“I just wanted you to enjoy this time in your life. You’ve been through so much, worked so hard.”
Max smiled at her, elbows on the arms of the chair, hands clasped on his belly. “You say that as if I am an old man.”
She almost smiled. “Papa, you’re seventy.”
He made a guttural noise in dissent. “I am no old man, frail and unable to work. And your mother is no old woman. We are strong. We can work, and so we will.”
“But you don’t have to. Most people are retired at your age.”
Another noise, this one a little more mocking. “Perhaps in America, but not where we come from. There is no retired, or playing of the golf in silly hats.” He wiggled his fingers over his head as if to conjure one.
Dina chuckled at that.
“Well, Papa, you’re not in Mother Russia. You’re in America.”
He nodded. “Yes, yes. And you, my daughter, are so very American. It was our wish that you be. Our greatest wish. But I am not afraid to work, and you should not be afraid for us to work.”
Annika sighed and took another sip of her vodka. “We’ll come up with a plan to fill up your savings so you can leave the shop, and Andrei will have to figure out what to do with the store. Because you can’t sell it, Papa. If you try, you may go to jail yet still.”
He nodded. “Da. I will speak with him. He will know what to do.” Max turned to me with mirth at the corner of his lips, effectively changing the subject. “It is not often that Annika brings someone to our home — you must be very special. Thank you for helping her, though I am sorry to have wasted your time.”
“It was my pleasure to help, sir. As I told Annika, it wasn’t a waste of time, not by a long shot.”
Annika smiled at me, and Max watched the two of us, eyes knowing. “I can see that it was quite productive.”
“Papa,” she started, changing the subject, “Joel owns the tattoo parlor where we’re filming. He’s one of the cast for the show.”
“Ah,” he said as if he’d discovered a clue. “I suppose I could have guessed your profession. And how is the show?”
“Good,” I answered. “Surprisingly more entertaining than I thought it would be.”
Max laughed at that. “Yes, Annika has that gift. And I would think she maybe did not think much of you at first, hmm?”
I smirked. “You’d be right.”
“Too … glupyy,” he said, motioning to Annika for the right word.
“Silly,” she said, and I laughed.
“Too silly for Annika, yes. She is not at all silly, my snow bird. No, she is a winter fox, white and clever. Quick to hide, but when she strikes, you listen.”
I smiled over at her.
“But you are like a great bear, the lumbering beast who has no need to hide, just makes himself known and invites what may come.” He nodded and put a fist to his chest. “I am a great bear, too.”
Dina laughed. “Maxim, you are an old dog.”
He frowned comically, feigning hurt. “Nyet, I am the great bear, and you are my sweet, summer fawn, and I will eat you for supper.”
Her cheeks were rosy and high, and I saw Annika in her. “If you can catch me, old man.” She kissed his cheek, and he leaned into her, laying his big hand on hers where it rested on his shoulder.
And the moment struck me, the two of them, the two of us. The bear and the fox. I saw myself in Maxim and Annika in her mother, and when I glanced over at her, I knew she saw it too. But I couldn’t read her expression, didn’t know what it meant to her.
Only what it meant to me.
Chapter 19
INK AND MILK
* * *
Joel
* * *
AN HOUR AND THREE VODKAS later, I found myself standing next to Max in the living room, admiring his old record player and receiver, which was in mint condition, just as Annika had said. He handed me his original White Album, and I took it reverently, pulling up a footstool to sit on so I could inspect it properly.
The first thing I did was to check the album number printed on the cover. My hands went numb.
“Sir, I don’t know if you realize this, but this album is worth quite a bit of money.”
Max smiled and sat in the chair I’d stolen the footstool from. “Yes, I know. But do not tell Dina, eh? Or Annika. If she tried to convince me to sell something so precious to me, I might not be able to choose between the two.”
I chuckled and pulled out the first album, inspecting it. “For as much as Annika says that this was played, it’s in excellent condition.”
