by Jasmin Quinn
She was worn-out, she needed a rest.
The flight had been long, several hours in Toronto waiting while weather settled. It was Thursday now and the meeting with the Turks would be on Monday. Not at Yuri’s estate, but in a warehouse in an industrial area of Moscow. Three nights before things got underway, then one, maybe two days of meetings. After, Anto would go home to Marisol and Rusya would stay here for Christmas. And she? She should go with Anto, she thought. It would be better that way.
Rusya had invited her to stay, but that was before their relationship became… whatever it was. She wasn’t sure she could manage holidays at the Savisin’s without taking a drink. Christmas with Rusya and his family. She’d never had a Christmas before. She would tell him that, be honest. Let him know that she wasn’t ready to handle the domestic bliss of his family. Surely, he would understand. It would give Anto and her some alone time too, though she’d keep that to herself – she didn’t think Rusya would appreciate her wanting to spend time with Anto.
Like the devil read her mind, Anto stood, stretched his large body as he walked to the bar, then brought the wine and vodka over, replenishing drinks. He exchanged the alcohol for a bottle of Perrier and topped up Esma’s glass.
“What’s the plan for the weekend?” Olga asked as he did this.
All eyes turned to Olga. Anto grinned. “I’m not hanging around much. Gonna meet up with a few old friends, do some shopping. Gotta get a Christmas present for my wife.” And his face softened as he referred to Marisol. Esma was transfixed at how much he gentled, how his love for Marisol shone loud and clear in his smile. She glanced away quickly, looked down at her glass as she took a small breath. Then to Rusya who had been watching her.
“And you, Esma?”
She dropped her eyes from his face. It was apparent that Olga and Yuri wanted alone time with Rusya, but she didn’t have friends to connect with in Moscow and she didn’t have shopping to do for Christmas. “I have some work to do before Monday. Put some finishing touches on translations so I thought I would do that, if you don’t mind. I can set up a work area in my room so I’m not in the way.”
Olga tutted, the consummate hostess. “You won’t be in the way. But you must need quiet to concentrate, so we’ll make your room comfortable to work in.”
Rusya said, “We should go out, Esma. See Moscow a little. I’ll take you shopping.”
Esma smiled. To Olga, she said, “Thank you,” and to Rusya, she said, “When you have time, that would be nice.” He was trying and she was happy at his gesture.
The conversation carried on until dinner, through dinner and then after dinner. During dinner, she was seated next to Anto and across from Rusya. She kept her eyes down for most of the meal, not wanting Rusya to catch her looking at him. After dinner, when they were settled back in the living room with more drinks and cups of tea for Esma and Olga, Rusya asked after his aunt Raisa, Yuri’s sister. The conversation got a little stilted.
“She’s not too well.” Yuri told him. “In the head. Depression, but worse because she won’t stay on her medication. When she’s not on the drugs, she barely talks at all. We can’t get her to respond to us. I’ve had her committed to a mental hospital, and she hates me for it, but it’s the only way to keep her compliant.”
Esma watched as Rusya’s eyes took on a haunted look. “I should go see her.”
Olga shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t, Rusya. It’ll make no difference. Maybe make things worse.”
They moved on to other topics and at 9pm, after her third cup of tea, Esma decided that it was a good time to say good night. “Thank you, Olga and Yuri, for your warm welcome and the lovely meal. But I’ve eaten too much and not slept for a day. I’ll fall asleep in front of this warm fireplace if I don’t go to bed.”
Rusya stood with her and offered to help her find her room, but Olga intervened. “I’ll take her, Rusya. You men have your drinks.”
Olga led the way up the sweeping staircase and down a hall. She opened a door and ushered Esma in. Nice guest room, feminine, a large inviting bed with a warm duvet tucked around it. Her suitcase and briefcase were set in the centre of the floor.
“Will this do for a workspace?” Olga asked, pointing to a small table under one of the windows. A chair was tucked under it and a couple of soft armchairs flanked the tall dresser next to it.
