Nice Day For A White Wedding

by Le Carre, Georgia

  “It sounds like something from a Victorian novel. It’s hard to believe this happened in the eighties.”

  “Russia in the eighties was like the Victorian times in many ways,” he admits.

  At that moment a woman passing by our table suddenly stops and gives a little shriek. She says something excitably in Russian. The only word I catch is Alex. Alex stands and, resting her fingertips on his arm, she reaches up on tiptoes and kisses him lightly on his cheek. I’m sure she whispers something in his ear before moving back and flicking her hair seductively.

  “Well, hello to you too,” I mutter.

  I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and I feel my cheeks blushing when both Alex and her turn towards me.

  “Natalia, this is Cindy, my fiancée. She’s English,” Alex says. “Cindy, this is Natalia, an … old friend of mine.”

  “Less of the old, you,” she scolds, fluttering her fake eyelashes coyly at him, before glancing at me, her eyes are suddenly cold and appraising.

  “Hello,” she says.

  Even before I can return the greeting she has already turned her attention back to Alex. Well, at least she’s switched to English so she’s slightly above the ice sisters in terms of friendliness. Natalia is clearly more than an old friend of Alex’s, or at least she wishes she was judging by the way she can’t take her eyes off him even for a second.

  “How’s Babushka?” she coos.

  Great. She’s close enough to know the family.

  “She’s good,” Alex replies.

  “Still keeping you firmly in line?” she asks with a giddy giggle.

  I want to jump up and throttle her. Her giggly laugh is freaking annoying. She’s starting to say something else, but Alex speaks over her, cutting her off.

  “It was nice to see you, Natalia, but you’ve got to get on. And I’d like to get back to my fiancée.”

  He’s looking at me when he says it, and I hate the fact that I feel a moment’s triumph when I look at Natalia’s dismayed expression. She glares at me, then says her goodbyes to Alex, back in Russian I notice. Then she flits away.

  “An old friend, huh?” I say as casually as I can when Natalia has walked away. I can feel the spikes of jealousy inside of me and I’m so angry at myself for feeling this way. After what happened this morning when I was told in no uncertain terms that I’m on the job. None of this is real. Except to me. The more I try to hold back the more it’s starting to feel real. I have to find a way to stop myself from falling for Alex. Maybe it’s too late for that, but then I have to get a hold of myself, stop the rot.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “And why not? She’s gorgeous.” I can’t keep the petulance out of my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed. Especially because I’m telling the truth. Natalia is gorgeous. She has long red hair and curves in all the right places.

  He looks at me seriously. “You have nothing to be jealous of, Cindy.”

  “I’m not jealous.” I try to laugh but the laugh won’t come and I look down at my plate so I don’t have to meet Alex’s eyes.

  He does laugh though. “You’ve almost turned green.”

  The truth hurts and I look up at him with a cold smile and lie through my teeth. “It’s an act, Alex. How do you think I would react as your fiancée if some ex was hanging all over you? I wouldn’t be too happy about it, would I? And if this story gets back to Babushka, I want my appropriate reaction to the situation to get back to her as well.”

  “Whatever you say, Cindy,” Alex says with a small smile. It’s clear he doesn’t believe a word of what I said.

  I double down. “I’m serious. Why would I be jealous?” I demand.

  “I have no idea, but you’re protesting way too much.” He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  He’s right. I am protesting way too much. If it had been an act and he had questioned me, I would have rolled my eyes, said whatever, and moved onto a different topic of conversation. It’s too late for that now though. Alex sees straight through me. He’s so exasperating.

  “For what it’s worth, I would have reacted exactly the same way if I was you,” Alex concedes.

  That brings me up short. What does he mean? That he would be jealous if my ex came up to me. He doesn’t give me a chance to respond to that. Instead, he signals to our waiter that we’re ready for dessert. I decide to let it go. I have to. If I bring it up again, then I’ll only make it worse. And to be fair, Alex didn’t show the least bit of interest in her.

  By the time we finish our desserts, the tension between us is gone and I’m relaxed again. Alex is even making me laugh with his dry humor.

  As I scoop up the last bit of my ice cream Alex gets our waiter’s attention again and says something to him in Russian. The waiter moves away and comes back quickly with two small glasses of clear liquid. Alex thanks him as he places one down in front of each of us, and I hear myself echoing his thanks, even though I have no idea what this is. I certainly didn’t ask for it.