“Da. It is one of the few possessions that I would risk much to protect.” He sighed, but I could feel him watching me. “I am sure that sounds … silly,” he said after searching for the word again, “but when you have very little, sometimes it is the silly things that mean the most.”
“I can appreciate that. May I?” I asked, gesturing to the record player.
He extended a hand toward it. “Please.”
I knew how to work the old Panasonic receiver — my parents had one just like it when I was a kid — and I lifted the glass lid of the record player, setting the vinyl on the deck gently. I pressed the button to start the spin, the familiar click bringing back memories of my childhood, and lifted the arm, bringing it down as softly as I could to the edge of the record.
Max smiled as the beginning chords of “Back in the USSR” played through the speakers.
“I was Annika’s age when this album came out,” he started with nostalgia in his voice. “It was all so exciting, the forbidden music, the Western culture. The promise of freedom. More than anything, that album and a few like it were symbols of that freedom. They were hope. I did not understand what it meant though, not until we came to America and I saw that freedom myself.”
I nodded, and he reached for a picture frame on the side table next to him. He held it away from him before passing it over to me. It was black and white, from the 40s or 50s, two women with rifles over their shoulders, looking sober.
“This picture is of my and Dina’s mamas. They were snipers in Hungary, during the revolution. I was just a boy, thirteen, but I also had a rifle in my hand, and so did Dina. We fought for freedom even then, but that freedom does not compare to what we have here, in America.”
I looked down at the photograph, running my thumb across their faces, considering just how little I knew about the world, about suffering. Considering how much I missed having a family of my own.
But Max waved a hand, smiling. “Maybe Dina is right. I am just an old dog, telling old stories.”
“I’m not quite the pup myself,” I said with a chuckle.
“No, I can see that. But Annika is not either. She was always much older than she appeared. Roksana was the pup and Annika the wise one, with eyes that knew more than they should.” His smile fell. “I should have told her of Andrei’s money before. Long before.”
“You didn’t want to trouble her. You knew she would be disappointed.”
He nodded. “You know her well, it would seem.”
“I’d like to know her better,” I added.
“I think you may have that chance. Or at least, I hope that you do. Us old dogs and silly bears must stay together. Keep them safe from harm.” He nodded toward the kitchen where Annika and Dina were. “She likes you. Not many men have come here.”
I smirked. “Well, I wouldn’t have either, if I’d taken no for an answer.”
He chucked. “One cannot, not with zvezda moya.”
“Pardon my asking, but what does that mean?”
Max smiled, his cheeks rosy. “My star. She is moonlight, starlight, the light in the dark. She is my hope. She is what I leave behind.”
I found myself unable to speak.
“But she burns hot. It is not always easy. I know this. But her light is good and true. Her light is worth getting burned to hold. Da?” His eyes searched mine for understanding.
I nodded, swallowing my heart, knowing jus
t what he meant. Knowing all too well.
Annika rounded the corner into the room, smiling. “You ready?” she asked.
I smiled back and stood, still moved, and Max knew it. He stood too, clasping my hand as we said our goodbyes. Dina kissed my cheeks and told me to come back again for dinner. And then we left, heading toward Ocean to catch a cab.
She hooked her arm in mine, and we walked silently for a moment. “You’ll stay with me tonight?”
“If you’ll have me,” I said, repeating her words from yesterday.
“Oh, I’ll have you all right,” she said with a smile, taking the bait.
I chuckled, and we fell back into silence.
“Are you okay?” I asked after a bit.
She sighed. “No. I don’t know. I’m working on a plan for Andrei, but I’ve got to talk to Roxy first. See what she thinks.”
I nodded, feeling a little worried about Annika dealing with the mafia, uncle or not. “Is it safe?”
She laughed. “It’s safe. He’s my uncle, and Papa was right. He loves me, and he loves Mama and Papa. I think there’s something to be done, but my hopes of doing it by the books are shot. He could have saved us so much time just by telling me from the start.”
“I didn’t mind. And I don’t think you should tell Laney that the plan is off. I think we should be working on ledgers for a very long time.”
