From "King Of Thieves, --- Alexandre & Theresa have a little supper at the Cheval Noir... (3.)

   Alexandre's favorite restaurant was the very, very expensive Cheval Noir.  Of course, I had never, ever been THERE!  He drove us to the entrance in his gleaming Cadillac.  He opened the passenger door for me.  Then went around to slide into the armchair soft driver's seat.  I relaxed back into my matching comfort.  "Ooo!  I love this car!"  I ran my hand over the dark blue velvet interior.

   Alexandre laughed. "A beauty, isn't she?  A 1985 Cotillion Blue Fleetwood Brougham, and, almost TOO  comfortable.  I love taking her on trips, but I've almost fallen asleep in the plush of her seats." He laughed.

   We were soon in front of Cheval Noir.  Through the car's window I stared up at the Art Nouveau black and silver horse's head over the restaurant's entrance. Alexandre gave the Brougham's keys to the valet.

   "I really like using valet parking when I drive the Brougham," he remarked.  "The 1985 Fleetwood Brougham was the longest  personal American car ever made, aside from limousines, a full foot longer than the mustang of that year. It's hard to find a spot big enough to parallel park!" His rich laugh again, he took my arm.   

   I looked up at him from under my lashes. "I think maybe you have a red Corvette."

   He chuckled. "I have a red  Shelby. It wasn't hard for you to figure I'd have a red sports car.  I have a 1970 black Challenger too. I'm crazy about muscle cars."

   Alexandre's walking stick beat a tattoo on the sidewalk as we walked to the restaurant door.  It was black and gold with a greyhound's head on top.

   "I like your walking stick."

   "It has a sword inside; completes the opera drag, good for rapping mugger's skulls."  I laughed with him, feeling very comfortable.

   Alexandre's greeted the host, who he called Charles. (He pronounced it the French way, --- "Charl".) He gave Charles his top hat and walking. Then, Charles showed us to a secluded table in the back.  Alexandre pulled out a black velvet upholstered chair for me.  (I noticed that the chairs back here were upholstered, but the ones in front were wood.) After seeing that I was comfortably seated and my cloak was, once again, well-placed over the back of my chair, he took off his cape and tux jacket. He took out his cuff links, gold ones, set with onyx', the big black faceted stones surrounded by diamonds.  He rolled up his sleeves, revealing hard looking forearms covered with sparse black hair.  I stared at the knobby wrist bones, his lean hands with their long squared off fingers, their neat, clean nails.  He wore a massive gold ring with a square-cut emerald, probably at least ten carats.  Even in the dim light of the restaurant's corner, the emerald ring, the cuff links on the table shined, wickedly.

   Alexandre saw me staring at his jewelry.  He leaned forward. In the dim light of the opera house I hadn't seen his earrings, --- tiny gold rings; hanging from each one was a little diamond, sparking like a star. "The shirt's tight. It's easier to cut meat with my cuff links out and sleeves rolled up. Yes, they're Imperial originals, designed by Peter Carl  Faberge.  He was French, but a naturalized Russian, the official court jeweler.  Faberge had hundreds of craftsmen to do his pieces.  There's a special look to Imperial jewelry, Theresa.  It's usually big stones, surrounded by smaller diamonds.  My family bought jewelry from some of the  Romanov's who survived the purge of their family in 1918. My cuff links and the ring were once worn by Grand Duke Cyril, first cousin of Nicholas the second.  Cyril was one of the Romanov's who fled to Europe.  Over fifty Romanovs were murdered. Thirty-five survived.  Foremost of the survivors was Nicholas' mother, Dowager Empress Marie Fedorovna, and the Czars sisters, Grand Duchesses Xenia Alexandrovna and Olga Alexandrovna."

   "You know a lot about this."

   A dazzling smile, "Sure, my family left Russia in 1918 with other emigres. They lived for a while in France, then in Switzerland. When the U.S.S.R. was finished in the 1990s many of the Volkovs went back to Russia, but some of my family still live in France, Switzerland and Germany."

   My eyes must have gone wide with this info.  I'd never met an Old World aristocrat.  He laughed again, that rumbling, manly sound and gave me another fabulous smile.  His black were sparkling; they were truly black, not brown. I couldn't see his pupils. There was a slight cleft in his chin. Those fun sexy darts kept zinging through me. A server had appeared  at our table, like he dropped out of the air. He didn't give us a menu, but bowed to Alexandre.

   "What do  you want, Theresa?"  The head chef here is Michel-Charmion Valade .  He'll make us anything."

   "Anything?"

   "Well, sure, --- even if you want roast duck. Although, you'll have to wait a while for that. I don't think you want to stay here that long." He winked. Then, his long  lashes swept his eyes, practically taking my breath away.

   "Uh," I stammered, "I don't know. What do you usually have?"  I'm an idiot, I thought, ducking my head, feeling a blush coming.

   But, Alexandre was talking to our server. "Chateaubriand, medium rare, Jean-Henri, and Salad Noisce, garlic roasted golden potatoes, lots of the five-herb bread. And, some very fine champagne, brut." He grinned. "Surprise me, Jean-Henri, and keep it coming. Oh, for desert, Mont Blanc, espresso too, please." Jean-Henri nodded and left.

  "I've never had espresso," I remarked.

   "If you like very strong black coffee, you'll probably like it. It's said good espresso is poured out of the pot and cut off with a scissors."

   Alexandre  took my hand and raised it to his lips, putting a soft kiss on it. The touch of his warm mouth seemed to be  trembling on my skin.  My hand looked very small and pale, even delicate, resting on his long lean palm.  (His skin was the rich medium beige my mom used to call rochelle.) He slowly turned my hand over, brought it to his lips again, put a kiss in the palm. His lips were  slightly open and he breathed on my skin. I was a little shocked that he bit the big mound under my thumb, the mound of Venus. Both of his hands were around my one.  He caressed it.

   "Your hand's cool, but it's getting warmer."

   I didn't say anything.

--- Copyright 2021, by Suzanne La Force.