  “Vodka.” Alex smiles at me. “I know it’s a cliché that every Russian drinks vodka, and generally I’m a whisky man, but you can’t come to Russia and not try the real stuff at least once. It’s so much better than the commercial stuff you get in England. Or pretty much anywhere else in the world.”

  He picks his glass up and smiles at me, challenging me with his eyes. I pick my glass up and clink it against his. The challenge is well and truly accepted.

  “Nostrovia,” I grin.

  I hear him echoing me as I bring the glass to my mouth. I throw my head back and swallow the huge measure. It burns my throat and my insides all the way down to my stomach, but I hide it well, smiling at Alex who has taken only a sip of his.

  “We’re Russian, not Mexican.” Alex grins. “We sip it here, savoring the flavor.”

  “What can I say,” I smile. “You can take the girl out of London, but you can’t take London out of the girl. We’re more of a go big or go home crowd.”

  Alex looks me straight in the eye, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he downs the rest of the drink.

  “I guess we’re going big then,” he says softly.

  His eyes darken and I feel a pulsing energy running all through my body. I swallow hard and force myself to smile at him. Then I pretend that something in the room has caught my eye and quickly look away. The spell he held me under breaks, although my clit doesn’t get the memo, and it continues to pulse with desire. Ruthlessly crushing down the desperate urge to reach across the table and touch Alex’s hand, I shift uncomfortably in my seat to try and find a position that doesn’t tease my clit. I fail. The shuffling around only intensifies the feeling.

  Alex looks at me with wry amusement and I feel as if no part of me is private from him and he’s reading my internal thoughts. I hate the feeling and I stand up rather abruptly.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  He frowns. “To throw up?”

  The moment of feeling like he can see inside of my soul passes and I laugh, a normal laugh. He thought the vodka had hit my stomach and made me feel sick. He didn’t know what was really going on inside my crazy, lust-filled head.

  “No chance,” I say. “I wouldn’t be much of a Brit if one shot affected me that much.”

  Alex chuckles as I walk away. Inside the bathroom I look in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed. I blame the vodka for that, although I secretly think it’s more about my close proximity to Alex and what that does to me. I fluff my hair, reapply my lipstick, and wash my hands, to pass a few minutes so it seems I’ve had time to use the toilet. When I feel a little more composed, I go back to the table. Two more glasses of vodka have materialized there.

  “This time, we’re going to savor it,” Alex says as I take my seat.

  I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I pick my glass up and take a sip.

  “It’s not exactly something I could savor,” I say with a wince as the liquid fire runs down to my stomach. />
  “I think you’d feel differently if you came out here in January when the temperatures reach around minus twenty and the nights are dark from around three o’clock. There’s nothing better than sitting in front of an open fire sipping a glass of vodka.”

  “Or whisky in your case.”

  “Actually, I was a bit more of a vodka drinker before I moved to London.”

  We finish the vodka and I have to say I’m kind of glad when it’s gone. I’m definitely a gin girl through and through.

  “Would you like to go through to the bar for drinks, or do you want to head back to the house?”

  “It depends on the drinks,” I say. The vodka is loosening my tongue. I can hear the flirty tone to my voice. I’m pretty certain drinking anything else would not be a good idea, no matter what it is, but what the hell. The worst part is Alex doesn’t look like he’s even a tiny bit tipsy.

  “You can have whatever you want,” he says suavely. “The vodka thing is a rite of passage, like drinking a pint of Guinness in Dublin, even though the stuff is vile. You don’t have to have any more.”

  “A drink it is then,” I decide with a lopsided smile. The truth is I can’t bear for the night to be over.

  Cindy

  Alex nods and we stand up, then I follow him through to the bar area. It is smaller than the restaurant and the lights are subtly dimmed. He tells me to find a seat while he goes to the bar. I bristle at his commanding tone, but a small part of me likes the way he takes control of a situation … of me. It makes me ponder what he’d be like in bed. Dominant I imagine. Dominant and extremely skilled.

  I take an empty table in the back corner. A small candle flickers in the center of the low table. I swallow hard. Anything could happen with Alex and I in a place like this. A place where no one will be able to see what we’re doing.

  I shake my head slightly to clear it. Whoa! That vodka must be hitting my brain cells.

  I’m not going to throw myself at Alex, with or without vodka. After what happened this morning it would be too pathetic. Besides he’s my boss. This is business. I have to treat this like a business meeting, not a damned date. I’ve already embarrassed myself tonight by acting jealous of his stupid ex. I’m not going to embarrass myself further.