Annika leaned into me. “Deal.”
I moved my arm to wrap it around her, and she slipped hers around my waist, and we walked that way for some time, neither of us speaking. Catching a cab once we reached Ocean was no problem, and we rode the quarter-mile up the road to her brownstone. It wasn’t terribly late, but I was ready for the quiet of her room, of her company, and she seemed to feel the same. We climbed her steps and ducked inside, thinking everyone would be asleep.
We were wrong.
Kira squealed and ran down the stairs, naked as day and dripping water everywhere, her long, blond hair plastered to her back as she streaked past where we stood in the entry.
“Bunny, get back here!” Roxy called, trying to hurry down the stairs, towel over her shoulder. Her foot slipped, and she grabbed both handrails to stop herself from toppling over. “Ugh, my groin!” she whined and continued her descent a little slower than before.
Kira giggled from the kitchen, and Roxy tossed me the towel. “Head’s up,” she said as she went in one entry, so I took the other, scooping the slippery, giggling girl up like a burrito, depositing her into her mother’s arms.
She sighed, relieved and annoyed. “Thanks, Hairy,” she added gratefully as she carried the little girl back up the stairs, chiding her all the way.
Annika was nearly finished wiping up the wet footprints from the floor and the stairs, and I followed, smiling to myself at her efficiency. When she reached the top of the stairs, she stood, brushing a fallen piece of hair from her face, and when she turned to me, I didn’t breathe, and I don’t think she did either. I climbed the steps to meet her, stopping at the step below hers, our faces level, her eyes hot as I closed the space between us.
Just before our lips connected, Kira’s door burst open, and she giggled, feet thumping as she ran down the hall. Annika smiled, her cheeks flushed, and Kira — now in a nightgown — stopped in the threshold of the bathroom.
“Ew, kissing!” Bubbling laughter rolled out of her like tinkling bells. “Anni loves Hairy, Anni loves Hairy,” she sang, wiggling her hips back and forth to the words, and Roxy appeared, smiling at us conspiratorially.
“Come on, Bunny. Leave Anni and Hairy alone or you might have to see more kissing.”
Ew! they both said as Roxy ushered Kira into the bathroom, winking at me as she closed the door.
Annika cupped my jaw and kissed me sweetly. “Come on, Hairy. Let’s get you to bed.”
I found myself smirking, my hand slipping down her arm to twine my fingers with hers as I followed her to her bedroom.
“Hairy, huh?”
She shrugged. “Short for That Hairy Fucking Guy. You used to bug me, remember?”
I chuckled. “Seems like a million years ago,” I said as I stepped in behind her.
And then the door was closed, and the quiet enveloped us in the dim light of her room. The rest of the world disappeared right then, right there. She walked across the room to her bed and turned to face me. Her fingers slipped into her hair and untied her bun, the loose locks tumbling down around her face, her eyes locked on me.
I didn’t move — she’d pinned me with her eyes, and I stayed just where I was, watching her. Long fingers worked the buttons open one at a time, neck down, leaving the white, tailored shirt open, exposing a sliver of her skin and bra. Her black pants were high-waisted, circling the smallest part of her, just below her ribs, and I held my breath as she unfastened them, bending to slide them down her legs.
Everything about her was beautiful, the light shining through the back of her shirt, casting a glow around the shadow of her body, and when she rose, her eyes were open, her soul open, and I could see her. All of her. And she was mine.
I stepped into her, slipping my hand under her shirt to the soft curve of her waist, pressing my forehead to hers as she wrapped an arm around my neck, fingers in my hair. And she closed her eyes behind a curtain of lashes as my heart pumped in my chest like it was reaching for her.
Her eyes didn’t open as she lifted her chin, finding my lips without the necessity of sight, the softness, the sweet demand of them against mine all I wanted, all I needed.
There was no urgency, not now, not yet, and I reveled in her as she touched every one of my senses. The sight of her alabaster skin in the soft light as I slid the shirt off her shoulders. The sweet scent of flowers as I ran my nose up the line of her neck. The sound of her sigh, a hot breath in my ear. The feeling of her body under mine as I lay her down and she wrapped herself around my waist. The taste of her lips — lips that would be the end of me.
