Untied: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  They bustled inside and his nose took a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar fragrance. A bantam old woman with hair wrapped in a silk scarf crept into what appeared to be the parlor and clasped her work-weathered hands tight as she smiled.

  “Nadia,” the older woman called affectionately, tears shimmering in her eyes.

  Nadia released his hand and went to the woman, her face showing equal affection. “Nagymama.”

  The fondness the two shared was evident in their embrace. They whispered a few soft-spoken words and the woman touched Nadia’s face with evident affection, her eyes again glazing with unshed tears.

  Nadia held the woman’s arm and walked her over to where he stood. “Elliot, this is my grandmother.” She turned to the little woman. “Nagymama, ez az én barátom Elliot.”

  He nodded and greeted. “Örvendek.”

  The women chatted as he was shuffled into a small kitchen that smelled … curious. He was handed a glass of water and shoved into a seat. The grandmother continued to ask him questions, but none of the words she used were in his vocabulary aside from a spare few.

  Nadia was so animated, laughing and smiling. When her grandmother spoke, she listened, her brow tightening in concentration and her eyes illuminating. She burst into melodic laughter. He had never seen her so animated or unguarded. The sight of her evident happiness filled him with deep satisfaction and he was certain bringing her here had been the best thing he’d done in a long time.

  The mood quieted as Mrs. Rosza, Nadia’s mother, said the word néni—aunt. Nadia’s chest rose as she took a deep breath and all humor vanished from her expression. “Elliot, will you come with me?”

  He nodded and stood, surprised and flattered she’d look to him for support in such an emotional situation. Taking her hand, they left the kitchen and Nadia led him through the house to a back room. The scent of illness was faint, but there.

  He recalled that same scent from just before his father passed away. No matter how many times his mother washed the windows and polished the furniture, there was only so much one could hide when a person was reaching the end. His stomach tightened against the unwelcome return of sorrowful memories, reminding him just how hard it was to say goodbye to loved ones.

  The door creaked as Nadia stepped into the room. A small woman rested on her back, hair thin enough to see her scalp, her face serene. Nadia’s hand tightened in his and her faint sniffle met his ear. Instinctively, his hand rose to rest at the base of her spine, offering her his physical support as she moved into the room.

  They approached the bed slowly so not to disturb the woman. Nadia’s finger traced the frail bones of the woman’s hands folded over her chest and the weary eyes gently opened. “Nadia?”

  “Néni Mira,” she responded, dropping to her knees and resting her brow at the woman’s side.

  The woman’s frail hands brushed weakly at Nadia’s dark hair. “I did not expect to see you again in this life.”

  Elliot stepped back, wanting to offer them privacy, but not wanting to abandon Nadia. The aunt’s English took him by surprise, but he supposed it made sense, being that this woman had raised Nadia in America for most of her life.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Nadia rasped, her fingers gently crawling over the quilt.

  “You’re here now, baby. No apologizing. Ki ez az ember?” Who is this man?

  Nadia gave a throaty laugh and sat up, wiping her eyes. “This is Elliot. He helped me get here. Elliot, this is my Aunt Mira.”

  “Jóképű,” she said, openly appraising him. His neck heated as his mind recalled jóképű was the word for handsome.

  Nadia took advantage of his limited linguistics as she spoke in fluent Hungarian. Her words threaded together like fine silk and he lost track. They gestured and laughed. It was clear they were talking about him.

  “Elliot.”

  He turned as his name was called from the door. Nadia’s grandmother held a bowl of bright pink liquid, looking like a cross between Pepto-Bismol and yogurt. She asked him a question, but, again, he was at a loss.

  “She made soup for you,” Nadia translated. “Fruit soup. Try some. It’s delicious.”

  Delicious like chicken soup or delicious like the dreadful tea Nadia had fed him?

  “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m going to visit with Mira for a bit. You go eat.”

