The Only Woman to Defy Him

by Carol Marinelli

  Nothing would be easier than resuming, but it would be both foolish and cruel to do so, Demyan decided.

  He would not be getting closer to Alina.

  In fact, he would prefer her gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEMYAN WAS AT his sulking best the next day and pretty much ignored her. By Friday afternoon Alina was, at first, grateful to escape to the penthouse to ensure that every detail was right for the royal visit.

  ‘I should be back around two or three,’ Alina said as she collected her bag from beside her desk.

  ‘Don’t worry about coming back,’ Demyan said, ‘given that you have to be there for the inspection tomorrow.’

  ‘I still have to let the casino know about tomorrow night and there’s—’

  ‘I can manage my social life, Alina,’ Demyan said. ‘I’ll see you Monday.’

  And therein lay the problem.

  It was what happened between now and Monday that dictated their future.

  Yes, it fazed her.

  No, she hadn’t seen it all before.

  And to read about Demyan’s wild weekend in the Sunday papers, to walk in on a working day to the aftermath of a decadent time was not something her heart could return from.

  ‘Demyan—’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  It should be nice to take her mind off things, except nothing could take her mind off him and the afternoon they had shared. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it could last for ever, she just didn’t understand how it had died before they had even reached the car. Alina simply didn’t understand how you could move from being so close one minute to complete distance the next.

  Did she regret sleeping with him?

  Never.

  She simply didn’t understand.

  Alina stared at her painting hanging on his wall and then stepped back, wondering if her work really belonged in a multimillion-dollar penthouse.

  ‘Wow!’ Libby said as she walked in.

  ‘Too much?’

  ‘No, that’s much better.’ Libby said. ‘They’re coming through at nine, so if we get here at seven, I’ll tee up the florist and the domestic to give it a final once-over. Please let me get someone in to tidy that bedroom.’

  ‘No.’ Alina shook her head.

  ‘They’re royalty!’ Libby persisted as they headed up to the garden terrace, but her voice trailed off as they got there.

  It looked spectacular. The pool was as blue as the sky, it truly was an oasis in the skyline, it felt as if you were floating on a very low cloud.

  How could he bear to leave?

  She just stared up and closed her eyes and felt the warm sun and breeze on her skin and she truly didn’t know if she was respecting Demyan’s superstitions or secretly hoping that a guitar and a few wrappers would put off prospective clients, because if it sold tomorrow, it was over. Demyan wouldn’t be staying to oversee the selling of the farm, that was loose change to him.

  As was she.

  ‘Alina?’

  She turned around to Libby’s voice.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  It wasn’t, though.

  As she and Libby wandered through the penthouse for the final time before inspection tomorrow, Alina found herself alone in the master bedroom, staring at her work on his wall and lost in its beauty.

  It had nothing to do with ego. Alina could scarcely believe at times that the work she produced came from her.

  Her gift made her believe in magic.

  And even though she had nothing with which to compare, magic had happened beneath the willow tree, she was sure.

  * * *

  Alina locked up the penthouse and, instead of heading for home as instructed by Demyan, headed back to the hotel.

  He barely acknowledged her when she arrived back.

  ‘Demyan, I was...’

  He didn’t let her finish. ‘I thought I said you were to go straight home.’ Only then did he look up. ‘I could have been entertaining.’

  ‘About that,’ Alina said, but again he broke in.

  ‘I don’t need you for anything.’ Demyan said. He knew himself well enough to know he was lying. He had never needed escape more than he needed it now, but he would not inflict himself on Alina. Nadia had texted again to remind him how things stood. This time next week Roman would be on a plane, this time tomorrow his home may well have been sold, and he needed Alina tonight but would do whatever it took to resist.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow after the inspection.’

  ‘Get Libby to call me.’

  She could almost hear the slam of each door as he blocked contact.

  ‘Go,’ Demyan said. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be paid till five.’

  It was Alina and not Demyan who nearly swore but she held it in. ‘Demyan, can we talk—?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why do women always want to talk, when really there is nothing to discuss?’

  ‘I get that but the other day...’ She swallowed and then forced herself to say it. ‘If you do plan on entertaining this weekend, well, know that if you do, there will be no repeats of the other day. I—’

  ‘I have no intention of repeating it,’ Demyan interrupted. ‘Go find yourself a nice boy to make love with,’ he said, his skin crawling at the thought but better that than let her into his darkness. ‘One who will whisper sweet nothings and take his time...’

  ‘What if that’s not what I want?’

  ‘Alina...’ He was having great trouble keeping his breathing even. ‘You don’t seem to understand that I was nice because it was your first time.’ He watched her cheeks turn to fire but Alina stood her ground.

  ‘So you didn’t enjoy it? It was all for my benefit?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’

  ‘Gosh, Demyan, I never knew you were so into charity.’ She gave him a wide eyed, incredulous smile that wasn’t returned. ‘Well, thanks for the donation. I didn’t realise all the suffering you had to go through...’ Her smile turned to a frown. ‘What do you mean by “nice”?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Try me,’ Alina said. ‘Maybe I want what you want.’

