by Rebecca Main
“Eight?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, nine till noon. What say you to that? Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays?”
“For how long?” His gaze turns cold and unwavering, and by his fierce look, I know he will not dignify my question with an answer, not when I already know it. Forever. Even if forever was a dearly long time. “Not Fridays.”
“Why not?” he asks tightly, his rigid posture somewhat more relaxed than before.
“Because.” My retort sounds childish, even to me, and I cringe internally. I don’t have to explain my reasoning to him. He smiles nonetheless.
“Agreed. Now let's talk about physical contact.”
– Chapter 5 –
Rehashing Terms
Somehow, I manage to convince Xander to begin our “friendship” on Monday instead of Sunday. A feat I marvel at, seeing as how our discussion had turned into a tense standoff of compromises and deals. Did I come out with the advantage? I’m not sure. Last night I made decision after decision without hesitation. The behavior was a complete one eighty from my usual timid nature.
It’s difficult to recount every aspect of our conversation and dissect it, but the final agreement between Xander and me isn’t terrible. I’d written all of the “rules” down.
Meal Deals
Mondays — dinner at home with Gran & aunts
Tuesdays — dinner alone with X
Wednesday — dinner alone with X
Thursday — dinner at X’s with family
Saturday — nothing!
Sunday — Breakfast
Physical Contact
Handholding — only at dinners with family present
Hugs — maximum 2 4/day
Kissing — NO cheek & hands… okay
any other physical contact outside of the above can only be initiated by me
Sniff*
I frown at the paper, eyeing the last word on the page. Xander’s last request is by far the strangest, in that I allow him to sniff me. My skepticism gave way once the aunts made him drink the truth tea and repeat his request, assuring me my scent calmed him. Vowing to keep it to a minimum and perform the act only in the privacy of our homes, I relented.
He left looking far more satisfied than I liked, his lips barely brushing my cheek as he retreated with a soft goodnight. I went straight to bed after the affair, not wanting to talk to dissect the night’s exchange with the aunts.
I hardly have my mind wrapped around everything before Monday night rears its ugly head, and with it, one of the worst dinners I have ever been party to.
The food I prepare is truly awful. Every bite bitter and tough to chew. The aunts do their best to alleviate the situation—Gran absent once again—but to no avail. The night ends in a slew of harsh comments and barbed words. When the clock finally struck nine, Xander bid his farewell hastily, dragging me from the table to escort him to the door. His hand held mine in a viselike grip before abruptly pulling me into a crushing hug, inhaling deeply, and leaving without another word.
Tuesday and Wednesday go a little better, both nights ending in their own heated confrontations.
Xander constantly scolds and lectures me for my unwillingness to cooperate. I growl back how I hadn’t wanted any of this in the first place. That the proverbial race between friendship with him or slowly going mad is a close one, but my self-preservation continues to prevail. He blanches at my caustic replies and agrees to end each night early. I wonder each night why I put up with the forced charade. Contemplating thoughts of going crazy more seriously, then switching back to self-preservation mode. If I end up continuing the “friendship” with Xander, there is a very large chance I’ll still go mad.
It’s Thursday night, which means dinner at his family’s house. I stand outside his home. His very large home, I might add, hoping beyond hope that tonight will go better than the others. Maybe if nobody talks, it will go smoothly.
I knock only once before an elderly woman dressed in black gestures me inside with a wry, but excited, grin and leads me to a room down a short corridor on the first floor. Irina and Ryatt sit near one another with drinks in their hands speaking casually. When I enter, they each send me their own greetings from afar. Ryatt shoots me a salacious smirk. Irina raises her sculpted brow. I smile uncertainly back.
“Zoelle!” A smooth feminine voice calls from the other side of the room. It is an older woman with long dark hair and fair skin. She must be in her fifties, maybe early sixties, but she wears her years well. Dressed in a figure-hugging A-line dress, she strides toward me with purpose, her eyes alight with unspoken curiosity. “My name is Katerina,” she says, her Russian accent a lovely purr as she pulls me in to place a kiss on each cheek.
“Our mother,” Ryatt says, watching the exchange before coming over to greet me as well. “Drink? Dinner will be ready soon enough, but there’s no need to head into the lion’s den without some liquid courage.”
“Don’t you mean wolf’s den?” I say. His low chuckle fills the room. “A drink would be wonderful, thank you.” I step out of Katerina's light embrace and force my strained smile to remain.
“What’s your poison?”
“Gin and tonic?” I ask hopefully, catching Irina shaking her head out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m afraid there’s no lime,” Ryatt tells me as he hands me my drink a few minutes later.