  He followed the little old woman back to the kitchen and was again urged to sit. The bowl slid in front of him as she wrapped his fingers around a spoon. Giving him an expectant look, she said, “Eszik.” Eat.

  He slowly dipped his spoon into the pink broth. It was cold.

  The grandmother smiled expectantly, nodding, as he brought it to his lips. He prayed this was going to be a Hungarian dish he liked. The unexpected blend of berries met his tongue and his taste buds danced.

  Smiling with relief, he nodded appreciatively. “It’s good.”

  The woman patted his shoulder and came back with a crock and ladle, filling the rest of his bowl. It was spectacular, a cross between rich spices and tart fruit. He hoped Nadia knew the recipe because this was definitely something he’d like to have again—of course, he could always get the recipe from her. There was no promise she’d ever prepare food for him again and it wasn’t wise to entertain such hopes.

  When he finished his second helping, he carried his bowl to the sink and the old woman swatted him away, directing him back to the chair. She placed a plate in front of him with links of meat and waved a hand for him to try.

  He patted his belly. “Thank you, but I’m full.”

  She nudged the plate closer and smiled.

  Giving in, he took a small slice of meat, popped it in his mouth, and paused. The salty morsel had a venison flavor, similar to sausage but lacking the give of pork. He held it in his mouth, not quite sure how to process it.

  Nadia came into the kitchen, looked at him, the plate, and then her grandmother. She said something in Hungarian and laughed. Turning back to him, she said, “Do you like that?”

  Still not through the first bite he shrugged, not wanting to offend anyone.

  “It’s horse sausage,” she said, passing him a napkin.

  He took the napkin and turned, spitting it out before he gagged. Reaching for his water, he took a gulp and swished until the taste was gone.

  Nadia giggled and whispered, “If she offers you hurka say no thank you.” He didn’t know what hurka was, but he trusted her judgment. No horse and no hurka.

  The door opened and Nadia noticeably stiffened. A man, about Elliot’s age with a rugged build, stepped inside and stilled the moment he spotted them. Was this another relative?

  A slow grin exposed tobacco stained teeth as the man practically purred her name. “Nadia.”

  “Hello, Roland.” Her welcome was as curt as his was lascivious.

  The man—Roland—strode to her in two steps and took her into his arms. Elliot stiffened, his body going as taut as Nadia’s appeared as the newcomer leaned in to kiss her. She arched away and Elliot stood, clearing his throat.

  Roland turned as Nadia peeled herself out of his grip. His gaze scrutinized Elliot as if just noticing his presence. “Who is this?” he said, his Hungarian gruff and basic enough for Elliot to translate.

  Nadia, not using her native tongue, stepped to Elliot’s side. “This is Elliot. My boyfriend.”

  Elliot stilled at the label, his mind jetlagged and his thoughts racing to keep up with the cultural differences while making a decent first impression, but he was certain he’d have noticed if his greatest fantasy had come true and he and Nadia formed a relationship. There would be no missing that detail and she was clearly lying for reasons having to do with this man, whom Elliot disliked on principle. So he didn’t object to the label. He also disliked seeing random men touch her.

  Placing his arm around her shoulders, he met the man’s assessing stare. His insides coiled as the larger man seemed to stare thro
ugh him and see his deepest insecurities. Elliot envisioned Bruce Wayne’s armor covering his skin, impenetrable and protecting him from that stare. It didn’t protect him, but it made it easier to hide his timidity.

  Nadia’s body relaxed once she realized he’d play along. “Elliot, this is Roland, our neighbor.”

  The larger man folded his hands across his broad chest, drawing Elliot’s attention to the extra pounds packed on his trunk, and openly sized him up.

  “Boyfriend? For how much time?”

  His English surprised Elliot, but Roland wasn’t nearly as fluent as her aunt. His words were slow and clumsy, but he suspected he’d learned the language as a way to connect with Nadia—much like Elliot learning some Hungarian.

