by Jen Davis
I would apply for a passport and have it in hand in time for spring break.
Vladimir would fly back from Russia, and together we would confess our love and marriage plans to Dad.
I would fly back to Russia with Vladimir, we would spend spring break at his dacha, summer home, and we would plan our June wedding.
These things were decided, but the last piece of the equation—when or if I would return home to America after spring break to finish the last few weeks of the semester and to reach a peace agreement with Dad—was still under negotiation.
“Vladimir, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. I need time to ease out of my life here. If I drop out, it won’t look good on my record when I apply to colleges in Russia.”
“You’ll go to any college you want. I’ll see to it personally.”
“Newsflash: I don’t need you to see to it. I earned my way. I’m not going to throw away everything I worked so hard for.” He’s like me; he has to understand that.
Vladimir tapped the tips of his fingers together and eyed the vodka bottle. “As my wife, you’ll enjoy the privileges that come with being married to a man of a certain influence, understand?” His cheeks were red, jaw clenched.
“Of course she understands, boss.” Boris reached for the bottle.
Vladimir held up his hand to Boris in a stop motion and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this. We’ll stick to the plan as it is, and you will decide when or if you go home after spring break. You might love your new country so much you may never want to return to America.” He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “Your happiness is my only concern.”
“Perfect. Spasibo.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. He ran his fingers through my hair with one hand and with the other he squeezed his arm around my back. He was a different person without the vodka, and he was willing to give up drinking—for me. In return, I would give up my family, friends, and country to spend my life with him in Russia.
When you love someone, you make sacrifices.
Our make-out session was getting a little sloppy. I could tell he was excited when he whispered in Russian and nibbled on my ear. I cracked up, embarrassed the Juicy Love Fest was going down in front of Boris.
“There you go, boss.” Boris patted him on the back. “Now, let’s talk about the wedding. Russians believe in elaborate celebrations. My mama will spoil you rotten, lapsha.”
“I can’t wait to meet your family, Vova.”
“My family can’t wait to meet you, angel.”
Chapter 51
Izvinite
When Boris drove me home, the car was silent except for the sound of his gold rings tapping on the steering wheel.
“You have your sovietnik face on,” I said. “Is something wrong?”
He glanced my way as he drove down the winding road. “Why do you say that?”
“You look deep in thought,” I pointed at his hands, “and you do that tapping thing when things are messed up.”
He thought a moment before he responded. “I don’t like surprises.”
“You’re surprised Vladimir wants to marry me?”
“I’m surprised you want to marry him.”
I scoffed. “Why?”
By the incredulous look on his face, it had appeared my Stupid Girl meter had tipped over into the red zone. “You do know what we do for a living, right?”
I nodded.
Tap, tap, tap, tap…
“You’re a nice girl, Carter, with a bright future. You can handle being married to the pakhan?”
“Well, he’s not bad—like you.” I peeked over at him. “He does the cyber stuff and you handle the other side of the business.”
“Ah, now I understand. He’s the good kind of bad guy.” He chuckled. “What he does is okay as long as no one gets hurt, right?”
“I know he had a hard life growing up behind the Iron Curtain, not to mention he lost his entire family, and went to prison,” I placed my hand over my heart. “After all he’s been through, how can I judge him?”
“You’re a very understanding young lady, Carter.” He parked at our meeting spot. I opened the door to get out of the car, but Boris held my arm. “Once you’re in the family, there’s no getting out. If you have any reservations—”
“I love him.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap…
“There’s nothing to worry about, Boris.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap…
“The boss is a lucky man.”
“Spasibo. I’m lucky, too.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap…
***
That night, Vladimir invited the family to a Middle Eastern restaurant for a going away party. Bongos, belly dancing, and falafel balls would have been fantastic under different circumstances, but my fiancé was going back to Russia without me in two days.
When Dad, Karen, Megan, and I arrived at the restaurant, Boris greeted us at the door. I didn’t know how Vladimir and I were going to hide our feelings for each other in front of Dad, but knowing Boris was there to keep us in line eased my stress.