I take a tentative sip, holding back a wince at the sharp effervescence. “That’s all right. Thank you.”
“Zoelle!” I turn half way before I feel Xander’s hand on the hollow of my back. His touch, warmer than the average human I’ve learned, sinks past the fabric of my dress to my skin. I take a sharp breath as he presses his lips firmly onto my cheek and much too close to my lips. They linger unnecessarily, so my elbow gently reminds him to behave. He takes the hint, but as he pulls away his hand drags lightly across my hip, and his eyes run down my body in appreciation. I step away quickly. Not bothering to hide my disapproving stare.
“I’ve been informed dinner is served. Shall we?” He offers me his arm, eyes bright and warm as I reluctantly place my hand on the crook of his elbow.
As the dining room is on the other side of the house, I am treated to a small tour. Paintings by renowned artists litter the hallway, bringing a stark contrast to the dark walls with their vibrancy.
“You have quite the collection,” I comment once I’m seated.
“Indeed, we do. We house a few Chagall and Picasso on the ground floor, and some Monet and various impressionist paintings on the others. My grandfather was a collector you see, and he passed along to me his love of art and most of his collection,” Katerina answers softly, humming in delight as our salad plates are placed before us.
The salad is crisp, with large pieces of nuts scattered heartily throughout it and a light pepper lemon vinaigrette to top it off. At least the food is bound to be good tonight. “Xander tells us you can cook?” Ryatt inquires.
“Oh, wonderful!” Katerina exclaims before I can respond, “I’ve always been of the belief that a wife should be able to cook for her husband, but, lucky for you, dear Zoelle, we have a chef on staff to fit our needs.”
“If you don't mind Mrs. Adolphus, I prefer Zoe.” She smiles back at me magnanimously.
“Then I must insist you call me Katerina.” I nod and stuff my mouth with a forkful of salad in lieu of responding to her actual comment. I cast a discreet frown at Xander, who clears his throat but does nothing to correct his mother.
“I consider myself a foodie of sorts,” comments Ryatt, picking up where his mother left off. “I love a good feast of the senses.”
“An amateur cook then? How quaint.” Irina chimes in before I can speak. I take another large bite of salad and await my turn. “Mother, I completely agree with you. I’m sure there is no greater joy than cooking for one’s family, but it is true. The Adolphus women are held to a certain standard. There will be no slaving away behind a hot stove for any of
us.”
“No cooking?” I finally say once I’ve cleared my small salad. A swell of foreboding builds in my stomach.
“We’ll need to do something about your overall look of course. Teach you the politics and ways of our world, that sort of thing. There won’t be much time for your little cooking hobby I’m afraid.”
“Wait, just—hold on a minute.” I lean to the side to allow my salad plate to be replaced by a fine piece of halibut. “My cooking isn’t a hobby. I’ve just graduated from the Missoula College Culinary Arts program. I’m a chef, and I certainly don’t plan to give up on my dreams or plans to be some… some accessory.”
“A wife is hardly an accessory,” Katerina replies. “As the wife of the alpha, you must assert your position as the female alpha of the pack, which includes many responsibilities such as the care and well-being of the pack, maintaining our traditions, and being available to your husband.”
I turn to Xander hoping he will interject only for Irina to speak once more. Somehow, I hold back my groan. “It will take some work, but mother and I will whip you into shape.” Her teasing words are laced with too much condescension for me to bear.
“I think you’re under the wrong impression,” I say after allowing a small silence to sit at the table. “What exactly did Xander tell you about our conversation last weekend?”
Xander clears his throat, throwing an anxious look my way. “Nothing out of the ordinary, only that we had come to an agreement to see each other.”
I ponder his words, frowning down at my plate before meeting his eyes. “An agreement to see each other?”
“I’ll admit,” Ryatt says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “we were worried about the outcome of your little discussion. What with the mishandling of the soul binding those years ago no doubt weighing on your conscious. But tell us, how did my dear brother persuade you to be so… accommodating?”
“Ryatt.” Xander growls in warning. “Enough.”
“Yes, do tell us, brother. How did you manage such a feat?” Irina asks, jumping on the bandwagon. I breathe a sigh of relief as her gaze turns to her brother and off me. Her voice takes on an innocent air that fools no one. “I, for one, am not surprised at all. You’re so good at charming every woman you meet. It’s no wonder Zoe, here, succumbed.”
“I said enough,” Xander barks.
“Leave your brother alone, both of you. What on earth are you two trying to prove?” Katerina scolds, clearly confused by the sibling interaction.