  “We met over a year ago,” Nadia informed, lacing her arm in his. “We live together.”

  She didn’t necessarily lie. She was staying with him temporarily. They’d been kissing and had an official date last night. Did that mean she actually saw him as her boyfriend? Of course not. This was just a ploy to keep this Roland’s hands off of her. He knew why she lied, but his chest swelled with satisfaction as part of him wanted to believe the lie.

  The man grunted, his beady eyes narrowing on Elliot as his ruddy complexion darkened. “Nadia is my fiancée.”

  His inflated chest deflated as the man’s statement punctured the fantasy. Elliot frowned and Nadia snapped in Hungarian, her words cutting through the air like the lash of a whip.

  Fiancée? She was engaged? How true was their engagement? Nadia didn’t seem to care for this man, and she’d never mentioned having a fiancée. Although, why would she mention that to him?

  The man barked back, craning his neck and exploiting his strength. But she didn’t cower, nor did she soften her tone. Her dark eyes flashed with sharp dislike as her words cut through the air, pointing accusingly at the man who claimed to be her fiancé.

  Elliot didn’t need a translator to understand the situation. Apparently, this Roland fellow missed the memo that the wedding was off. Elliot grinned as relief settled over him.

  His eyes widened as the man crowded in, towering over her and growling some sort of demand while pointing at him. While she might not be intimidated by this brute, Elliot knew he was outmatched. The man was an oak, his meaty fists the sort that could swiftly snuff out a life.

  Elliot kept his voice level. “Nadia, maybe we should—”

  The man’s cold stare landed on him, threatening, and Nadia shoved his barrel chest, drawing his attention back to her. He grunted and let his stare wander down and up her body, before mumbling something that sounded like a promise.

  Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as she met his glare. “I hope when we return, you’re gone,” she growled at the man, pulling Elliot into the parlor.

  “I’ll be here, Nadia. You can’t get rid of me.”

  She handed Elliot his carry-on. “I’ll drive you to your hotel. My aunt’s resting.”

  “I can take a cab if you’d like to stay.” He didn’t want her to stay. He wanted her as far away from that giant as possible, but she was here to visit with family.

  She hesitated, glancing back to the kitchen where Roland watched her through narrowed eyes. “No. I think I’d like to go with you.”

  The car they borrowed was a dated, compact blue model, a cross between a sedan and a station wagon. Nadia managed the roads well but laughed when she forgot her way.

  “It’s been a while. Sorry. I swear I’ll get you there.”

  He was hardly paying attention to the roads, his mind still trying to make sense of the man claiming to be her fiancé back at the house. “Why does that man think you’re engaged to him?”

  She huffed, her tapered fingers gripping the wheel. “Because he’s a fool. My father wanted us to marry and told him so. I was only a girl then, but I knew I’d never marry him, whether my father gave him permission or not.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Yes.” Her lips pursed. “Roland has money and he helped my grandmother when the banks wouldn’t. He thinks we’re indebted to him.”

  “Has your grandmother paid him back?”

  She scoffed. “No. She has no income. My aunts used to send her money, but those days are over. I send what I can. My mother will find work and help out, but, with Mira sick, it’s a struggle. He always collects his debts one way or another though. I know they aren’t being honest with me.”

  He shifted in his seat to face her. “What do you mean?”

  “I think he’s been giving them more money lately. I told them not to take anything from him.” She shook her head, clearly annoyed with the situation. “My mother shouldn’t have come to the States. She should have stayed here and kept an eye on things, but the money is better in America. She sent what she could, but who knows what happens here when we’re not around.”

  “That man thinks you’re going to marry him over a family debt?”

  What year was this? He couldn’t stop replaying the entitled way he went at Nadia and how … undisturbed her family appeared by his actions.

  “I don’t care what he thinks. My answer’s been the same since I was thirteen. People cannot buy wives.”