“Ded!” Megan bounced over to Boris holding a fuzzy black kitty in one hand and a lanky white beanbag cat with blue eyes in the other. “This one is you.” She held up the black one. “And this is Dyadya.” She held up the white one. “Santa put them in my stocking.”
Boris studied his feline representative. “Too fat.”
“He’s not fat, his fur is fluffy.”
“If you say so, dear.” Boris patted her on the head and handed her a chocolate bar.
“I hope I don’t cry,” Karen said. “I can’t believe you two are leaving us. Wouldn’t you rather stay in America?”
“Nyet. I miss my wife, family.”
“You’re married?” Karen and I said in unison.
“Thirty-two years.”
I knew he had kids and his mama back home, but he’d never mentioned his wife. “What’s her name?”
“Anya.”
I smiled. “Pretty.”
“Vladimir and his guest will join us momentarily,” Boris said to Dad and Karen.
Guest?
While the hostess collected our coats, Boris emblazoned a mind-melting mental warning directly onto my corneas. After that non-verbal assault, I decided to keep my coat on—my wardrobe choice was a tad questionable.
Mystery Guest: Vladimir arrived fashionably late with a green-eyed redhead, with cascading curls, huge boobs, and legs longer than a camel’s. He introduced everyone to his ‘girlfriend,’ Svetlana, adding that she only spoke Russian.
My mouth gaped. What the hell was he trying to pull?
“Good to see you again, Miss Cook. You look well. Over your boy troubles?”
“Da.” I evil-eyed the bombshell. “Do svidaniya.” I extended my hand to her.
“You mean privet?” Vladimir laughed. “Do svidaniya means goodbye.”
“My bad.”
Karen and Dad exchanged glances. “You picked up some Russian over Christmas break, sweetie?”
“Da, Papa.”
Vladimir laughed and patted me on the head like a child. I wanted to smack his hand away, but I had to keep it together in front of my family.
“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” Vladimir asked.
Dad and Karen walked ahead of me, Vladimir behind. I unzipped my coat, slid it off, and peeked over my shoulder to gauge his reaction to my sexy duds. I had on low-rise jeans and a curve-hugging sequined top, with a matching shrug, a belly chain, and a rose-gold choker in the shape of a tigress chasing her tail.
I wore my hair down in a wavy messy sexy do and turned up the heat a bit by tracing black eyeliner around my eyes like a cat to accentuate my fiancé’s favorite feature of mine. He bit his lip and chuckled at my crazy.
“Whoa,” Dad said when he caught an eyeful of my dinner attire.
“What? I was going with a theme outfit. Too much?”
He gave me the look.
“Izvinite.”
I tipped my head with my hand on my heart, apologizing for my bad choice.
“You sure picked up a lot of Russian in two and a half days,” Dad mumbled.
Vladimir motioned for everyone to have a seat. I headed for the chair next to him, but Boris caught my elbow and pointed to the other side of the table. Karen and Dad settled in seats across from Vladimir and his date, and I got marooned next to Boris.
Megan pulled her doppelgänger cat family out of her backpack and set up a nest for them using starched white napkins from the table.
A text came in on my special phone:
Boris: My idea. Relax.
The band began warming up as the server brought pita bread, tabouli, and a pitcher of margaritas to the table. Vladimir poured the drinks and handed one to Karen, one to Svetlana. He said something to her in Russian that made her giggle.
I swayed and bounced to the beat of the drums, completely ignoring him. It may have been Boris’s idea to bring Miss Moscow, but Vladimir didn’t need to enjoy it so much.
A foursome of dancers, two ladies in belly dancer costumes, and two dudes—one hot, one not—in turbans, stretched out in the corner by the band. The hot guy busted me staring and swished a scarf at me. I turned away and pretended I hadn’t noticed. I could feel Vladimir glaring at me, but I wouldn’t look at him. He sent a margarita down to me. Apparently the rules of underage drinking didn’t apply to him anywhere, but I held up my hand and refused. “I’m going to stick with water tonight. Thanks anyway, Vlad—Mr. Ivanov.”
