by Daiko, SC
Coldness seeped through my body as I left the basement. I switched my mind to other thoughts. I’d grab a glass of Vodka in my office to take away the foul taste in my mouth. Then I’d head home to see how my daughter and her new nanny were faring.
From a distance, of course.
* * *
Later that day, I stood by the window in my upstairs study, staring down at Emma and Mary Poppins. My daughter was frolicking with a giant inflatable unicorn, squealing with laughter as she fell off the pool float and climbed back on again.
My sorry heart melted.
So young and free of care.
I’d do everything I could to keep it that way. She’d never find out the full truth about what had happened to her mother.
Why I’d divorced Nina.
Why my ex-wife had relinquished all rights to her child.
Emma had only been five at the time. She’d given up asking about Nina several years ago, and I was glad of that.
My daughter.
The light of my life, but I couldn’t let anyone know.
They’d use her against me.
Mary Poppins must have felt my eyes on her. She looked up and waved. I turned away from the window, shaking my head to free myself of the vision of her bikini-clad curves. An image came into my mind of her wrapped around a pole in one of my clubs.
She’d have the customers fisting their cocks.
I shook my head again, my gaze landing on the Stradivarius cello perched on its stand in the corner of the room. Worth a cool six million dollars, and second only to Emma in my affections.
I picked up the instrument and placed it between my knees as I sat tall in my chair. Leaning it back against my chest, I reached for my bow. Soon I started to lose myself in Beethoven. The music soothed me, took me away from the ever-present darkness. For years, playing the cello had been a panacea to my wounds, albeit only momentary. My breathing relaxed and the tenseness in my muscles eased.
A sudden shrill sound reverberated from my desk.
Damn phone.
With a groan I put down the bow and went to attend to business.
Chapter Three
Zoe
“Emma,” I pulled back her comforter. “Time to get up. Remember you wanted to make pancakes for breakfast…”
“Maybe Papa would like some,” she yawned sleepily.
A vain hope; I’d been here nearly a week and Taras had barely acknowledged his daughter. A brief goodnight before she went to bed, and that was all.
“Sure,” I encouraged. “Meet you in the kitchen after we’ve both had our showers.”
Emma and I had followed a strict schedule since I’d arrived. Every morning a tutor, Mr. Salko, would arrive to home school her. The poor kid didn’t even get a summer vacation. While she was studying, I washed and tidied her clothes before joining them in the library at the front of the house.
Mr. Salko, a retired teacher, always included me in the final part of the lesson, making sure I was aware of the homework Emma needed to complete by the following day. We spent the afternoons doing said homework and then another teacher, Mrs. Gorelov, would pitch up for Emma’s ballet class.
Today I stood under the warm jets of water, thinking about Taras and the cold relationship he had with his daughter. I’d found a photo of his ex-wife tucked in Emma’s underwear drawer yesterday. Nina was a beautiful redhead, fragile-looking. I still hadn’t discovered the reason why she had no access to her daughter, nor what had happened to cause the divorce. My days had been full-on, and it hadn’t been appropriate to ask Mrs. Konin in front of Emma. I’d do so as soon as I could, though. I wasn’t just curious; it would help me understand the child better if I knew more about her circumstances.
Quickly, I dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. No tutors today, as it was Saturday. Mrs. Konin’s niece, Sasha, would be visiting this afternoon and staying for a sleepover. She was Emma’s age, apparently, and the girls were besties. Tomorrow would be my day off, and I couldn’t wait to do some sightseeing in New York.
Would my boss spend more time with his daughter when I wasn’t there?
I fixed my hair in a bun, then made my way downstairs and along the corridor. Taras’ bedroom door hung open, suggesting he was already up.
My heart thudded, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped forward. Oh, my God. He stood with his back to me, dressed only in boxers. Muscular didn’t even begin to describe him. His neck was sinewy, his corded back rippling, and his rounded butt bulged under his briefs. My pulse jumped in my throat; he was freaking spectacular.