It would work very well. Space to spread out on, soft armchairs to curl up in. “Yes. Perfect. Thank you.”
Olga nodded and Esma caught another flash of Rusya in the set to her mouth. It made her heart ache. “Join us for breakfast at 8 in the dining room if you’re awake. If not, then when you get up, I’ll have the cook whip something up for you.”
“Thank you,” Esma murmured. Olga wished her good night and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Relief settled throughout Esma’s body as she took in her surroundings. The room was well heated, there was a small closet and a full ensuite. She unpacked, hung her clothes and folded her lingerie into drawers. Then she stripped, stepped into the shower and let the hot soothing water wash over her.
Rusya.
She tried to wish him to her, but when he didn’t materialize she tried to wash the thoughts of him out of her. She wanted her mind to stop straying to him, thinking of him before and after every other thought she had. She wanted to stop craving him.
After she showered, she put on warm pyjamas and crawled between the sheets. Not sexy, but practical and she didn’t think Rusya would come to her anyway. She was right, she woke up alone.
Chapter 22
It was almost midnight and Rusya rested his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, a glass of vodka in his hand, propped up on his thigh. He’d had too much to drink tonight. Hated the feeling of light-headedness, the blurriness. Hated being drunk. Esma had gone to bed early and he felt guilt. He hated feeling guilt too. There had been no opportunity to make her feel comfortable. She was outside the group and as long as he didn’t acknowledge what she was to him, she would continue to be an outsider.
His mother had also retired and Anto finally drifted off to bed. That left him and his father.
Yuri topped up their glasses with the bottle of vodka. He put it down on the coffee table and as he sat down in the chair next to the couch, he said, “The Turk, she’s a beauty, hey?”
Rusya opened his eyes, lifted his head and glanced at his father. He knew where this was headed and he should have warned Esma. Yuri was a prick. Good family man in some ways but always stepping out on his mother. It was his way, it was many men’s way. He was still out there, pretending he was 30. It disgusted Rusya and he hated how his mother accepted it, never challenging Yuri, never demanding his faithfulness. Yuri flaunted it, not reticent about taking women out on a date where others could see. Never apologetic, not to Olga, not to his son.
Rusya was a lot like his father in some ways, but not this way. He never cheated on Irina. Maybe because he saw how much damage was caused in a family, how much hurt it caused a woman. Maybe because he thought one fuck was as good as the other. Or used to think that. Now he knew different. His father and Esma, no. “Leave her alone.” Rusya took a sip of his vodka, clearly aware of the warning his voice held.
Yuri laughed. “It’s that way, is it, Rusya? Are you fucking the help?”
Rusya’s anger sparked at Yuri’s disrespect but he kept it inside. It was hypocritical, it’s what he thought about Esma in the beginning too. But not now. She mattered to him and after they were done in Russia, he was going to sort it out with her. Find a way to keep her, make her want to stay. “Maybe,” he said.
Yuri grunted, tossed back the last of his vodka and staggered to his feet. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, son. A woman like that.” He lurched a few steps. “Better get to bed before I fall over. You too, Rusya. Go to your pretty little package.”
Rusya sighed as he took another sip of his vodka, then slammed the rest. He dropped the empty glass on the table
and stood. He wasn’t going to go to his pretty little package. Not tonight. Not while he was drunk and tired. He had that much grace at least.
The next morning was better. Rusya could see that Esma was more sorted by the warm smile she gifted him with when she saw him. “Sleep well?” He deliberately sat next to her at the breakfast table. As the server poured coffee in their cups, he studied her, watched with affection as she went through her ritual, adding a little cream to the brew, stirring with her spoon, then lifting it to her nose and inhaling.
She grinned when she caught him looking, bright, beautiful, her brown eyes sparkling. She was pure mischief when she smiled like that. “I did. I fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow and didn’t wake up until about an hour ago.” She took a sip of the coffee, held it in her mouth and swallowed it down. He followed the bob of her throat, felt the heat inflame his cock. As she set the cup down, she turned to him. “How’d you sleep?”
