by Tia Siren
“What happened in 1982?” I asked.
“Divorced my third or fourth wife,” he said, giving me a wink. “I came in here to celebrate, as a matter of fact.”
“I thought you might have been celebrating my birthday,” I said with a sigh. “I was born in ’82.”
“I know,” he said, nodding with the beer mug at his lips. “I was here the night your mother went into labor right about where you’re standing.”
I frowned at him. “You remember my mother?”
“Course I do,” he said with a wave. “I knew your parents even before they opened this place.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Plus, this old nose can sniff out a bar within fifty miles. I was probably one of the first customers in the door.”
I leaned over the bar and rested my chin on my fist. “So, do you know why my mother left?”
Carl’s weathered face seemed to sag at the question. His forehead wrinkled. His bushy eyebrows twitched above his eyes. “I don’t like to get in anyone’s business, Becca Boo.”
“Bullshit,” I said, giving him a look. “You’re in everybody’s business.” He smiled and rolled his eyes. “Tell me about my mother, Carl. I don’t even remember her.”
He took a long sip of beer and licked his lips. He spoke quietly, reverently. “Your mother was a beautiful girl. She worked her butt off behind the bar while your daddy manned the kitchen. You remind me of her. Blonde hair, green eyes. She also had your sadness.”
I frowned at him. “My sadness? I have a sadness?”
He shrugged. I’d never seen Carl more serious. “Maybe sadness ain’t the right word. She’d get this longing in her eyes sometimes, like she was dreaming of some faraway place.”
“Did she ever talk about leaving?” I asked.
He looked around the room to make sure no one was listening. He shrugged. “She might have said something about leaving, on occasion.” He cradled the beer mug between his bent fingers and glanced up at me. “You’re asking me why she left, ain’t you?”
“Yes, I’d like to know,” I said with a sigh. “Because I have no clue why she left. I’m just wondering if it was because of me.”
“Let me ask you something first,” he said, staring at me from beneath his eyebrows. He tapped a fingertip on the bar. “Why are you still here?”
“I don’t understand the question,” I said, scowling at him.
“It’s a simple question. You’re pretty, you’re smart, you got a good head on your shoulders. What the heck are you still doing here? In Snowcap, behind that bar?”
I thought about the question for a moment. The only answer I could come up with was the one I gave myself every day when the question came to mind.
I said, “This is my home. This was my dad’s bar. I can’t just leave them behind.”
He leaned in and shook his head at me. “Do you really think your daddy meant for you to spend your life behind that bar serving drinks to old coots like me?”
“I don’t know what he expected me to do with my life because he died before I could ask him,” I said, looking down at the floor beneath my feet. “My dad died on this very spot, Carl. I can’t just walk away and pretend that never happened.”
“If your daddy died in a car accident, would you keep the wreckage around to remind you of him?”
“What? No, of course not.”
He shrugged. “Same thing. Staying here just because your daddy died here is not a reason. It’s an excuse.”
“What does that mean?”
He blew out his cheeks, filling the air between us with the smell of onions and beer. “All I’m saying is, your daddy never expected you to keep this place going. And deep down, I think you know that. You’re using this bar – and your daddy’s death – as an excuse not to leave because you’re afraid.”
I caught myself before telling him to go to hell. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then said, “What am I afraid of?”
“You’re afraid of what’s out there,” he said, pointing toward the window. “You left once and came back hurt. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t leave again.” He picked up the mug and sighed into it. “You can’t be afraid of what’s out there, Rebecca. Because it could be a hell of a lot better than what you have here.”
“When did you get so smart?” I asked, smiling at him.
“I’ve always been this smart,” he said with a goofy face. “I just never share my smarts with any…” His face went blank. For a moment, I thought he was having a stroke.
I reached across the bar and put my arm on his hand. “Carl? Carl? What is it?”
“I remember,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ll be damned. I remember why I call you Becca Boo.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Nick
“That’s the real reason why the European union is breaking up,” the guy in the black pinstripe suit sitting at the hotel bar next to me said.
His name was Nigel Folger. He was an elderly British economist who had followed me into the bar to give me his opinion of my speech. I’d downed half a bottle of Russian vodka by the time he reached the end of his rant.
I looked at him sideways and said, “Nigel, you win. Now, can we talk about anything other than the European economy, please?”
“Certainly, my boy.” He held out his glass and I poured him two fingers of vodka. He took a sip and smacked his lips. “What shall we talk about then?”
“How about the weather,” I said with a sigh.
“Fuck the weather,” Nigel said with a grin. “Let’s talk about your love life.”
I froze with the glass at my lips. “What do you know about my love life?”
“Rumor has it that your father is pressuring you to marry an American girl and give him a red, white, and blue heir,” he said with a smirk. “Care to comment?”
“Are you working for the National Enquirer now?”