Spectacular, but scary at the same time.
“Like what you see?” he spun around.
His rich, melodic voice sent tingles through me. I tore my gaze away from him and my cheeks flamed. “I was just going to make pancakes for breakfast with Emma. She wondered if you’d like to join us…”
He stepped forward, and I inched backward.
“I don’t eat pancakes,” he grunted.
It took me a second to process his words. I glanced at him. “You don’t need to eat them. Just spend some time with Emma.”
He laughed. “No one tells me what to do. Least of all my daughter’s nanny.” His green eyes narrowed. “Run along, Mary Poppins.”
“My name is Zoe,” I reminded him, “and I only have Emma’s best interests at heart.”
He edged closer, and the scent of his citrus cologne invaded my senses. His eyes ran down my body, lingering on the outline of my breasts. “Stay away from me, Zoe. Or else.”
“Or else what?” I risked the question.
“This…” He shot out a hand.
The movement caught me off guard and I let out a gasp.
He pounced like a panther and slammed me against him.
Jesus, how dare he…
Before I could do anything, his mouth crashed down.
I froze in shock. Then I pushed my hands against his rock-hard pecs and struggled to escape his grip. It was like trying to hold back the tide. He started to devour me, and my traitorous body began to react. All thought vanished in an instant. Shamelessly, I parted my lips and gave him access to my tongue. My blood ran fast and my heart beat even faster as I felt his hard-on pressing into my belly.
Without warning, he tore his mouth away and glowered at me, shaking his head, his eyes dark with lust.
I came to my senses. “What you just did was inappropriate.” I took a step backward. “I’m your employee…”
“Sue me,” he mocked. “You responded to me the moment my lips touched yours.”
“I did not,” I blew out an indignant breath.
“I bet if I touched you, I’d find you are wet.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “In any case, it’s immaterial. This won’t happen again.”
“Good.” I wiped a hand across my lips.
“It was you who challenged me, remember. I warned you to stay away.” The harshness in his tone had softened momentarily and his flinty eyes lost their coldness for an instant. “Both you and Emma are what I call innocents. I won’t taint you.”
“You are her father. She needs you…” I pleaded.
“Enough,” he held up his hands, his voice gruff. “Go to her and stop interfering.”
I opened my mouth to repeat my request for him to join us, but he’d turned away and had started getting dressed. “You can be sure I won’t touch you again. Shut the door as you leave the room, Zoe.”
His tone brooked no argument, and I did as he’d asked.
At least he’d remembered my name.
* * *
Late in the afternoon I sat by the pool catching the rays, keeping an eye on Emma and Sasha. I blushed, unable to rid my thoughts of Taras and what had happened between us. I was ashamed of the way I’d lost control. I’d behaved out of character, almost like a stranger to myself.
My ex Harry and I broke up last Christmas, long story, and he used to say it was like watching paint dry I took so long to become aroused. I’d always t
hought I’d been the problem, but now I wasn’t so sure. Taras had drawn me to him like a moth to a flame.
Dammit, why was I thinking these thoughts? I brushed my fingers over my mouth, remembering the feel of his sensuous lips against mine, his demanding tongue, his erection pressing into me. He’d made me feel like I was on fire. I squeezed my thighs together to ease the throbbing in my clit.
I took a deep, pained breath and closed my eyes. I shouldn’t find him sexually attractive; he was dangerous and despicable. Instead, I should be relieved he’d promised it would never happen again.
The sounds of splashing broke into my reverie. Emma and Sasha were pushing each other on and off the unicorn float, laughing and behaving like the kids that they were. I loved seeing Emma in child mode. She’d acted like a mini-adult most of the week and I’d discerned an underlying current of sadness beneath her pseudo-sophisticated exterior. I’d watched her ballet classes, she was a talented ballerina, dancing with such feeling she’d tugged at my heartstrings.
