by Lauren Dane
Sarah, their lawyer, nodded. “First let’s talk about the conservatorship. His chances are pretty dismal. You’re gainfully employed. You’re physically healthy and working on your mental health. We’ll get your therapists here and back east to file evaluations. I’ll do it up front so we can be ready when the requests for them come.
“At this point, given your stability, there’s no reason to assume you can’t handle the day-to-day decisions in your life. I know it’s easier said than done, but I want you to try and remain calm about this. I can handle most of it without either of you needing to be there. That’ll save a lot of time and he can’t use the system to force you to see him. Sometimes that’s enough. Once that avenue is closed, a lot of jerkoffs will lose interest.”
“I hate that he’s just doing this to try to control me and harass Maybe,” Rachel said.
“It’s not an unusual thing for an abuser to do. It’s a classic move.” Their attorney shrugged. “I don’t much like bullies so I’m going to have a delightful time thwarting him.” She put aside one folder and opened another. “As for the protection order, I don’t think you’ve got the grounds with your mother so I’d suggest holding off. With your father, we might be able to get some leverage with feeling threatened. He’s big, he’s come to your home uninvited. He’s threatening your independence. It’s enough we can at least get a temporary order. Some guys back off and don’t contest the order after the temporary expires after two weeks.”
“He’ll contest it. He’s very into authority. The court is an authority. If the court tells him not to do something he feels entitled to do, he’ll contest it because he won’t want a judge to feel he’s an abusive guy. And he’ll contest it because he won’t see himself as harassing anyone, merely being a good parent,” Rachel said.
Their attorney tapped her pen against the pad on her desk. “That could very well be. I just wanted you to go into the process understanding it and what your chances might be.”
They moved to outlining some next steps and an hour and a half later, she felt a little bit better about her future and her ability to protect it. She’d taken some of her lost control back, steadied herself with it and now she’d keep enjoying her life because she’d earned every day.
* * *
HE TRIED NOT to rush, but it was hard because now that he’d allowed himself to openly want her, it was like he couldn’t hold it back.
“Slow it down, dude,” Evie bitched at him. “You go showing up over there an hour early and she’s going to think you’re a creeper.”
“I have things to do before I go pick her up. It’s rush hour anyway and I don’t want to be late or have to hurry.”
Generally, he tended to be really mellow about most things. It took a lot to get him riled up. But he hated to be late. Probably because his family was always so big and had so many moving parts that they tended to have been late for everything.
But his mother had volunteered him—without even asking him first—to go with Evie down to Pike Place Market to pick up fruit for the bakery. And naturally his sister had wanted to stop at Beecher’s for cheese and then she’d hauled him across the street, pointing at the florist’s shop. “Give her flowers.”
“I was going to,” he muttered. But this place did have really nice bouquets, especially for the season.
“Where are you taking her?” she asked.
“Le Pichet,” he said, grabbing a huge bouquet full of color. The pick-me-up, especially as it had been a dark, wet and cold winter, would be a good thing. And it enabled him to spoil her more.
Evie nodded, clearly impressed with his choice. He had a feeling there was a hedonist inside Rachel and he wanted to lure her out. Good food, good wine, flowers, pastries, Vic wanted to fill her life with treats and delights of all kinds.
“Excellent choice, especially for an early date. She’s going to know you won’t be taking her to gross chain places where everything has a punny name.”
He withheld a curled lip because that was what she was trying to get from him. Little sisters.
Back at the bakery, his mother made him have a cup of tea with her as Evie packaged up the heart-shaped vatrushka he’d promised to bring Rachel the day before.
“I don’t need to tell you to be nice to her. You have wonderful manners,” his mother told him. “I don’t need to tell you anything because you’re a grown person, a man who is kind and will do the right things.”
She nearly always knew the exactly perfect thing to say. A lot of people—himself included—bitched about their mothers, but his was pretty wonderful. And supportive.
* * *
THE SHOP HUMMED with talking and the buzz of the tattoo machines as clients got their ink done. Rachel’s neck was a little sore as she’d spent several hours on a half sleeve, bent at an awkward angle to get the lines laid just right.
But the work had been really good and she was proud of it, so the sore neck was worth it. Finley, her boss, Cora’s big sister and the owner/operator of Ink Sisters, plopped down in Rachel’s chair.
“When is the hot Russian coming to get you?”
“In about twenty minutes. I really could have gone home and met him there.” She shook her head with one of those what can you do movements.
“Sure you could have. He knows that too. But he wanted to drive you. That’s nice. It’s not like he’s unaware that you can handle yourself and your commute. He wants to take care of you.”
He did. That’s really what it was. So sweet and sexy. “I bought a new sweater today. I’m so stupid.”
“Why? Because you want your tits to look nice on your date? Girl, stop. Of course you do. There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop looking for problems.”
True. She had enough as it was.
Finley continued, “He’s cute. He’s nice. He has good manners, a job, a house. And he likes you. For you. This is all good. And, by the way, you did amazing work today.”
