by Ava Bloom
Yulia bristled. “On top of that,” she continued, as though I hadn't spoken, “how do you expect me to get a job at one of these schools? They want to hire native English speakers, first and foremost, and they want to hire Spanish people to fill in the gaps. They don't want to hire someone like me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sounds like you're just giving up,” I said.
Yulia's face went through a complicated change of emotions. Finally, she shrugged and sighed, looking away from me. “Maybe I am, Alexei,” she said quietly. “Maybe it's best that we both give up. You should move on. Date someone else. Someone here in Barcelona. Fall in love, have a family of your own. Fill up that mansion of yours.” She swallowed hard. “Let me find my own happiness.”
“Oh, is that what I'm doing now?” I asked bitterly. “Keeping you from finding your happiness?”
Yulia looked at me for a long moment, saying nothing. Finally, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Alexei,” she said quietly. Then, she turned and grabbed her suitcase, disappearing into the airport.
My hands clenched into fists as I watched her walk to the counter and collect her boarding pass. She dropped her bag to be checked under the plane and then headed towards security and beyond.
She didn't once look back.
10
Yulia
Going back to life as normal when I got back to St. Petersburg was difficult—but then, I hadn't expected that it would be easy. Between the jetlag and nightmares about watching Alexei slip away from me, I hardly slept for the first two weeks that I was back.
But slowly, things started to return to normal. As we slipped through fall, things got busier at the school, until I hardly had time to think about anything other than verb conjugations, proper grammatical structures, and the other mechanics of the English language. I was swamped with papers and exams, grading long into the nights with just the faint overhead light of the kitchen.
Until suddenly, I wasn't.
I expected the quiet of winter holidays to really hit me. I expected to notice the silence around the apartment, to notice that vague absence that had been haunting me for years. But instead, I mostly felt relief.
I smiled to myself as I looked around the apartment, which I had just finished decorating. I was a little late getting the holiday things up this year, but I was happy with the way everything looked. It made the place even more cozy than usual, and all I wanted was to curl up on the couch with a book and a steaming mug of hot cocoa.
I sang along softly to one of the old Christmas carols as I waited for the kettle to heat. Spending this time of year alone always made me a little heartsick, even though I knew I'd spend the actual festivities with Father and the rest of my family out in the countryside. But I was determined not to let that get to me.
I wondered what Alexei was up to, and if he decorated his place in Barcelona. I doubted it, somehow. He probably just spent the entire holiday season with his cousins. I wondered who made the holiday food for them, wondered suddenly if any of his cousins had Russian wives who had given up life in the motherland for the sunny beaches of Spain.
But I didn't need to think about Alexei now. I was only going to make myself upset.
I added a few marshmallows to my cocoa and then popped a few more of the sugary treats into my mouth…just as there was a knock at the front door. I frowned, wondering who was there. I didn't normally get visitors, and it was too late for it to be the mailman.
I opened the door slowly and was shocked to find Alexei standing there on the other side. Speak of the devil, I thought wryly.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to keep the guarded tone out of my voice. I didn't step back, didn't let him in. I didn't even know how he had gotten my address, but I definitely didn't want him there. I remembered what the old apartment had been like, once it had known his presence. When he'd left, there had been a palpable void to fill, a dozen memories of him—lounging on the sofa, sitting at the table, laughing in the kitchen, curled up asleep in bed—that had triggered all my feelings for him, constantly. I couldn't go through that again.
Alexei raised an eyebrow at me. “You're not happy to see me?” he asked, as though he expected me to fall over backwards with delight at the very sight of him.
I put my hands on my hips, remembering what he had said about wanting to have some sort of silly relationship where he split his life between Barcelona and St. Petersburg. But I didn't want that.
Even if I could already imagine him in my apartment, curled up on the couch with me, both of us sharing a blanket as he read and I graded the last of the term's assignments. Even if I could already imagine him in my room, pressing me down into the mattress, making love to me between the warm, flannel sheets. Even if-
But no, I couldn't go there.
“I think it would be better for you to leave,” I told him, my voice sharp.
Alexei looked taken aback. “Yulia, I-”
“If this is about that stupid plan of yours to split time between Barcelona and here-” I started.
“Of course not,” Alexei interrupted. “You were right. It's all or nothing.” He took a deep breath and nudged the suitcase at his foot, giving me a pointed look. “Can we talk inside, maybe?” he asked.
“No,” I said stubbornly.
Alexei ran a hand back through his hair. “All right,” he said. “Yulia, I can't stop thinking about you. I mean, that's nothing new. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for over a decade now.” He gave me a rueful smile, but it faded as I continued to glare at him, keeping my arms folded across my chest so that I didn't grab him and pull him over to me. I could smell his aftershave—although I wasn't sure if that was just the memory of his scent, my mind playing tricks on me, or if he was actually close enough for me to smell. Either way, I could barely think logically as it was; I knew that as soon as we touched, I would be doomed. I would let him do whatever he wanted, whatever the consequences might be.
I had to keep my distance. I couldn't let him break my heart a third time.