He smiled a little. “I drank too much last night. I have a headache this morning. I hate being hungover.”
“I’ve yet to meet anyone who likes it,” she said lightly.
“Maybe I should amend that. I hate being drunk.” His arm stretched along the back of her chair, resting on the top and he grazed her shoulder with his fingers. Small strokes, a subtle intimacy, but he saw her respond. A little shiver, a small smirk as she took another drink of coffee. A shy glance under her long eyelashes. He wished they were in a hotel, not here, not at his home in Vancouver. Somewhere that would force them together, where they could let go of everything. After Christmas, he thought.
His parents entered, talking softly, a little argument, not realizing they weren’t alone and then seeing Rusya and Esma and separating. Taking seats at opposite ends of the table. Drinking their coffee and Yuri asking after Esma in Russian.
Olga was watching Esma closely and Rusya knew what she was looking for. Olga thought Yuri would take Esma to bed, maybe had done so last night. Rusya tugged his arm around Esma’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. All looked surprised, even Esma. He too, actually. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection. He grinned at it all and gave Esma a small loving shake. “Tomorrow, I’m going to take you shopping and buy you something beautiful.” Esma pursed her lips as she flushed. Maybe she wasn’t big on flirting in front of others either. But his mother looked relieved and his father nodded his understanding. It was done. They all knew now what he was about.
Chapter 23
Esma was on top of the world as she entered her bedroom and pulled out her laptop. It annoyed her that she was so giddy. That Rusya’s simple show of affection in front of his parents made her so happy. So un-fucking-believably happy. It washed away everything else that had happened between them. It made her forget about her big, bad, damaging secret. It made her fall in love, think about the future, imagine them married.
She rode the high through the morning and into the afternoon.
She was sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs, which she had pulled next to the small table so she had easy access to her work when Rusya knocked on her door, rapping like she did, then turning the handle and walking in. She looked up at him and flashed a smile. Big, wide, toothy. She knew she was grinning like an idiot. He gave her a small smile of his own as he pulled the other armchair over to the table next to hers and sat in it.
“Lunch is being served and you probably need some coffee or water.”
Lunch didn’t appeal. Too much for breakfast, she thought. “I’ve been sitting all morning, haven’t worked out for three… no… four days, I think. My appetite’s going downhill.”
“There’s a gym here. If you want to use it, I’ll show you.”
Esma did want to use it. “Maybe.” She put the laptop on the table and leaned towards him, her eyes on his handsome face as she grinned. “Will you work out with me?”
Rusya hesitated. “I should have warned you about my father. He was looking at you last night and this morning like you were his next meal. Mom knew what he was thinking.”
Esma crashed. “Oh. Got it.” And she did. “The show of affection? The pretty present? That was for your parents benefit, so your dad wouldn’t molest me?”
Regret creased Rusya’s face. “Yours too. You needed to be warned.”
She slumped back in her chair. “Well, consider me warned.”
It was Rusya’s turn to twist in his chair and lean in towards her. He pinned her with his dark serious eyes. “I’m not a good man. Not that good of a man that I would overlook my father’s indiscretions if they involved you.”
“That’s noble. Just me or all the other women he’s screwed around with? I can’t imagine Olga is pleased with his cheating.”
Rusya tilted his head to the side as his eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about my mother, this is about you… and me. I would kill him if he touched you.”
His darkness stole through her and she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at her hands. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It’s simple. You and I… we… have some things to sort out. That’s irrelevant. What matters is that you belong to me.”
Esma tried to understand what he was saying. Jealous, possessive? It was her turn to narrow her eyes and cock her head. She brought her gaze back to his as she groped for some words to say.
He didn’t wait. “I want to be clear, so you understand. You’re mine, Esma. Any man touches you, I’ll break them in two.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Was all Esma could think to say. She was his? What the fuck?