“Yeah?” Rachel asked, grinning. She admired Finley’s talent so much, and that she’d been such a wonderful mentor and so supportive had been one of the major reasons she’d been able to make a real go at tattooing.
It hadn’t been easy. Rachel was good with paper and pen. Or pencils, chalk, paint, whatever. She was artistic. Not something she’d really pursued earlier in her life, but in this new chapter, it had been part and parcel of every day.
But paper wasn’t skin. And at first it’d been a challenge getting past the fact that she was permanently changing someone’s body and the cost of a mistake was huge. She hated making mistakes.
Finley had repeated that some artists took longer than others to hit their stride, but that once Rachel trusted herself to do ink, she’d be headed that way. Fear was holding her back from her real potential.
It had taken a while. Trust, especially of herself, hadn’t been easy. But once she’d taken the leap it had made all the difference. Trust in herself had unlocked something, had enabled Rachel to connect with the work she did on a whole new level.
“It’ll definitely go up on the wall with your other birds.” The best of the shop’s tattoos were placed on the wall in the small waiting area as examples of the kind of work they did. It would give her some extra attention, which meant more clients.
“Excellent,” Rachel said, not bothering to hide how proud she was. Pride in yourself when you did your best was a good thing. That was one of her mantras and one day she might actually believe it.
* * *
SHE MADE IT a point to be outside at the curb right at seven. Over the years, Rachel had taken note of how punctual he was. Generally amiable, he got agitated when everyone lagged or made him wait.
He pulled around the corner and frowned when he saw her. It didn’t stop him from double parking to let her in, though.
“I said I’d come in and get you,” he told her once they were headed home.<
br />
Though Rachel knew what he meant—that he wanted her to wait inside so he could come to the door—she couldn’t seem to stop herself from acting like she didn’t. Just to get a rise out of him. “You did come and get me. That’s how I came to be in your car at this very moment.”
“You should have waited for me to come in and get you,” he said in a grumbly tone.
“Well, that’s silly when I can just take a few steps out the front door so you don’t have to try to find a place to park. We’re not teenagers on a first date and you parked at the curb and honked your horn.”
“Sometimes I think you argue because it pleases you,” he said and it made her laugh.
“I think you’re too used to how easy your life is. You’re pretty and charming so everyone just gives you what you want. You don’t know what to do when anyone won’t go along.”
“If everyone did that, life would be better. It’s not too much to expect,” he told her, the laughter in his tone obvious.
That was the difference between his sort of bossy and what her parents were trying to do. It was why he was charming and they were being abusive.
Funny how she knew that and yet it still caught her up.
It puzzled her but she put it away as Vic pulled up at her place.
The lights were on inside so Maybe and Alexsei were already home. Rachel had thought it was nice to have her sister’s boyfriend around. Maybe had brightened even more since they’d become an item. She was more confident—if that was possible—and steadier. Love suited Maybe.
If for no other reason than the fact that he made Maybe happy, Rachel would have liked Alexsei. But he’d become an awful lot like a brother since he’d moved in. And it meant Vic was at their house a lot more too.
“I’ll be back to get you in half an hour. We have dinner reservations,” he told her before he drove the half block to his driveway.
“Okay then,” she muttered to herself as she let herself into the house.
Jesus, hot Russians everywhere. Alexsei stood in the kitchen with Maybe and one of the various cousins, Gregori, who was a fancy-pants megastar artist. His girlfriend, Wren, also an artist, sat at the table with a glass of wine.
They all greeted her with smiles and hellos when she moved through the room on her way to her side of the house. “Hi, all!” she said as she kept going. “Gotta run!”
Maybe was at her door two minutes later. “What are you going to wear?”
“Sweater, trousers, boots. It’s fucking freezing out there.” Rachel tossed off the layers of T-shirts and tanks and swapped out for the beautiful smoky gray cashmere sweater she’d splurged on after they’d left the attorney’s office earlier that day.
“But cute underwear, right? I mean what if something happens and you two want to throw off some clothes and you’re wearing something old and gross?” Maybe said as she dug through a nearby drawer.
“I don’t wear old and gross panties!”
“Okay, but you’ve got like, underpants to be viewed by the outside world and then those you save for your period.”
“I promise not to wear my period panties on my date, Maybe.”
Her sister tossed a hot-pink bra and panty set her way and then shook her head. “Never mind, not those. The color is too bright and you’ll be able to see through the sweater. Hmm.” Maybe pawed through her stuff some more before finding a similar set in an icy blue with a triumphant hoot.
Rachel knew her sister well enough to just put on the things she’d procured. The bra was one of those extra perky ones so it mounded up all that lady-flesh nicely at the neckline of the sweater.
“Go eat dinner with your boyfriend for god’s sake and stop pestering me,” Rachel said, batting Maybe away from her hair.
“Just let me get to the back. It’s sticking up.”
Finally she just let her sister fuss as she managed to reapply her lipstick after brushing her teeth.
“I want to know every detail,” Maybe said in a stage whisper as they heard the noise downstairs that indicated Vic had arrived.