She was everywhere, and I was lost.
I broke away and ran a hand across her throat and down, fingers dipping in the hollow, skating down between her breasts. Ink and milk. Black and white. Her and me.
She lay stretched out underneath me, hair lying around her face like a halo, legs parted and hooked around my thighs, arms bracketing her head, hands clasped above it, eyes full of heat and want and something else, something more. Maybe she saw all of me, too. I wanted her to. I wanted to give her all of me and take all of her, so I did, the way I knew how.
Her skin between my lips was the sweetest pleasure, and I moved down her body, my hands on her thighs, opening them wider as I trailed my nose toward her hip. Her panties were silky, slick and hot in the center, and I pressed my thumb to the sensitive tip of her, dragging my middle finger up to the crease, my eyes on her face as her chin tilted, lids fluttering closed. She moaned, and heat burned through me. I wanted to be the only one to hear that sound. I wanted my name to be the only one to leave her lips. I wanted her. Indefinitely.
I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, closed my lips over her and sucked, slipping my thumb in the leg of her panties and into her heat.
Her fingers were in my hair and mine on her thighs, pushing them against her ribs, wanting her open, wanting inside of her, first with my hands, then with my tongue. The rest of me would find its way later, but for that moment, I would own her with my mouth alone. I licked up the line of her, sucked and teased, rolled and moaned with her in my mouth until her legs shook under my palms. I rested them on my shoulders, freeing my hands to rid us both of the satin in my way with a fist full of fabric and a flex, shredding it.
My eyes were closed, hands and lips busy, my heart pounding in my ears as her thighs clenched. When I finally looked up, looked at her — hands on her breast, bra pulled down, fingers clenched around her nipple — she was looking down at me, her eyes full of exquisite pain and pleasure. And the second our eyes met, she gasped, then shuddered, then squeezed me with her legs, her hands, the rest of her
pulsing against my hand and mouth as she gave me what I wanted.
The moment her body relaxed, she whispered my name, and I knew I’d do whatever she asked of me.
But I’d take my time, moving up her body with my lips to her skin, in the circle of her arms, and when I reached her mouth, she took mine with the possession I felt for her. So I gave it right back, telling her with my fingers in her hair, with my lips pressed to hers, with my body pressing her into the bed, that she was mine.
Her hands moved across my body, under my shirt, across my abs, to my chest. Everywhere she touched was on fire, branding me.
I broke away only long enough to pull my shirt off before my lips were against hers again, her hands fumbling at my belt, unfastening my pants, pushing them over my ass, freeing the rest of me. She halted the kiss to look down at her hands, pressing her forehead to my lips as she watched her fingers close around the length of me, and I sucked in a breath at the contact, flexing into her palms.
She squeezed gently, and I dropped my head, whispering her name with my lips to her ear, and hers to mine as she answered with a single word: Please.
I throbbed in her hand and pulled away, kicking off my boots, then my pants as she muttered something, reaching for my cock, back arched as she ran her fingers up the length of me, guiding me toward her, pressing me against her core.
I drew in a breath at the contact of my bare tip against her hot, wet center and pulled back.
“Hang on,” I begged her or myself, reaching over the bed for my pants, praying my wallet was within reach.
“No,” she begged, fingers digging into my ass, pulling me down as she lifted her hips, angling for me. “It’s safe. I’m safe.”
Safe. I knew what she meant, but my heart clenched, and I slipped a hand in her hair. “You sure?”
“Yes. Fuck, Joel, yes. Please.”
It was all the permission I needed. I lowered my face as I lowered my hips, pressing my crown against her, flexing, sliding into her as I watched her face smoothing with every inch I filled her, stopping at the end, staying there for a long moment as I brushed her face with my thumbs, felt her all around me, our bodies connected. It had been years since I’d been bared this way, my heart, my body.
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