“What are you doing for the holidays?” Alexei asked suddenly.
“That's none of your business,” I said cooly, even though I was already starting to think about how lonely I'd be if I sent Alexei away now.
I needed to cut this short, before I had too much of a glimpse into what life could have been like between the two of us. If things had just been…a little different. If we hadn't both been so stubborn, if we hadn't both wanted the things we wanted so badly.
I started to close the door, but Alexei snaked out a hand and caught it before I could, leaning hard against the wood.
“What do you want, Alexei?” I asked angrily. “It's not enough that you've broken my heart twice? You have to come back and toy with my emotions again?”
For a moment, Alexei looked lost, reaching out to me. But at my steely look, his hand dropped back to his side. “Of course I'm not here to hurt you again, Yulia,” he said quietly. “I was hoping that we could make things right, this time. I promised, after all.”
“What's your plan?” I snapped. “Stay with me for the holidays, charm my whole family, and then disappear again once the new year starts?”
“Of course not,” Alexei said. “I was hoping…” He swallowed hard, looking at the ground. “Is there someone else?” he asked.
“That's none of your business,” I snapped.
Alexei flinched as though I'd struck him. “Oh,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I didn't realize—I mean, I know you said you weren't going to wait for me. But no one told me…”
“You've been keeping tabs on me?” I asked bitterly. There really was no way to get him out of my life, it seemed. But I couldn't keep looking at the hurt expression on his face. He looked miserable—and suddenly, I realized that he must not be sleeping well either. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and his face was gaunt. It made the motherly instinct inside of me want to invite him in, to feed hi
m ten dozen holiday dishes, to try to bring some warmth back into his life.
But if there was no warmth in his life, that was his own fault. Still…
“I'm not dating anyone else—yet,” I told him. “Don't jump to conclusions.”
Alexei looked relieved. “Then-”
“That doesn't mean I'm interested in you,” I interrupted. “You had your chance, Alexei. You had two chances, and you blew them."
“Third time's a charm?” Alexei tried weakly.
I tried to push the door closed again, but still, he held it open. “Please, Yulia,” he said. “Just listen.”
“I'm going to call the police,” I told him.
“I just need somewhere to stay,” Alexei blurted out. “For a few days—a year—forever. I don't know. However long you'll have me for. Please, Yulia. Please, let me come home.”
I stared at him for a long moment. “What?” I finally asked, my voice flat. Inside my head, I started counting the seconds. He had twenty seconds to explain—after that, I was calling the police.
My resolve was already wavering, though.
Alexei turned his head away. “I left Barcelona,” he said, as though that wasn't obvious. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I was supposed to fly down to the south of Spain for a few days, to schmooze with some of the guys down there. To set up another real estate deal. But the next thing I knew…” He trailed off, looking lost. “I went to the airport. And the next thing I knew, I was on a plane—but not to southern Spain. I got to Moscow yesterday and took the train up here and…” He trailed off again.
I stared blankly at him and then barked out a laugh. “Oh Alyosha,” I sighed. I ran a hand back through my hair, swallowing hard. “You know I can't let you in,” I told him.
“If you're afraid of what Evgeni will say, I've already talked to him and-”
“That's not why I can't let you stay,” I interrupted. I shook my head. “You came here on a whim. But this isn't what you really want. You chose your family, a long time ago. You chose to stay in Barcelona and set up your life there. You can't just come here on a whim, not when I know that a week from now, or a month from now, or maybe even a year from now… Eventually, you're going to leave, on that same sort of whim, and find yourself back in Barcelona with your beaches and your babes.”
“No,” Alexei said, shaking his head. He looked pleadingly at me. “You don't understand, Yulia. I've never been happy there. In fact, since I lost you the second time, I've been miserable there. Ask any of my cousins; they know. We never talked about it, but they all know.” He took in a deep, shuddering breath.
“But if you stay here…” I said quietly, allowing myself to imagine it for just one second. It took my breath away, with how badly I wanted it. “You're going to hate me—you're going to grow to resent me if your family never talks to you again.”
Alexei reached up and cupped my cheek in his palm. “I could never resent you, Yulka,” he said quietly.
I leaned into his palm, my thoughts scattered just like I had expected they would be. But I didn't complain. Alexei had clearly thought through all of it, for all that the plan itself had been a bit spontaneous. And after all, hadn't I been running through all the same scenarios in my mind over the years? If he was willing to give up his life in Barcelona, to give up his close ties with his family…
“My uncle understands,” Alexei said simply, looking deep into my eyes, letting me see the truth. “I called him when I arrived in Moscow.” He grimaced. “I must have sounded like such an idiot. He was fuming because these guys had called him and said that I just never bothered to show up to our meetings. At first, he was concerned, but when he found out I wasn't hurt or kidnapped or whatever, he got angry. Wanted to know where I was.” He took a deep breath. “So I told him. I said that I was in Moscow and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to come back to Spain.”
I shook my head. “And let me guess, he threatened to cut you off from all your accounts and said that no one from the Volkov family will ever speak to you again?” I asked bitterly.
