The Only Woman to Defy Him

by Carol Marinelli

  His skin was not his mouth, but she kissed it as if it was and Demyan closed his eyes at the unexpected pleasure of her tongue on his skin and then the hush of his thoughts, for right now the only place he was was on a dance floor. Right now, when he needed to focus more than ever, for a fleeting moment his mind wavered from its controlled path, and it jolted Demyan enough to halt her.

  ‘Come on.’ He was terribly nice to her because, to make things a little better perhaps, on the way home, he cared enough to lie. ‘I don’t get involved with people I work with.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Alina knew he was lying. Marianna had alluded to a couple of the perks of her job.

  Demyan could be very blunt at times, but what he didn’t know was that he should have been just a little bit blunter then. Had he simply said, I don’t do virgins, Alina might have understood better.

  As it was, she walked into her flatmate’s noisy party, barricaded herself in her bedroom and then promptly burst into tears. She’d thrown herself at him. In her very best dress, in her Kissed-by-Demyan shoes, she’d thrown herself at him but, worse than that, Demyan, who’d screw anything, had turned her down.

  He simply didn’t want her, Alina realised.

  No one ever had.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DEMYAN ASSUMED, though correctly this time, that Alina’s red eyes were over him.

  It was claustrophobic in the office, though the tension wasn’t all down to last night.

  Demyan went to his room and tried to call Roman but got sent straight to voicemail.

  Nadia texted to say she was moving things forward.

  She was now planning for her and Roman to leave as early as next week and so, Demyan decided, would he. ‘Come now.’ He strode out of his bedroom. ‘We go and look at the farm.’

  ‘I’ll call your driver.’

  ‘Just call for the car,’ Demyan said. He was agitated, restless about the news from Nadia and also not in the least happy with his handling of Alina last night. The speeches were still playing in his head and her red, puffy eyes weren’t helping matters. ‘I’ll drive.’ As he went to put on his jacket he glanced down at her heels. ‘Did you remember your flats this time?’ Even as he said it, Demyan regretted the small tease. There would be no more mixed messages.

  He just wasn’t prepared for her answer.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Alina said. ‘I’ve got some boots in my car, I’ll go down and get them.’

  That was the woman she was, Demyan thought.

  The trouble was, though, that he liked it.

  As they left the city, Alina couldn’t help filling the silence.

  ‘I’d never have imagined you owning a farm. It’s just not the sort of property I’d picture you having...’

  Demyan shrugged. ‘It is...’ He tried to think of the best way to describe it. ‘The constant toothache...’

  ‘Farms are.’

  ‘Always there is something to be done. If not the tenants needing something then there are boundaries or fences...’ He shook his head. ‘I should have sold it ages ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Demyan was trying to keep it business on the two-hour drive there.

  It was business, he had to remind himself as he told Alina what she needed to know.

  ‘This couple were friends of my aunt’s,’ Demyan said. ‘They had the neighbouring orchards. The property was left to me on Katia’s death. I was never going to live there...’ Alina glanced over, at his brief hesitation. ‘Well, I did consider it at one time. Then there were bush fires and Ross and Mary’s property and orchards were razed. I leased to them the house and my orchards. It has been twelve years. Their orchards are back...’ Demyan drove through the mountains, trying to ignore his own disquiet.

  ‘What about their home?’

  ‘They chose not to rebuild.’ He glanced over and saw her tight lips. ‘They can make an offer. They have a very successful business, flourishing orchards...’ He glanced over again. ‘You’re not writing it down.’

  ‘I don’t need to.’ Alina looked out of the window. ‘Our farm was described as flourishing too.’

  ‘What produce?’

  ‘Waratah.’ She knew from the silence he was waiting for her to explain. ‘They’re huge, red flowers, beautiful, like a big cabbage...’ Her voice trailed off. What would he care? ‘I just know farming’s hard. Selling produce is hard.’ Alina gave a tight smile. ‘Anyway...’

  They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Business, Demyan told himself as he shook Ross’s hand.

  Ross had calmed down since the phone call. Demyan had been good to them after all. No, they wouldn’t be making an offer, Ross said as Alina pulled on very well-worn leather ankle boots and they walked around.

  This Christmas especially hadn’t been a great one and Demyan knew from his aunt that when you sold cherries in Australia for a livelihood you lived and died by Christmas.

  It was just as hard as expected to be back at the property where he had spent those years with his aunt, years spent thawing just a little from a brutal life.

  It was harder, though, than he’d imagined, a couple of hours of discussions later, to be back in the house, to wash his hands in the bathroom and catch sight of himself in a mirror and see a man staring back instead of a mistrusting youth.

  ‘We’ll do this as seamlessly as possible.’ Demyan said as he shook Ross’s hand. ‘Alina will be in contact and...’ His voice broke off. For once Demyan didn’t know how to conclude a business meeting.

  ‘Of course,’ Ross finished.

  ‘I made you some lunch.’ Mary’s eyes were as swollen as Alina’s had been that morning. ‘I know it must be hard for you too, Demyan. I remember when you first came here...’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘Look at you now.’