“Good choice, Carter. You can be the designated driver.” Karen sucked down half of her drink, and then turned and smooched Dad on the lips. They had already had a few beers before we left the house.
This could get interesting.
I got up and excused myself. I walked past Vladimir and ‘accidentally’ bumped his chair. When I came out of the bathroom, he pulled me into the kitchen. I tried to slap him across the face, but he caught my hand and trapped me against the wall.
“Nice girlfriend, you jerk. You two make a charming couple.”
He put his finger to my lips to shush me. “It’s for appearances, angel. Svetlana is one of Boris’s girls. No one could ever take your place.”
“If she belongs to Boris, then give her back.”
“How else can I mask my attraction, angel? I’m doing this for you.”
Satisfied with his explanation, I stood on my toes and kissed him. Our public display of affection in front of the staff was getting a little sloppy. The owner came over and asked us to go back to our table, under the guise that our appetizer course was being served.
Back in our private room, Vladimir and Dad dove deep into a conversation about some technology thing. Dad had bought out Vladimir’s shares of the company and was taking over as CEO. There was no way Dad could’ve afforded it without financial help. I knew without asking Vladimir had made it possible. Boris had told me the truth when he said the business was legit, and Vladimir meant what he said about coming to America to help my family.
Svetlana sat quietly drinking her margarita with my fiancé’s arm around her narrow waist. She was a distraction for him, but what about me?
“Want to dance, Karen? Looks like the guys are talking shop.”
“Sure. I’ve been dying to get out there.” She sucked down the rest of her drink. “I think the cute one likes you.”
When we stood up, I motioned to Svetlana to join us. She looked at Vladimir to check if it was okay. Jeez. What a tool.
He said something in Russian, kissed her hand, and she stayed at his side.
Whatever. When we joined the dancers, they wrapped scarves around our waists and showed us how to swing our hips like belly dancers. Karen busted out some dirty dancing moves with the twenty-something-year-old, but I turned my back on the male dancers and shook it with the ladies. Dad looked like he wanted to stab his eyes out with kabob skewers, as he watched his wife dancing with a much younger, hotter dude with a full head of dark, wavy hair.
I knew better than to make my man jealous.
“Karen, why don’t you come back to the table now? They’re serving the appetizers,” Dad said. His face was burning red.
I stepped in and tried to pull Karen away, but she didn’t take the hint.
Karen raised her hands over her head and shook her bootie dangerously close to the dancer’s crotch. Dad chugged a glass of water and dabbed the sweat off his forehead with a napkin. I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed or humiliated by his wife’s behavior—and it was all going down in front of the manly Russians.
Dad dropped a stack of pita bread on Karen’s plate and dumped a big scoop of hummus next to it. “Try this, honey. You’ll love it.”
Translation: Down, girl.
The dancer swished the scarf at Karen’s behind, totally digging her sloppy, flirty cougar drunkenness. Poor Dad looked like he was about to go medieval on the dude. Enough. I tugged on Karen’s arm and took her spot. “Sorry, my turn.” I kept the beat with the dude to deter her from cutting back in.
“You can have him, Carter. I’ve got my man.” She plopped down in the chair next to Dad and tried to kiss him, but he turned his cheek.
I glanced over at my dance partner. He looked jazzed at my enthusiasm to fight off my stepmom so I could have a run with him. He clapped in time with the beat and eyed my body as I danced. I turned my back to go back to the table, but the dude caught my arm and pulled me back. I prayed the Russians missed the fact he’d touched me.
To mask his dangerous faux pas, I danced until the music ended. Then I went back to the table without making eye contact.
Vladimir will understand why I stepped in, right?
As everyone filled his or her plates from the family style platters, a text came in on my special phone from Vladimir. I couldn’t tell what it said, because the words were in Russian.