“We only marvel at our brother’s newfound emotional depth. You see, Zoe, Xander here has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, and then you came along—”
“I suppose you would have me pursue love the way that you do, Irina? Wear my heart on my sleeve and pine away at every other woman who crosses my path? Never mind that they might have ulterior motives regarding our family.”
Irina stands sharply, her gaze unwaveringly cold. “Don’t be cruel, Aleksandr.”
“Sit,” he commands, his voice hard.
“Yes, sister, be a good girl and sit,” Ryatt mutters behind his tumbler. She does so reluctantly, throwing biting glares at her brothers as her lips seal together tightly.
I feel a pang of empathy for the beautiful girl and let my frustration build. “I think,” I begin slowly, pushing the halibut around my plate, “that you have misinformed your family about the conversation we had, Xander.”
“Oh?” All eyes fall on me. Except for Xander’s.
“We did agree to see each other. Five times a week for limited periods of time—with restrictions in regard to physical interactions.”
“Oh,” Katerina exclaims wide-eyed. Irina and Ryatt share a smile.
“We agreed to be friends. Just. Friends. I will not be marrying your son, Katerina. And I’m certainly not going to give up cooking, Irina.” Irina shrugs and scoffs at my response, but it doesn’t have the same bite.
The table goes silent at my confession. Scanning the table for their reactions, I eat the fish in silence along with the others. Katerina is put out, shooting pointed glances at Xander, a small pout on her lips and a furrow in her brow. Ryatt quietly chuckles under his breath, a large smile on his face. Irina smirks victoriously, and Xander tenses furiously. His eyes bore into the side of my face imperiously as I continue to ignore him.
No more words are spoken as we finish our plates. I glance at my watch: 8:20 p.m. Only forty minutes more and I can get out of this place and go home. Thank God. Just as they clear our plates, a loud vibration hums through the room. We eye each other curiously around the table before a flush rises to my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, would you mind if I…?”
Xander nods stiffly. “Of course, dear,” Katerina agrees, shooing me away with a good-natured smile. I answer my phone once I’ve entered the adjacent room.
“Ben, hey!” I tuck a curl behind my ear. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I miss you!” I smile softly at his enthusiasm.
“I miss you too. When can I see you again?”
“Actually, that’s why I was calling. I should be up near you tomorrow, are you free?”
“Yes, and if I’m not, I’ll just move around my schedule.”
“Perfect. I thought we could go out in the afternoon for a long walk, then grab something greasy for dinner.”
“That sounds wonderful. It would sound even better if we could do dinner somewhere decidedly far away from my aunts. Let’s work out the details later, all right? I’m out tonight with new... friends.”
“Of course, of course! I’ll text you. Expect me sometime in the afternoon, all right?”
“Okay.”
“I love you,” Ben says casually. As if he’s done it every day since we’ve met. My heart does a flip, the words on the tip of my tongue.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I end the call, shoving my phone back into the pocket of my cardigan and slip back into the room that seems somehow even quieter than before. I take my seat, relieved to find dessert set out, a single scoop of shiny pastel green, mint perhaps or pistachio.
“Who called?” Ryatt asks, his mischievous smirk back in action. I hesitate, weighing the options of lying in my head.
I clear my throat. “My boyfriend.” I don’t dare look beyond the bowl in front of me knowing all eyes are on me once more.
My fingers fumble with the spoon before I take a large scoop of the dessert. I cringe at the frozen treat, cheeks pulling inward as I let out a stream of air. “Wow, that’s really cold.” I mumble.
“Boyfriend?” Katerina questions a frown marring her beautiful features.
“Yes,” I respond once I’ve swallowed, still avoiding eye contact. “We’ve been together for some months now.”
“Xander, you didn’t say anything about another man being in the picture.”
“I hardly consider it a problem,” he tells his mother easily, a lazy sort of confidence underlying his words.
“Agreed,” I snap back. “Seeing as how our agreement is in regard to friendship and not a romantic relationship. As such, I hardly anticipate our arrangement affecting my relationship with my boyfriend.” I steel myself to meet his gaze and feel a flush of victory run over me as he stiffens.
“Shall we retire to the drawing room for a nightcap?” Irina drawls, standing with more grace than I could ever possess. Ryatt and Katerina stand as well, but before I have the chance to stand, Xander’s hand stretches across the table and fastens around my wrist. I shoot a pathetic look toward his family’s backs but receive no help. I yank my arm back toward my side and let out an exaggerated sigh.