  ‘Times change.’

  ‘They do,’ Mary said. She offered him the basket of food. ‘I thought you might want to take a last look around.’

  Demyan didn’t want one last look. He wanted to get into the car and drive off, to just drive away and never look back. To blow up the life he had built here because without Roman it meant nothing anyway.

  Didn’t it?

  ‘Thank you.’

  It would be rude to refuse, Demyan told himself.

  Not that that had ever stopped him in his life.

  They walked for ages, right up to the back orchards, and they walked in silence. Alina’s head felt as if it was exploding. There was so much about Demyan she loathed—the way he spoke to his ex-wife, that he wasn’t fighting for his son, that he was ripping up Ross and Mary’s lives when surely, surely they must mean something to him.

  Clearly they didn’t.

  She wanted to loathe him and yet...

  Her world had never felt...

  She had never felt as much as she felt now, walking through an orchard with Demyan beside her.

  Alina felt like crying, like singing, like getting naked.

  She just felt.

  ‘Do you want to take your lunch by that tree and I take the one here?’ Demyan said, teasing her about the agency rules. ‘Or you can eat in the car.’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘I used to go there,’ he said, pointing to a huge willow, its branches bathing in the river. ‘It’s much cooler.’

  He held the green curtain open for her and she entered his heaven.

  ‘I used to come here to think,’ Demyan said, though he didn’t tell her about what. ‘We will have dessert first.’ He took some scones and butter and cream and then smeared thick cherry jam on as Alina’s mouth watered. ‘I don’t believe in saving the best to last.’

  He handed the scone to her and watched as she took a bite.

  ‘Good?’ he checked.


  ‘Amazing!’

  ‘Why were you hungry at high school?’ Demyan asked. ‘Was the food bad?’

  ‘The food was fantastic,’ Alina said. ‘But when you’re a big girl you really wear it if you go up for seconds.’

  ‘So you didn’t go up?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t worth the bitching from the other girls.’

  ‘I’d have told them—’ Demyan started, and Alina interrupted him

  ‘Mne pohuj,’ Alina said, and she was rewarded by a brief burst of deep laughter as she told him, in Russian, what she should have said to those bitchy girls—that she didn’t care a jot, only rather more rudely. Yes, she’d picked up a few Russian swear words, being around Demyan.

  ‘More emphasis on the po,’ Demyan said.

  ‘Your language is terrible.’ Alina smiled.

  ‘My language is excellent,’ Demyan said. ‘In Russia swearing is an art.’ He looked at her as she happily ate another scone. ‘Say it again.’

  ‘Nope,’ Alina said. ‘I’ll practise in private.’

  ‘Did you like growing up on the farm?’ Demyan asked.

  ‘I loved it.’

  ‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘She’s overseas, having some “me time”.’ Alina rolled her eyes. ‘She’s earned it apparently, raising me alone.’

  ‘Your father?’ Demyan fished.

  Alina shrugged. ‘He left when I was three.’

  ‘Do you see him?’

  ‘No.’ The sting of rejection from her father burnt so badly. ‘Apparently he always wanted a working farm—that’s how Mum and he met, she was a florist... Anyway, I came along and he decided it was all too much and just walked out on it. Mum tried to keep it going and she did well for a few years but it was tough on her, getting up in the middle of the night for the flower markets...’ Alina shook her head. If she carried on talking about it she’d start to cry.

  ‘So why did you decide to be a PA?’

  ‘Because it’s a much more reliable way to make a living. Businesspeople will always need assistants...’

  It wasn’t his place to tell her she was terrible at it.

  Actually, it was his place.

  Were it not for a very nice kiss, she’d have been fired. In fact, had he not been so hungover he’d probably have fired her the moment he’d realised she hadn’t a clue about real estate.

  He hadn’t fired her, though. Perhaps because his skin didn’t crawl when he thought about her walking through his home, his things.

  He’d even allowed her to tidy Roman’s room.

  Demyan wondered if she had.

  ‘Do you get a lot of work through the agency?’

  ‘Some,’ Alina said, then admitted the truth. ‘Not an awful lot. I’m very grateful for my waitressing job.’ She took another bite of her scone rather than explain to a man who would never get it anyway how much safer she felt knowing her half of the rent was covered, that even if she didn’t get any work she had a meal at the restaurant four nights a week.

  Had she told him, though, she might have found out that Demyan did, in fact, understand perfectly well.

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘It’s a very nice restaurant, the staff are great...’

  ‘I was talking about being an assistant.’

  Alina swallowed. ‘Of course.’ She flashed what she hoped was her corporate smile.

  ‘Alina...’

  She stared back at him.

  I hate it.

  How could she say that?

  How could she say to her temporary boss that for the most part she loathed her job? Oh, she tried to make the best of it, yet she was careering badly down a path that she had never really thought through stepping on; she was just too scared to follow the path that beckoned more loudly.

  No, she couldn’t say that and so she turned the conversation to him.

  ‘This is where you first lived when you came to Australia?’