“I’m just curious, my boy,” he said, shrugging with his eyes. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sure marrying anyone, let alone an American, can save your father’s throne at this point. He would be best to exile himself to some sunny clime and enjoy the rest of his days living off the millions he’s stashed away.”
“How do you know there are millions stashed away,” I asked, shooting back the vodka and closing my eyes as it burned its way down my throat. “Maybe he’s broke.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Nigel said, sipping the vodka like wine as he watched me refill my glass. He studied me for a moment. “Would you really do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get married just to save your father’s throne?”
I glanced sideways at him. “I would do anything I could to keep my father’s honor and dignity in place.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Nigel said slyly. He bumped me with his elbow and lowered his voice. “You can tell me, old boy. Would you really marry a woman and get her pregnant just so you can one day call yourself king of a dying monarchy?”
I set the glass on the table and wiped my lips on a napkin. I turned to him and patted him on the back. I said, “Nigel, you’re a fucking prick.”
I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and staggered away.
I’d had enough drama over the last couple of days to last a lifetime.
Now, I just wanted to block out the world and go to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY: Rebecca
“I was sitting right here,” Carl said, his eyes taking on a dreamy haze. “Your mother was standing there. She had you in her arms. You were just a few months old.”
I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and kept my mouth shut as Carl’s mind drifted into the past. I knew how Carl was. He had the attention span of a gnat. If I interrupted him now with a bunch of questions, the memories could leave as quickly as they had come.
“It was cold in here. She had you wrapped in a blanket. She was giving you a bottle. She looked at me and smiled. She asked me, ‘Carl, if I have to leave, will you help take car
e of my little Becca Boo?’ That’s what she called you. Her little Becca Boo.”
I put my hand to my chest. My heart felt like it was going to seize in my chest. I tried to breath, but my lungs refused to take in the air. I watched Carl’s face as he imagined my mother standing before him. He held a hand in the air. His fingers twitched. There were tears in his eyes.
“I asked her where she was going. She said she didn’t know, but she couldn’t stay here anymore. She said the world was passing her by. She said the cold was freezing her heart.” Carl blinked at me. “What do you think she meant?”
“I don’t know,” I said, sniffing back tears. I knew what she meant, but I wouldn’t tell Carl. I wouldn’t tell anyone because I felt the same way.
I said, “My dad never told me why she left. And he never told me that she called me Becca Boo.”
“He wanted you to forget her,” Carl said. “Me and him talked about it after she left. I was in here so much I guess we became friends. I was somebody he could talk to. Mostly, I just listened.”
“Did he say why she left?” I asked.
Carl’s thin shoulders went up and down and he blew out a long breath. “Your mom had issues with that post-partem depression stuff. He said she was never the same after you were born. He just said she had to move on because this place was driving her mad.”
“Wow,” I said. I took in a quick breath that made me shudder.
“Maybe you should have run off with that prince fella,” Carl said out of the blue. He picked up his beer and raised it to his lips.
“Why would you say that?” I asked.
Carl reached across the bar to take my hand. He gave it a squeeze.
“Because you remind me of your mother. And like she said, there is a big old world out there. Don’t let it pass you by.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Nick
I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard the knock at the hotel room door. I forced my eyes to open enough to glance at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly midnight. I threw back the covers and swung my feet to the floor and turned on the lamp.
I sat rubbing my eyes for a moment. My head was still foggy from the vodka. My stomach growled like a rabid dog.
They knocked again and I yelled for them to hold on.
I pushed myself off the bed and staggered to the door. I hoped it wasn’t Nigel, coming to my room for round two of ‘let’s kick Nickie when he’s down’.
I wasn’t so drunk that I wouldn’t be able to punch the old sot in the nose if I found him standing on the other side of the door.
Another knock came just as my hand reached for the knob.
I jerked open the door and yelled, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Rebecca
The door jerked open suddenly and there stood Nick in his boxer shorts with a look of fury on his face.
He yelled, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
The air filled with the stench of vodka and rage.
Then he realized it was me standing there with my hand balled into a knuckled fist.
His expression went blank. His lower lip drooped open. He braced his palms on the doorframe and swayed a little as he frowned at me.
“Hi,” I said, offering a smile. “It’s just me.”
He stared at me for a moment. Clearly, he was drunk and probably wondering if he was hallucinating.
I said, “Nick, it’s really me. Can I come in?”
He licked his lips and moved aside to let me into the room. As he closed the door, I heard his stomach rumble. He belched loudly and filled the air with the smell of vomit. His eyes grew wide and he slapped a hand over his mouth. I’d seen that look hundreds of times over the year. I didn’t bother me in the least. I just calmly waved a hand at him.
“Go, puke. I’ll be here when you’re done,” I said. “And brush your teeth!”
He gave me a nod and ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I heard him hurling as I took off my coat and tossed it in a chair.