Rusya reached out with his hand, grasped her chin, brought his mouth to hers and kissed her hard. Then he let go and stood. “Stop swearing and come for lunch. My parents are expecting you.”
Esma trailed behind Rusya as he led the way downstairs, but now she wished to hell they’d never talked. What the fuck was wrong with him? First, he hugs her and tells her he’s taking her shopping, making her the happiest woman in the world, then he ruins it by telling her it was a show for his parents, because dad’s a perv and mom’s jealous. Then he goes all primal on her.
And now? Now she was in the dining room again, sitting in front of a bowl of steaming chicken soup, hyper-aware that Rusya’s dad was lusting after her and his mother knew it. Rusya sat across from her this time, since Anto was already off doing whatever Anto did. She was glad for the space. She didn’t want him near her. Not right now.
As she stuffed the soup and a half sandwich down into her still-full breakfast belly, her discomfort grew. This fucking family, no one knew how to carry a normal conversation and she didn’t know what to say. Dad to the left of her, mother to the right, and here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
Olga finally broke the lingering silence. “Tell us about yourself, Esma. I’m guessing you’re from Turkey.”
Esma nodded as she tucked a little crust of bread inside her mouth and chewed.
“How did you come to be a translator? Or is it interpreter?”
She put her spoon down, glanced over at Rusya who met her eyes as he took a sip of water. “It’s both, depending on the task. I studied in Istanbul.”
“She’s a PhD,” Rusya interjected, his bent elbow on the table, his chin resting on his closed fist. “But she’s modest about it.”
Esma narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded. “Yes. A linguist.” She hated talking about her various degrees not because she was modest but because her studies were what kept her sane during her marriage. They were her excuse to stay away for long hours, her excuse not to come to bed.
Olga seemed impressed. “You seem young to hold that many degrees.”
“I’m 28, 29 in a few months. Entered the program when I was 17 and finished when I was 24. I can be driven when I set my mind to it.”
“So how many languages do you speak?”
Esma didn’t want to say, but also did. Unlike her degrees, her accomplishment in language acquisition was a source of pride. “Turkish obviously, En
glish is my next best, then Spanish and Russian. And most of the Balto-Slavic languages related to Russian like Polish, Czech, Bulgarian, Ukrainian, but I wouldn’t say I was fluent. Even Russian can be a challenge, especially spoken. I know I mess up pronunciations and my brain gets taxed when I’m listening too long.”
“We could switch to English,” Olga said. “It would give me a chance to practice.”
Esma smiled and gave a small shake of her head. “I’m quite content to speak Russian. A chance for me to practice, which I need because I get rusty. Rusya indulges me at home, mostly speaking English.”
Yuri looked to Rusya, the lines on his face creasing sternly. “English at your home?”
Rusya cocked his head at his father, annoyed with him. “Most of the household staff is English. I speak both as it’s needed.”
After lunch, Rusya walked Esma back to her room. He didn’t come inside with her, but stopped her at the door, wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her to him, looking down at her. “I’m a bull in a china shop. You’re the only one that makes me that way. Always saying the wrong thing to you, hurting your feelings.”
Esma brought her hand to his cheek, caressed it. “You’re doing okay right now.”
He kissed her forehead. “I liked the way you said home earlier. Our home. I like that, Esma.” He brought his hands to her face, cupped her cheeks and kissed her lips softly, then let her go and stepped back. Smiling warmly, he turned and left.
All the fucking highs and lows. It was going to do her in.
Chapter 24
On Monday, as the meetings started, Esma quickly learned her place. Enroute, Rusya explained that she should address all the Russian men, including himself, Anto and Yuri formally, meaning both their formal given name and their patronymic, no use of diminutives. Yuri Konstantinovich, a mouthful, Ruslan Yur’yevich, son of Yuri, and Anatoly Tarasovich. There were two other Russian men, associates of Yuri’s and three Turks. All in a room together, she the only one not armed. Her sense of vulnerability was heightened by this knowledge and she wished she at least had a knife.