I snuck a peek at him and laughed.
The pakhan didn’t see the humor.
Chapter 52
Shark Bait
The next day, Vladimir wouldn’t return my calls or texts. I stayed in my room and started packing. I had a feeling he would nix my apartment plans, but he hadn’t brought it up yet. If he asked me not to move, I would oblige. I was already nervous about The Dancing Incident.
Before I was due to meet Boris, I went to the cemetery to visit Sophia—something I hadn’t done for years. I needed her guidance, and I couldn’t confide in anyone among the living about the Russians.
I loved Vladimir, but I feared him, too. I stewed all night over the dancer and now he was giving me the silent treatment. I had to admit doubts were creeping in about marrying him. Nobody said relationships are supposed to be easy, but where was the line? Love is love—when you have it, when someone cherishes you like Vladimir cherishes me and when all you can think about is the next time you’re with him, it’s worth fighting for, right?
It was all so confusing. I thought about doing the right thing for once and confiding in my dad, but I couldn’t risk it. I needed Sophia’s angel wisdom, but I was no longer able to distinguish between her voice and the devil’s anymore.
I shuffled through the church parking lot and trekked through the snow to reach her gravesite. I spread out a stadium blanket, sat next to her memorial, and spilled the secrets I’d been hiding from my friends and family. I lifted my engagement ring out of my pocket and held it up.
Should I call off the engagement?
Nothing.
I jumped when I heard a car door shut. Boris was leaning against the Caddy, watching me from the parking lot. If I married Vladimir and moved to Russia, Boris and the Bratva would become my new family. Dad and Karen and Megan and Kiki would be out of my life.
I’m in with the Russians, and there was no way out.
I slid my engagement ring on my finger, folded up the blanket, and said goodbye to Sophia. I got into the car with Boris and left my sister behind.
Neither one of us spoke until we neared the house. “I on
ly danced with that guy to get Karen away from him. Did you see Dad’s face?”
“Wasn’t your problem to solve.”
When we got home, Vladimir was leaning against the bar, his eyes rimmed in red. I crashed into him and swung my arms around his waist. A thick, bloody steak was soaking in marinade on the counter.
“You’re late.”
Shit. I squeezed him tight. “I’m so sorry about last night. Forgive me?”
He went to the bar, tipped the vodka bottle, and poured himself a generous shot. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, and he was already smashed. “Of course, angel.” The seething tone of his voice didn’t match the sincerity of his words.
I glanced down at my engagement ring. The once bluish-green stone had turned a dark ruby red. I turned my hand to see if it was a trick from the light. “What happened to my ring? It changed color.”
Vladimir picked up my hand. “It’s the nature of the stone. Alexandrite from the Ural Mountains near my home. In the sunlight, it reflects the cool and vibrant colors, but at night, when the sun goes down, it shines blood red.” Vladimir lowered my hand and looked out the window. “But the sun hasn’t gone down yet. Perhaps you’ve done something to anger the stone?” He laughed and went to the bar for another shot.
When Vladimir’s back was turned, I looked to Boris for guidance. He wouldn’t make eye contact. Boris spoke to the boss in Russian. I forced myself to breathe so I wouldn’t pass out.
Vladimir didn’t like whatever it was Boris had said. “Take the night off. I want to spend the evening alone with my bride-to-be.”
Boris glared at me as he passed by on his way to the mudroom.
Holy shit. I thought it best to keep my mouth shut and make him something to eat to try to absorb the alcohol he was drowning in. I tried to keep my hands steady as I sliced a block of cheese. He watched me work but didn’t speak. In a hurry, I carelessly sliced the top of my index finger. I turned my back and cupped my hand to inspect the damage. Blood dripped down into my palm. My stomach turned.
Careful not to make a big deal out of it, I wrapped a towel around my finger to stop the bleeding. It soaked right through. I jumped when I felt Vladimir standing right behind me. He had a sense for blood like a damn shark—and I was a hunk of chum bobbing in the ocean.