I sat on the foot of the bed and kicked off my shoes.
Great, Rebecca, I thought as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and took off my bra.
You just made Prince Charming throw up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Nick
I hugged the toilet and proceeded to puke my guts out. I was a practiced drinker, but I had downed nearly an entire bottle of vodka and hadn’t eaten since last night. It was inevitable that it would come back up at some point. I just wished it hadn’t waited until Rebecca showed up at my door.
Rebecca… oh shit… what the hell was she doing there…
I heaved the last drop of vomit from my stomach, then flushed the toilet and got to my feet. I leaned against the sink and splashed cold water on my face and ran my fingers through my hair. I brushed my teeth, then swished a mouthful of Listerine around for a moment.
I dried my mouth and hands on a towel, and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. My complexion was pale. I was relatively sober now. This was as good as it was going to get.
I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.
When I came back into the bedroom, Rebecca was already in my bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Rebecca
Nick looked much better when he came out of the bathroom than when he’d gone in. I had taken off my clothes and crawled into his bed. I sat leaning against the headboard with the sheet modestly tucked under my arms and above my breasts.
“Why are you here?” Nick asked, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips. “What, you think you can just show up and have your way with me? I’m a prince. Not a gigolo.”
“Can’t you be both?” I asked with a smile.
“No, I can’t,” he said seriously. He spread out his hands. “I’ll ask again; why are you here?”
“I was wrong to let you leave,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I mean, it was just all so… sudden. Who knew that a Russian prince was going to walk into my little bar and ask me to marry him? I mean, who does that?”
He sat on the end of the bed and shook his head. “Nobody does that,” he said quietly. “It was a stupid thing to do. I was just trying to save my father’s crown.”
“By marrying someone you don’t love? Someone you don’t even know?” I resisted the urge to throw the sheet aside and take him in my arms. He didn’t look like a big, strong prince anymore. He looked like a little boy that needed to be held and loved.
“I know, it is a silly tradition and it doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “I just have to come to the realization that the Kosnovian monarchy is nearing its end. My father must accept the fact. Even if you and I were to marry and produce an heir within a year, it wouldn’t change the will of the people. The monarchy is dead.”
“But it could change our lives,” I said hopefully.
He turned to gaze into my eyes for the first time since I’d arrived. “What do you mean?”
I reached out my hand and let the sheet fall away from my breasts. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” I said as his fingers closed around mine. “I don’t want to spend my life behind that bar, but I’m not sure I want to get married and have babies either, at least not yet.”
He squeezed my hand and brought his dark eyes up to mine. “So, what are you saying?”
“Perhaps it would be enough to tell the world the story of the handsome prince who rescued the damsel in distress from a snow-covered castle high in the mountains,” I said, tossing the sheet aside with one hand as I pulled him toward me with the other. “It may not save your crown, but it would make for one hell of a love story.”
I lay back and spread my legs as Nick placed himself on top of me with his cock and balls resting against my already-wet pussy. He braced his arms at my sides and started sliding the length of the shaft up and down over my folds. I dug my fingers into his ass cheeks and helped set the motion.
“That would make for an interesting story,” he sighed. He leaned dow
n to press his lips to mine. His tongue went around my lips and probed into my mouth. My tongue answered back, swirling around his tongue. I nibbled at his bottom lip.
“Then rescue me, my prince,” I sighed into his ear as the head of his cock slid into my pussy. “And we will tell the world.”
Nick took a deep breath and held it as he thrust into me as far as his cock would go. My pussy walls tightened around him and began milking him with each stroke.
As Nick moved his hips back and forth, his cock plunging into me as his balls slapped my ass, I brought my hands up to his muscular back and dug my fingers in. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed. His handsome face was twisted into a mask of ecstasy.
I was getting close to cumming. Every nerve in my body stood on end. I could feel our juices running from my cunt, pooling hot and sticky around my asshole. I lifted my knees and wrapped my legs around his ass. I braced my hands on his arms and sucked in a deep breath of air and held it.
“I’m cumming…” Nick sighed, opening his eyes to gaze into mine. “Cum with me, my princess. Cum with me now…”
“Yes, my prince,” I moaned as my orgasm matched his. I could feel his hot seed shooting inside me. My juices overflowed my pussy and covered his balls and the sheet beneath us.
One last thrust, and Nick let go a satisfied sigh and collapsed into my arms with his head resting between my breasts.
As we lay there, listening to each other breath, I remembered the words I so often said to myself as I stood behind my father’s bar.
It would take a miracle to get me to leave this place.
I knew at that moment that my miracle was lying in my arms.
EPILOG: Nick
Nigel was right. There was nothing anyone could do to save the Kosnovian monarchy. The parliament voted in the spring to end the reign of the House of Rostov.
My parents were given three months to vacate the palace.