  “How much money has he given your family?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t tell me those things. They just tell me they need more and I send it.”

  “You send them money too?”

  “Money, clothes, whatever I can, but I haven’t been able to for some time. The yard looks like hell and my mother’s worried, I can tell.”

  They entered the city limits and he let the topic rest. However, the closer they came to the metropolitan area, the more he worried about lodging so far away.

  “Will this man be at the house a lot?”

  “Probably. He’s like a fly you can’t get out the door, always touching shit and buzzing too close to your face.”

  “But you told him I was your boyfriend.”

  “Yes, sorry about that. I just wanted to make it clear he shouldn’t touch me.”

  Disappointment nipped. He’d figured it was a ploy, but a small part of him wished her statement was genuine. Actually, he wondered why it wasn’t.

  He’d never entertain such an absurd idea, but he also never expected to be talking to Nadia like this. Not only were they speaking, they were living together, traveling to her family home, and… He laughed. It all seemed ludicrous.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “This—our situation. I just never…” She wouldn’t understand his perspective. “It’s just unexpected.”

  Gripping the wheel, she glanced at him. “I’m very appreciative for your kindness, Elliot. I might not say it enough or clearly, but you bringing me here is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. You’re a very special man. You’re very special to me.”

  And then she went and said things like that. What was happening between them? How was this possible? Everything seemed to be moving in his favor and if things were as incredible as they seemed, he might as well go for broke.

  “Maybe I am your boyfriend.”

  Her attention pulled from the road and she glanced at him then back at the oncoming traffic. “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know.” Yes, you do. But he also didn’t want to humiliate himself or put her in an awkward position. But dear Lord did he want her—so much it bordered on pain. “What do you want?”

  She chuckled. “Well, to start, I want a boyfriend who knows what he wants.”

  His mind filled with juvenile words he couldn’t outmaneuver. He tried to phrase his statement in a manly manner, but it was impossible. Even in the most direct manner, his query sounded infantile. But he had to ask, had to see if his luck had run out. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  She smiled, her cheeks flushing deep pink. “Yes. I think I will.”

  He stared as if this were all a dream. A warm, satisfying heat spread through his chest as he sat back and stared out the windshield.
Well, this is a first.

  It should have seemed more monumental, being that he’d never had a girlfriend, but it came so natural—easier than he expected. Holy shit. Nadia was his girlfriend. Maybe he was still processing.

  Thinking of all the various relationships he’d watched over the years, he figured he should make a few things clear. “This means we’re monogamous.”

  “What is that word?”

  “No other men or women. Just us.”

  She nodded. “Yes. No one else.”

  She took this news without argument as if they were merely discussing the weather. Didn’t she have concerns about dating a man like him? Why was this so simple? Something seemed off.

  His body prickled and he stretched his limbs as much as the little car would allow. Beautiful women weren’t interested in men like him. It wasn’t a hunch. It was fact. So what the hell was going on?

  Despite his misgivings, his ego swelled. He suddenly felt bigger and that was a dangerous assumption because he was still himself. Maybe he should test this new label.

  Glancing to his side, he reached his hand to her knee and cupped her thigh. She smiled. Just smiled. She didn’t slap his hand away or reach in her bag for pepper spray. Interesting. Now what?

  His hand was on her thigh—Nadia’s lush, warm thigh. Blood surged to his cock and he swallowed, throat tight. Jesus. He was dating Nadia.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either.”

  ~Batman

  “What do you mean it hasn’t arrived?”

  “Let me help, Elliot.” Nadia placed a calming hand on his arm and spoke softly to the concierge in Hungarian.

  Great. This was just great. He had five days here and no one had a fucking clue where his belongings were.

  The airport told him they’d deliver everything once it was located. Other than the items in his carry-on and the clothes on his back that reeked of a day’s worth of travel, he was screwed.

  After speaking to the concierge she edged him away from the counter. “Elliot, there are shops. We can get you something to wear.”