  Demyan nodded. ‘My aunt ran it. She died when Roman was two.’ Alina swallowed. So rarely did he mention his son. ‘In fact, Katia died two days after my divorce was finalised. Nadia thought I should sell it but, given we were officially divorced, I told her...’ He paused and they shared a teeny smile as he contained his language. ‘That I did not care what she thought.’

  ‘That’s better!’

  ‘I suggested she live here but Nadia wanted the city. In the end I rented it out.’ He looked at Alina. ‘Suddenly I had equity.’

  ‘Your start?’

  Demyan nodded.

  ‘Did you ever think of living here?’

  ‘Briefly.’ Demyan shrugged. ‘It was never really the same, though, once Katia had died. I thought of keeping it for Roman but...’ Demyan shrugged. ‘It seems he will be living in Russia.’

  He could not go there; instead, Alina did.

  ‘Will you travel to Russia to see him?’

  ‘Of course,’ Demyan said, even though he felt ill at the thought. He had always sworn he would never go back. ‘I haven’t lost him.’

  Alina frowned at his choice of word but then told herself that Demyan’s words were not always the correct ones. ‘Of course not.’

  Demyan hadn’t even discussed this with his lawyer yet; he was precariously close to telling her, to admitting to what was killing him.

  Yet he could tell no one.

  Not even Roman.

  Especially not Roman.

  Demyan replayed Nadia’s words.

  ‘Please, just think about it. I’m not asking for for ever I just want us together...’

  Nadia didn’t love him, she loved the glamour, the name, the money, and when Roman turned eighteen, that money would dry up.

  Another loveless marriage?

  Demyan thought about it.

  Another expensive divorce?

  Demyan thought about that too.

  It wasn’t in the least palatable but if it meant that he kept the status quo—the life he had built, the times with his son in the country he had, for all these years, called home...

  Checkmate.

  Nadia had practically called it.

  No.

  He looked at Alina again. ‘Have you ever been in a serious relationship?’ He watched as her cheeks turned pink.

  ‘Not really,’ Alina said, then looked at him. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alina admitted. ‘I knew that my dad had slept with half the village mums, I was always terrified there might be half-brothers that I didn’t know about, so that was rather offputting...’

  ‘Alina!’ Demyan gave a shocked laugh. ‘When you forget to be shy you are funny.’

  ‘I know,’ Alina said. ‘I make myself laugh all the time.’

  ‘Why haven’t you slept with anyone?’ He was deliberately more specific.

  ‘I don’t really know...’ How could she best explain it? ‘I’m not really into muscly, brawny guys, which is a shame because the pale, interesting men aren’t really...’ she looked at him. ‘What sort of a man do you think I should cut my teeth on?’

  Demyan would prefer not to think about her with other men.

  He lay on his back in their little green glade and tried to picture the ideal guy for Alina’s first.

  He just couldn’t.

  Or rather he could, but the image in his mind came with his face on.

  He looked at her brown eyes and round face and imagined some sleaze giving her too much to drink, or someone awkward and shy who would simply make her more awkward and shy.

  ‘I was divorced with a five-year-old by the time I was your age,’ Demyan said.
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br />   ‘I know.’ She was quiet for a very long moment. ‘Why did you two...?’ No one asked, no one ever had, but she was either foolish or brave enough to ask. ‘Why did you and Nadia break up?’

  ‘I wasn’t doing well enough,’ Demyan said, then hesitated. That wasn’t strictly true but he discussed it with no one, not even himself. Alina sat fiddling with the salt rather than look at him but her hand slipped and salt spilled on the blanket. Demyan felt the familiar clench to his throat and tried to ignore it. It was illogical to think that something as simple as spilling salt could cause disaster, but even all these years later he could hear his mother’s wailing and screaming, the slap to his cheek for a simple accident. He frowned as Alina took a pinch and threw it over her left shoulder.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You know...’ She gave a shy, embarrassed smile. ‘It’s bad luck to spill salt.’

  ‘And that counteracts it?’

  ‘It’s supposed to.’ She watched as he sat up and took some salt and went to throw it over his shoulder.

  ‘The left one,’ Alina said. ‘That’s where the devil sits.’

  He looked into her eyes, saw her smiling face and the calm of her voice and the ice that had gripped him thawed just a little.

  ‘My mother was very superstitious,’ Demyan said.

  ‘Oh.’

  Alina took a bite of her scone.

  ‘Very,’ Demyan said, and watched as she looked at him. He had never really spoken of it with anyone. That note to Alina had been the first time he had shared such a detail. Nadia had had no idea. She had laughed at the old superstitions and had happily placed an empty wine bottle on the table, and Demyan had long ago taught himself not to react, not to show weakness. ‘That speaker last night, I thought for a moment that we must share the same mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alina said, and then blushed because she was talking with her mouth full. She quickly swallowed and took a mouthful of water. ‘Excuse me...’

  ‘Alina...’ He smiled. ‘Everything embarrasses you. Even when you are being kind, you have to excuse yourself for not...’