of the wrong kind of attention. “Just sit.” I slide into a plastic seat.

Luckily the burgers don’t take too long, and the other two guys settle down a little. Once the food arrives, Alexei looks at it like it might bite him.