  ‘Then stop talking and get on your knees.’ Demyan said.

  He watched as her lips pressed together and saw the tears glitter in her eyes but they were angry ones.

  ‘It really is that straightforward to me,’ Demyan said. ‘It is you who makes things complicated.’

  ‘I don’t believe you...’

  ‘Still talking, Alina?’ His hand reached for hers, guiding it to his zipper, but she pulled it away. ‘You should be on your knees by now.’

  ‘Screw you.’ She turned for the door. ‘Because it won’t be the other way round.’

  She wouldn’t be back on Monday. Demyan knew that and he groaned in relief when she walked out.

  He went for his phone and punched in Roman’s number, fighting to stay calm as he was sent straight to voice mail again.

  ‘Roman.’ Demyan was sick of hearing his son’s voicemail message. ‘I am not sure why we’re not talking but I am here if you change your mind. Call me any time.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Please.’

  It was, Demyan knew, time to call in the big guns.

  ‘Mikael.’ Demyan spoke to another voice mail. ‘Call me.’

  He sat, fingers drumming, drinking cognac, waiting for the bastard to call. Demyan and Mikael went way back but, despite that, Demyan had navigated his divorce without calling on his friend. He did not need to be told his rights with his son, or how little he could get away with paying.

  ‘What took you so long?’ Mikael called Demyan straight back. He had heard the word on the streets and had long been expecting Demy
an to ring. Mikael had arguably fewer scruples than Demyan and was known for going for the jugular.

  ‘Can we meet?

  They met in a bar, but the Thank-God-It’s-Friday crowd was gathering and Demyan asked to use the empty restaurant upstairs.

  ‘What does Roman want to do?’ Mikael asked, when Demyan told him that the rumours were true and Nadia and Roman would soon be moving to Russia.

  ‘I don’t know what he wants.’ Demyan said. ‘We are not talking and I don’t know why.’

  ‘He’s fourteen,’ Mikael pointed out, ‘that’s a good enough reason perhaps?’

  ‘No.’ Demyan shook his head. His relationship with his son had always been good till now. ‘It is since Nadia announced she was marrying and decided to move back to Russia.’

  ‘So why are you letting her?’ Mikael asked the question that everyone wanted to. ‘Why are you not fighting her?’

  ‘She says Roman might not be mine.’

  ‘Do you want to find out?’

  Demyan shook his head.

  ‘Then tell me from the beginning,’ Mikael said.

  ‘You don’t need to know all that.’

  ‘You want my advice?’ Mikael checked, and Demyan gave a reluctant nod. ‘Did you use protection?’

  ‘Always,’ Demyan said, then flinched a bit as he remembered what had happened with Alina. ‘Always, back then.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Perhaps I did not use it wisely,’ Demyan admitted. He could barely remember that night with Nadia but there had been a torn condom and he might have gone in for a brief second before resheathing, he really han’t been able to remember details afterwards.

  ‘Now she says...’

  ‘I don’t care about now,’ Mikael said. ‘I want to know about then.’

  Demyan did not want to think about then, about how then he had still thought in Russian, how his head had ached from a day speaking in English. How Nadia may well have used that weakness. ‘It was nice to speak in Russian, easy to end up in bed. By morning I was over her.’ Demyan took a belt of his drink. ‘A few weeks later she told me she was pregnant. I was a lot younger back then, I knew I had slept with her. I dealt with the consequence and we married.’

  ‘You never doubted her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Two years later, you divorced. Why?’

  ‘Because.’

  It was impossibly hard for him to dissect it, to sit with Mikael when deep down he knew that there was nothing he could do to help.

  He was desperate, that was all.

  ‘We divorced because the man with a promising future wasn’t delivering quickly enough.’

  ‘And...’

  Demyan paused. Mikael was only the second person to ask him such direct questions. Alina was the other but he simply wasn’t ready to answer, even to himself.

  ‘Soon after the divorce I started to do well,’ Demyan said. ‘Then I started to do very well and Nadia wanted us to get back together. She still does. I have always said no.’

  ‘Always?’ Mikael checked. ‘I need the truth.’

  ‘Always,’ Demyan said. ‘When I am done with someone I don’t change my mind.’

  ‘How much do you pay her?’

  ‘What is right,’ Demyan said. ‘I don’t want to go into figures.’

  But Mikael did. ‘Nadia has never worked a day in her life, she comes from the streets like us, so where is she getting the money to live as she does?’

  ‘Me,’ Demyan admitted. ‘I had a single mother, I did not want my son...’ He faltered. ‘She has raised him well.’

  ‘On your money.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, prior to her bombshell, what was supposed to happen when Demyan turns eighteen?’ Mikael asked, and Demyan shrugged. He didn’t like this conversation, didn’t like where it was leading. He didn’t like a mind that was as dark as his voicing his thoughts.

  ‘The money to Nadia will stop then.’