“So everyone keeps telling me. This is dumb though. He’s your boyfriend’s BFF!”
“Shut up and go break off some of that. I’ll be waiting up and don’t argue because it won’t matter.” Maybe pushed her down the hall.
“Bossy bitch.”
“You got that right.”
CHAPTER FOUR
VIC PULLED HER chair out and leaned in, taking a sniff at the back of her neck. “You smell like jasmine,” he said, joining her.
“It’s one of my favorite scents.”
His too, now.
“How was your day?” he asked her once they’d ordered and the wine had arrived. The small dining room was absolutely packed and he wondered if she’d be all right with that, but she didn’t seem to be having any difficulty.
He warred with himself over protecting her and leaving her alone and respecting however she wanted to handle herself. It was his nature to want to take care of people. He’d always been that way. But Rachel was a whole new problem. A whole new situation to try and figure out.
“It was weird. Saw an attorney. Then we went to the courthouse and got a temporary protection order for my father. We have to go back for a permanent one in two weeks after my dad gets served. That’ll be oodles of fun.”
He clinked his glass to hers. “You’re doing what you need to, to protect yourself. Not fun, but necessary.”
“It’s a huge waste of my time and it pisses me off.”
He sat back and took her in. “Okay then. Good.” He got the feeling she’d fight better and harder if she was pissed off. And what they’d done to her and Maybe was provocative and naturally she was upset.
“He’s a retired cop. He knows how to work the system. My attorney wanted me to be prepared. I hate that I have to be. Seth called to check in on me, which I thought was nice.”
“Once the Orlovs consider you family, you can’t escape us. Even fiancés and next-door neighbors,” he told her with a smile. “You think he’ll fight you on this.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. He’s used to being obeyed. When we lived on opposite sides of the country and I was doing what he expected me to everything was fine. For me anyway. He and my mother were abusing Maybe and I didn’t know how bad it was.”
She ran a hand through her hair, exposing the delicate shell of her ear, and a nearly insurmountable need to touch it with his mouth hit him square in the head.
Thank Christ the charcuterie showed up so he had something to do with his hands—and mouth—before he hauled her close enough to do it.
“I heard the whole thing. On Sunday with your father,” he clarified. Her father had shown up angry, ripe for a fight. He’d savagely ripped into his children, trying to pit one against the other so he could control his eldest. So that he could jettison the youngest. Richie Dolan was a poor excuse for a human being and a shit father. “You can’t blame yourself for that. We talked about this yesterday morning.”
“No. You said I didn’t have anything to apologize for when it came to you seeing how my dad acted. Not that I didn’t protect my baby sister.”
Shadows then in her gaze and he knew she’d remembered those three women who’d died in that basement chamber of horrors as she’d been waiting, wondering when her time to die would come.
“Can I admit something?” he asked. He had to lean close to be heard because the place was full of noisy, happy diners. It lent a sort of privacy that even a more empty restaurant couldn’t offer.
She turned, her face close enough that he could really see her eyes. The amber fringe of color around the pupil. “Yes,” she said.
“Sometimes I’m not entirely sure how to talk about certain things with you. Not because you’re fragile or because I pity you. But I don’t want to stumble into something that brings up
bad memories. So I apologize in advance for the times when I’m going to put my foot in it.”
She swallowed and then nodded. “You didn’t. Stumble into something. It’s always with me. What happened. It’ll never completely go away and that’s how it is. So yes, I didn’t protect Maybe from my father and I didn’t protect those women Price killed before they found me. But they’re not the same thing anyway.”
She busied herself with food awhile as they drank wine and were just together, but silent.
“I think he will fight. I think he will try to pull strings. I think he will hurt Maybe to get to me. I think he underestimates me and how far I’ve come. And I think he overestimates how good he was at his job when he compares his skills to mine,” she said at last.
Vic nodded his head. This was good too. She wasn’t going to let this stop her from living the life she’d worked so hard for.
And it was really fucking hot when she got mad and a little violent.
“Yeah? You were a hot shit FBI agent looking all tough and sexy as you brought down the bad guys. Your sister has sung your praises more than once.”
“Maybe is good for my ego.” Rachel shrugged. “I was good at it. Better than he ever was. And that never occurred to me until this mess. I was just glad they were proud. I simply had no idea that to them pride was such a poisonous thing. But he wanted to put me and Maybe in enemy boxes and all he managed to do was put himself there instead.”
“Is there no going back? Nothing he could do to fix this?” Vic knew it was easy to be in his place and make judgments about what she should do. He thought Richie Dolan was bad for his daughters. Toxic. He’d done and said things that seemed impossible to get past. But sometimes families did.
“I don’t think so. I can forgive a lot. But what they did to Maybe? And what they’re trying to do to me now? Take away my freedom. Cage me? No. And that they don’t seem to understand why that’s a problem? I feel like they should know me better. But I guess I didn’t know them very well either. No. There might be a time when I could be in the same room and not want to punch his face, but I don’t think I’ll ever be happy to see him again. He broke something important and some things can’t be fixed.”