Take care, Zoe. Don’t’ allow yourself to become too attached.
This was my second job since graduating. There would be many others, a long line of children stretching into the future. I’d had nannies myself when I was little. My siblings and I had loved them, and they’d loved us, but we all knew it wasn’t permanent. My parents couldn’t afford to pay them massive salaries and even the most dedicated moved on to bigger and better positions after a while.
This job in Fairwood would come to an end. Not because of the money, far from it, but because of visa restrictions. I would do my best for Emma in the interim. She needed Taras in her life and I’d do everything I could to bring them together. At the same time, I’d make sure I kept my distance. Although he’d given his word that he wouldn’t touch me again, I didn’t trust myself around him.
“Zoe, you gonna come in for a swim?” Emma yelled from the deep end of the pool. “We wanna race you for five lengths.”
“Coming,” I called out. I swung my legs from the sun-lounger and took off my shades. Movement in the upstairs window at the periphery of my vision made me gaze upwards, but there was nothing to be seen. I scrunched my forehead. That room belonged to Taras. Had he been watching us? And, if so, why?
* * *
After dinner, the girls went to enjoy a teen movie in the home theater. I stayed in the kitchen with Mrs. Konin, helping her load the dishwasher.
“Thanks, lapochka,” she said as I handed her the last plate. “Time for a cup of tea.”
Russians seemed to drink even more tea than the British I’d learned this past week. Mrs. Konin drank it black with a teaspoon of jam on the side.
We sat at the oak table, sipping our drinks. “Can I ask you something?” I twisted the mug in my hands.
“Of course,” she smiled warmly.
“What happened to cause the Melekhovs’ divorce?”
Mrs. Konin glanced away from me, sighing. “Nina wasn’t cut out to be a boss’s wife. That’s all I’ll say on the matter, Zoe. It’s none of your business.”
I straightened my spine. “You’re wrong. My business is his daughter, and I need to know for her sake.”
Mrs. Konin shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a gossip.”
“I think Emma misses her mom,” I carried on regardless. “And her dad practically ignores her. It will have adverse effects on her development. She might be scarred for life.”
“Aren’t you being a little overdramatic?” Mrs. Konin laughed. “Emma has everything she could possibly want.”
“She doesn’t, you know. Material things, yes.” I pinched my lips together. “But a loving relationship with her parents is what she needs most of all. Doesn’t matter if they’re divorced. They need to show her that she’s loved.”
“I think you should stick to doing your job, my dear.” Mrs. Konin’s voice had turned chilly. “Focus on Emma. After all, that’s what Mr. Melekhov is paying you to do. He’d be angry if he knew you were prying.”
I froze. Was that a warning? Would Mrs. Konin tell Taras? I gulped down the rest of my tea. “Okay,” I said. “Point taken.” I pushed back my chair. “I’ll go check on the girls then take them up to bed.”
Later, after I’d closed Emma’s bedroom door to the sound of her giggling with Sasha over something they’d watched in the movie, I sat by the open window and listened to Taras playing his cello.
It was something he did every night. The melody drifting up from below was beautiful, haunting even; he was a talented musician. It seemed he was putting every part of himself into the music, laying his emotions bare.
Such pain, it made my chest squeeze.
He launched into Nessun Dorma, his cello emanating the sounds of a heroic opera tenor. I’d been told I had a good ear for music. Quietly, I sang the words. The princess in her cold room, watching the stars tremble with love and with hope. My mother was quite a well-known singer, but I never bragged about the connection. I supposed I’d inherited from her my ability to hold a tune.
I caught my breath on a sigh. If Mrs. Konin thought I’d given up on bringing Taras and Emma closer together, she had another thing coming. I would do everything I could to achieve my objective. I hadn’t figured out how, but I would.
I will win, I repeated the words in the song.
Sooner or later.
I set my jaw. I will win.