“He understood,” Alexei said simply. He looked down at the floor. “I don't know, I feel like maybe if I had just done this years ago, then you and I could have…” He swallowed hard. “But then we wouldn't be…where we are today, I suppose.”
“Where we are today,” I said bitterly, realizing suddenly that we were still having this conversation half in the hallway. I didn't know if I dared to invite him in. But then again, he had been brave in telling his uncle that he wasn't going back to Spain any time soon. Maybe it was my turn to be brave.
I took a step back, and Alexei took a step forwards, hesitantly, into the apartment, dragging his suitcase in with him. He looked out of place in the front hall that I had tried so hard to make feel like a home—out of place, but not unwanted.
Alexei hesitated as he looked around. “You have a beautiful apartment,” he said quietly. “Very cozy.”
I stared at him for a long moment. “We,” I finally said, my voice quiet. When Alexei gave me a curious look, I cleared my throat. “We,” I repeated, stronger this time. “We have a beautiful apartment.”
An enormous smile broke out across Alexei's face, transforming him. “We,” he repeated, his voice just as reverent. Then, he pulled me into his arms, kissing me passionately.
I giggled, warmth, blossoming in my chest. Third time's a charm?, I thought. But I didn't even want to speculate, afraid that I might break the spell. Whatever the future held for us, we'd figure it out. For now, it was time to forget about the past and forget about the future—and just live here, in the present.
“Let me show you around our place,” I told Alexei.
“Starting with the bedroom, I hope,” he murmured, his hand slipping dangerously low on my back.
I just laughed and led the way.
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Andrei Preview
When I'm offered a job as the bar manager at the most exclusive club in Barcelona, I took it. I also knew it was in my best interest to do as I'm told, and keep my mouth shut. You see, the billionaire Russian mobsters who run the place were the kind of guys you didn’t want to know too much about anyways. But I really needed the money, and I knew that as long as I ensured the customers were happy and I did my job, everything would be fine.
That is until Andrei came into the picture.
He was one of those Russian gangsters that ran the club, sexy and dangerous. A real bad boy who had gained quite the reputation around here as a ladies man, and now his attention was fixed on me.
The guy was bad news in a good suit, and I knew that giving in to him would be the worst idea I’ve ever had.
F**k me!
Chapter One — Andrei
Ritmo was as busy as we could have hoped that evening. I caught a glimpse of Uncle Evgeni looking down at the proceedings from the top floor before he disappeared. It made sense that we were busy, after all: we were letting the women in for free, as long as they were in their heels and skirts. We were also giving away free drinks if they brought a hot, young guy in with them—the strict dress code turned away the unwanted ones. In the last three months or so, we'd been able to take this boring beachfront bar and turn it into one of the hottest clubs in the city.
“Have your fun now, Andrei,” my brother Nikolay said with a laugh. “You're on inventory tonight, remember?”
“Oh come on Kolya—that doesn't mean he can't take someone into the bathroom for a quickie!” Dima, my other brother, laughed.
I rolled my eyes at both of them and signaled the waitress for a refill of our drinks. My brothers both did the work when they had to, but they were much happier chasing after girls and lazing about, living the good life. They didn't seem to understand that they couldn't live the good life if they didn't do the work—but then again, they had grown up with our father's first wife in Petersburg,
rather than out in the countryside like I had. It was another thing they liked to bring up when they were teasing me: that my hands were too rough for these women, that I needed a broad-hipped woman rather than one of these dainty Spanish girls.
“Inventory needs to get done, and it needs to get done right,” I pointed out, trying not to let their teasing get to me. “At this point, we're too big for little screw-ups on ordering.”
“You know you're just on inventory because you couldn't handle your real responsibilities,” my cousin Vanya said derisively.
I felt my face heat but carefully schooled my features to neutral, knowing that the flush wouldn't be visible here in the club but that my facial expression definitely would be. “They've never given you even a hint of responsibility in the business,” I said sweetly. Vanya was younger than I was, and given that his father was the head of the local mafia, Vanya had always lived a pretty cushy life. “Pretty soon, it'll be your turn to do inventory, I'm sure.”
“I won't have to do inventory,” Vanya said confidently. “I know better than to fuck the daughter of the real estate tycoon that my father spent months trying to woo.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it that you know better, or that you know no self-respecting Catalonian woman would ever sleep with you?”
“Hey!” Vanya cried indignantly as Nikolay and Dima cackled. I shrugged unrepentantly. When I had first moved to Barcelona to join my brothers in our uncle's syndicate, I hadn't dared tease Vanya, expecting that Uncle Evgeni would dole out harsh punishments to anyone who dared make fun of his son. But I'd settled in over the past six months, and I was starting to take part in the family bantering that went on. There was a certain sense of camaraderie, all of us Russians here together in a foreign city. I liked it.
“But seriously, why did you have to sleep with that cow?” Nikolay groaned. “Now we're doing all the research again, trying to find a suitable headquarters with a landlord who'll turn a blind eye to whatever we're doing to pay for the place.”