  ‘It has stopped now?’ Mikael checked, and Demyan swallowed. The afternoon sun streaming through the windows was too hot, the noises from the bar below were too loud, though but not loud enough to drown Mikael’s words. ‘You’re not still paying her?’ Mikael had the guts to smile into the black face of Demyan. ‘She tells you that Roman is not your son and you still write a cheque.’

  Mikael had a solution, or the start of one. ‘I will have her served on Monday, letting her know that if she takes him to Russia, then every cent you have paid her over the years you are claiming back, every dollar you spent raising her bastard...’

  Mikael didn’t get to finish. Demyan’s fist was in his face, and Mikael just laughed and hit him back.

  ‘Fool, Zukov, she treats you like a fool and you let her.’

  It wasn’t pretty. Demyan went ballistic. Mikael didn’t mind in the least; it had been way too long since he’d had a good fight.

  ‘Like the old days, but with tasers,’ Mikael said, as the police did what they had to do to subdue Demyan. No, Mikael told them. He would not be giving a statement or laying charges and neither would the restaurant, given the cheque Mikael was writing.

  As the police took a cuffed Demyan away to cool his heels in the cells, Mikael had the last word. ‘Don’t waste my time, Demyan, until you’re really ready to fight her. Then you can call me.’

  * * *

  Alina was just getting in from work when her phone rang.

  ‘Senior Constable Edmunds, from Kings Cross Police...’

  Alina rolled her eyes when she heard that Demyan had been in a fight. ‘You have a set of keys apparently. He’s lost his.’

  Alina was tempted to tell the senior constable that Demyan was no longer her problem but hearing the music coming from her house she told herself that was the reason she was heading back into the city.

  She surely couldn’t want him after the awful things he had said?

  Surely.

  ‘You don’t look pleased to see me,’ Demyan said, as he took his belt and tie from a bored officer, pocketed them and then signed his release forms, as Alina sat there, legs crossed, tapping her foot in the air. Did he have to look so amazing? There was a bruise to his eye and his knuckles were grazed and his suit was torn, and even from this distance she could feel his unpredictable mood.

  She glanced around the police station as she stood. ‘It’s not exactly my idea of a fun night.’

  ‘I show you the world.’ Demyan shrugged as they headed out to her car.

  ‘I rather prefer my world.’

  ‘Ah,’ Demyan corrected, as they drove from the station, ‘but from what you say, you don’t.’

  Alina indicated left to head for the hotel. She knew he was referring to their earlier conversation at the hotel but she refused to jump at the bait.

  ‘Home,’ Demyan said, and reached over and flicked the indicator to turn right as Alina gripped the wheel. ‘I am sorry to call you out this late...’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Alina turned briefly and looked at him.

  She was right, he wasn’t sorry at all, for were she not here, God knew where he might be now. Demyan’s world was out of control, just tipped off its axis, and he wanted it back in place.

  He was on the edge of emotion and it was a place he avoided at all costs, a place he chose not to visit. Yet tonight he could not escape.

  ‘I had a fight with—’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Alina broke in, telling herself that she just wanted him out of her car, just wanted her boss delivered home, and after the inspection tomorrow she would have no dealings with him ever again, but Demyan continued speaking.

  ‘I had a fight with Mikael,’ Demyan said. ‘My lawyer.’

  ‘Oh, very wise,’ Alina snapped, as Demyan answered his phone. />
  ‘Mikael...’ He chatted for a few minutes and Alina simply didn’t understand. Yes, they were speaking in Russian, but what she didn’t understand was that the conversation sounded amicable. ‘He has called to see how I am.’

  Alina shrugged.

  ‘What I said back at the hotel—’

  ‘Was crude.’

  ‘But necessary,’ Demyan said. ‘You deserve someone less...’ He paused. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his hand circling but it wasn’t shyness now that kept her from jumping in, there was no one word to describe him.

  ‘You might not understand but I was trying to look out for you then. I don’t do tender, I don’t—’

  ‘You did,’ Alina choked. ‘When we were at the farm...’

  His head felt as if it was splitting, his body ached from the taser, his heart was screaming for his son, and there was nothing left but his billions.

  They approached the building and she turned off the engine and removed his keys.

  ‘Come up,’ Demyan said, because he could not stand to be in there yet he could not bear not to be.

  ‘No, thank you’

  ‘You have to come up, I can’t remember the security number.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Come up,’ Demyan said again.

  ‘Why?’ Alina challenged. ‘I might want to do something unspeakable, like talk, I might want—’ She never got to finish. Demyan’s voice broke in and told her the truth.

  ‘You know why.’

  She did, it was there at her base and there was this ripple of delicious fear as she stepped out of the car that she was about to see the real Demyan, the other real Demyan that she so badly wanted to know.

  ‘Demyan—’

  ‘I have no wish to speak.’

  ‘Then why did you call me?’

  He chose not to answer that. Instead, he gestured with his hand as the elevator door opened. ‘After you.’

  ‘I’m quite sure the doorman would have let you in,’ she said to his closed expression, watching as a muscle pounded in his bruised cheek, but she refused to reduce what was between them to nothing. ‘Or you could just have gone back to the hotel. If it was meaningless, nameless sex you wanted, why did you bother to call me?’