Claire asked him what he wanted but he had little chance to actually say anything before she had already ordered. It suited him fine enough in his present condition. A piece of stale bread would suit him fine enough, and had done so too often over the years.
Perhaps he would have been angry - perhaps should have been - that Claire was so casual about their safety. He had done everything he could to ensure they could not be tracked easily, take-out meals would not be the death of him or his friends.
Yet, all he could muster in his drained state was a mild reproach. "It's not just my life you are playing with, but your own. Still, I doubt fast-food will be our downfall, I forgive you."
Her question was answered on the heels of the sardonic forgiveness. "I am a dead man, I told you. That's why you must be so attracted to me."
A small laugh. "I haven't told you because you wouldn't know. I am the first son of the Soloyov family. We used to be as rich and powerful as any of those rich and powerful bastards in Moscow. Until I learned our little secret."
His laugh was painful both mentally and physically. "Ten years later, here I am, as dead to the world as my family is. Purged from memory, and those who could remember would never admit we even existed."
Claire's look was playful. "Who said I was attracted to you?"
He had told her the blurb about being dead before, but the explanation hadn't satisfied Claire's curiosity. She might have searched him online, but she didn't care enough to puzzle out the spelling of his last name. Moscow liked to think it was full of gods, and apparently Tony had once been one of them. Ten years ago would have put him in his early 20's when he lost his family. Knowing that actually made her feel closer to him, somehow. Ten years from now, she could be him. But hopefully in better shape.
She swallowed and checked the time on their take out.
"How about we stay in and watch old romantic movies?" At least it would fit with their date theme.
"Bah, no use hiding it, a rich young gallant man like me with a tragic past? Authors couldn't write a better love story,"
was his reply in a like tone.
The mood turned sombre though, as it always did whenever he revealed his past. It was one of the main reasons he avoided it. He needed his friends' confidence, not their pity.
At that moment he felt Michael's absence more than ever. He had not looked at him with pity, or avoided his gaze. He used it as fuel to feed his determination and urged Tony to do the same. It seemed that distance indeed made the heart grow fonder. He missed the stone-faced bastard.
At least Claire was more pleasant company.
"That sounds wonderful, an escape from all this shit would be nice. I'll let you chose the movies though, unless you want to watch some old Russian films? They might even have subtitles."
Claire perked up from flipping through movie options. "Are you rich?"
She looked him over in new light.
The answer might seem obvious, given their surroundings, but money wasn't the sort of thing she typically wondered about when meeting someone. "Wouldn't the government notice if your family's fortune was still being spent after all this time thinking you were all dead?"
If not, it begged another question. Where was he getting his money if not from the old accounts? "You're not involved in anything disreputable, are you?"
A slight smile: she knew all about that sort of business.
"Well, I didn't think you were that type of woman,"
he teased. "I suppose I am rich, but most of my family's wealth was taken. I could only save a small part of it."
That work had nearly seen him and those who helped him imprisoned for a very long time. He smiled to himself at the memory. Bold and reckless was what he did best and the threat of impending death made for the boldest of plans.
"Considering I'm apparently dead, I think everything I do is disreputable. My mother would be horrified, but it comes naturally now. 'Reputable' ways murdered my family who had done nothing."
He laughed to ease the tension in his own heart. "I am not a common street thug though, no drug running or murder. I am high with my disreputable business, defying our great empire, treason and the like."
There was no small amount of warning in his voice. He did not want to implicate Claire in something she had no idea about. Innocent or not, he doubted the authorities would care if they ever caught up to him.
"I don't know what 'type of woman' you imagined, but I'm sure you imagined right."
There was a twinkle in Claire's eyes, or maybe that was another bursting blood vessel. There was little she could do but find the humor in the most morbid of circumstances.
She rubbed her temple but only found relief when realizing the take-out was almost there. "I aimed low with my disreputable business, but I most certainly am a common street thug."
She hadn't spoken much about her life in Brooklyn beyond the generic, including the psychic shop. Her smirk dissolved when the door bell went off.
"Looks like our food is here. Will the butler be getting the door?"
She looked around expectantly.
Tony feigned surprise. "What do you mean? I gave the boys the day off."
He went to sit up only to be assaulted by a wave of nausea and bile rising in his throat. "Ahh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't be the perfect gentlemen for our lovely evening. Could you get the door?"
He smiled as best he could, he almost convinced himself of the joke. "I will pay your half, to make up for it."
When Tony struggled, Claire didn't hop up and run to his side, but she was concerned. What the hell was wrong with him anyway? She doubted he'd explain, assuming he even knew. So she didn't bother asking.
"Fine, fine. Let the little woman get it. I see how you are."
She dragged herself to the door and dealt with the take out guy. Her stomach rumbled when the scent hit her; it smelled like the perfect kind of gourmet, grease slathered, carbohydrate laden, alcohol absorbing sack of food you can only find at all-night diner joints.
She slammed the door with a kick of her foot, after giving the kid a hefty tip. Since Tony was paying after all.
"You sit tight, grandpa. I'll bring your food over. So get your teeth put in."
She poured their orders into a couple of bowls, and since she couldn't find chopsticks, opted for regular cutlery to pair. She had a pair of drinks and two bowls to carry, and the urge to make one trip.
Lips twisted, she gripped the crystal shard dangling against her chest and silently chanted the levitation spell. It was one of the first spells June taught her and was always the easiest.
Words continually whispering in her mind, she carried the glasses by hand while the two bowls followed alongside her shoulder. A victorious grin detangled her lips when she plucked them from mid air and placed Tony's before him.
Settled in, legs crossed, she slurped down the first noodle and asked another nosy question between bites. "Did you have a wife or kids? Anything like that?"
Tony's eyes rolled, sure this would be the butt of many more jokes to come, but he doubted he could make it to the door without either passing out or coughing up blood.
As she suggested, he waited patiently as she dealt with the order. He arched his eyebrows when she came back, two bowls suspended in mid air.
"Is that a trick you use to get a few tips at the club? You could make a bit from that."
Of course, his humour was black, likely the same as the mess of his internal organs. He felt Claire would understand the need for it. What else was there to do? Lie in a drunken stupor for seven years?
He had tried that, and wouldn't recommend it.
As they began eating - with some difficulty for him - she slid another question his way. This one he could answer with genuine charm.
"Grandpa indeed!"
He said in mock outrage. Mostly, he was amused. Kids and a wife? Give Antony Soloyov the choice between a pit of snakes and domestic bliss, he would take the snakes. Less likely to bite.
"How old do you think I am? You did hear me when I said gallant young man? I only have 10 years on you at best. Give me another twenty before you ask that one again."
The truth of the matter was less humorous, but he wouldn't let her or the boys end up like him. Even if he had wanted children, how could he bring them up in this life?
Edited by
Tony Soloyov, Jan 2 2015, 07:21 PM.
Claire looked over her bowl of noodles. "Umm? Forty-two?"
Her guess was accompanied by a slurp, but it wasn't completely asinine. She was never good at guessing the ages of those older than her. Maybe her ignorance was due to a lack of father-figures growing up. She didn't have so much as a grandpa to watch grow old.
"I'll be 21 soon. Back in the States that means I'd finally be old enough to drink,"
her grin quirked mischief. "So you're about 31? Huh. Wouldn't have guessed."
She kept probing, though. Even if he did seem like the type to be tied down. She had a tendency to be nosy. Call it a sixth sense. "There was someone in your life, though. Someone important."