Chapter Four
Zoe
The train ride back to Fairwood from New York’s Penn Station took about an hour. Sitting at the front of the railcar, I spent the journey chatting to my sis via Skype. I sent her pictures of the sights I’d seen from the top of a ‘hop on hop off’ bus and she said she loved them.
“I’d give anything to work in the States for a while,” she sounded wistful.
I leaned forward in my seat. “Maybe you will, one day? I mean, you’re employed by a multinational company… who knows?”
“Yeah,” I heard her sigh down the line. She was in finance, the brainiest of all my siblings. Nerdy, geeky, beautiful in every way. “I might apply for a transfer…”
“The parents won’t like it if we’re both in America,” I snickered, “better wait till I return home.”
“Have you come clean to them yet?”
I was expecting the question and my throat tightened. “Not yet. They still think I’m nannying for Mrs. Konin.”
“They won’t be happy when they find out your boss is Taras Melekhov.” My sister’s tone cut like a knife. “You shouldn’t have lied to them, Zoe.”
“I didn’t lie. Mrs. Konin interviewed me. I just omitted to tell them the full story.” I swallowed hard. “For a good reason.”
“Hmm. I still doubt they’ll consider donating your salary to the roof repair fund a good enough reason,” Olivia said softly.
“Taras is paying me a shitload of money. I just want to help out.” I furrowed my brow and kept my voice steady. “Mum won’t need to tour so much if the new roof is paid for. Our dads are getting on in years... they should be looking forward to retirement, not worrying about the house falling down around their ears.”
“Aldridge is a seventeenth century mansion.” I caught her frown on the screen. “It’ll always need repairs.”
“True, but nothing like this expense.” I shook my head. “Please don’t say anything yet, Livvy,” I called her by her nickname, “I promise I’ll tell them soon. In any case, I’m an adult. There’s nothing they can do…”
“Except worry,” she interjected. “You know what they’re like.”
“Which is why I haven’t said anything yet.” I lifted my chin. “For all intents and purposes Mrs. Konin is my employer. I hardly ever see the Boss.”
“I googled him,” Livvy said brightly, “he’s quite a hunk.”
“Even more so in the flesh.” I lowered my voice. “But so bloody arrogant he’d win an award for it.”
“How about his daughter?”
“Emma’s a lonely princess in a gilded cag
e. I feel sorry for her.”
“Sounds as though you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“You can say that again.” I glanced out the window; we were approaching Fairwood. “Gotta go now, sis. My train is pulling into the station.”
“Take care, babe. Let’s touch base again soon, okay?”
I ended the call with a promise I’d tell our parents everything before the end of the coming week; then I reached for my bag and put my phone away.
Without warning, the skin on the back of my neck prickled.
I swiveled around.
A blond man was sitting at the far end of the railcar.
Dressed in a sharp suit and wearing shades.
I felt his gaze burning into me, making me feel uncomfortable.
With a shiver, I faced the front then turned around again, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I got to my feet and headed toward the doors.
Holding the rail at the top of the steps, I glanced quickly behind me. He must have gone to another railcar. I shook my head, took a deep breath and got off the train. Shouldering my bag, I looked for the exit. I was unable to resist turning around again and checking once more before heading off.
Still no one.
Phew.
I had an overactive imagination; the suit was almost certainly nothing to do with me.
Laughing at my own silliness, I straightened my shoulders. Mrs. Konin had arranged for Oleg to pick me up and take me back to the estate. I was looking forward to getting home and listening to Taras on his cello. My boss was a strange contradiction, I’d already decided. Everything about him appeared cold and distant, and yet he played with heart-wrenching emotion, touching me in ways which confused the hell out of me.
* * *
“Do you, like, have any brothers and sisters?” Emma asked out of the blue the following afternoon. We were in the library, a room at the back of the house lined with books and IT equipment. She’d just finished her homework and was about to get changed into her ballet gear.