  Alex comes to the table and confirms everything I already know by taking the seat opposite me instead of sitting down beside me on the plush sofa. It annoys me even more when I feel a pang of disappointment. My body wanted to be able to feel his leg pressed against mine, the heat coming off his body.

  He pushes my drink towards me and I smile when I see the slice of orange in it. He remembered. I pick my glass up and take a sip. The gin and tonic is heaven after the neat vodka.

  I put my glass down and lean back. “Have you never wanted to get married?”

  “That’s a bit out of the blue,” he murmurs, studying me above the rim of his glass.

  “I don’t really know what made me ask it. The question came into my mind, and it popped out of my mouth before I had chance to think about it. I blame the vodka. And the wine.”

  “I’ve never met anyone I could imagine spending forever with. What about you?”

  “I always seem to hook up with Mr. Wrong,” I say. “It got so bad I swore off dating forever.”

  “And yet here we are.” Alex drawls. “It’s a good job this is fake. I would hate to compromise your principals.”

  Must be the vodka, or the lack of lighting, but the look on his face as he says it tells me, actually, he would very much like to compromise my principals. I take a very, very large gulp of my drink. It goes down the wrong way and makes me cough.

  “It’s a good job then that we’re both on the same page and nothing will be compromised,” I gasp.

  He frowns suddenly and I know whatever moment of weakness in him is gone. He finishes his drink and asks me if I’m ready to leave. Since he still seems mostly sober, it makes sense that he’s the one to take control and put an end to the madness. I nod and stand. As we make our way out to the waiting car, he keeps a safe distance between us. We sit at opposite ends of the back seat, not touching.

  I look out of the window, peering through the darkness at the passing houses and then at the countryside. Alex looks out of his window too, but like me, I have a feeling he’s not seeing anything.

  I’m filled with regret at what might have been, but can’t be. I’m missing something I never even had. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That it’s only the alcohol making me feel this way, and tomorrow, when I’m sober again and no doubt hung over, I’ll be back to normal again. Just a girl with a crush and nothing more.

  But right now … God, I wish he felt the same clawing need for me that I do for him.

  We barely speak on the ride back home, and then we go into the house and I follow Alex up the stairs, still in total silence. It’s awkward to say the least, and I can’t wait to get to my room. I almost wish one of the ice sisters would appear so we would have to act like everything is normal between us so they don’t think we’ve had a fight or something. In fact, I think a fight would be easier to get past than this burning cold.

  We reach the door to my room and Alex stops. I turn to look at him. His face is set, unreadable.

  “Goodnight,” he says curtly.

  “Goodnight,” I reply. My voice is slightly breathless. I step towards the door and reach for the doorknob, but I don’t want to leave things like this between us. “Thank you for dinner. I really enjoyed it, especially the food.”

  It’s not much, but it’s the best I can come up with and it seems to thaw Alex a little.

  He gives me a half smile. “It was my pleasure.”

  I step into my room then. As I close the door on the raw animal magnetism that he exudes, I tell myself I should be glad to be away from him. Away from the relentless attraction, and the awkwardness of not being able to do anything about it. But, it’s simply not true. I’m horribly, horribly disappointed that he didn’t try to kiss me, or make some lame excuse to come into my room. I couldn’t have made my availability clearer. It tells me everything I need to know.

  To Alex I am, and always will be, just business. I can only hope that in the morning, without the tipsiness, I will feel exactly the same. Or at least I’ll convince myself I do.

  Kicking my shoes off, I strip off, and leave my dress where it falls, then I pad into the bathroom and use the toilet. I don’t even take my make-up off. I’ll sort it out in the morning. Right now, I’m so tired all of a sudden and I just want to go to bed.

  * * *

  I wake up in the dead of night to the sound of footsteps in the hallway again. I close my eyes and try to ignore them, but they’re so loud, I can’t ignore them. I roll over and realize how cold I am. I’m shivering and my teeth are chattering. I can see the plume of white in front of my face as I breathe out. So much for spring not being cold.

  I sit up quickly, ignoring the frigid air that wraps itself around my bare skin as I hear footsteps in my room. They run from the bed towards the bathroom. I reach out and snap the light on, but the room is empty. I hear a noise like a door slamming and I tell myself it’s the pipes. Nothing but the pipes. I have to know for sure though, and I push the duvet back and stand up. I move slowly and cautiously towards the bathroom door.

  “Hello?” I say.

  I feel foolish talking out loud to what is almost certainly just the pipes, and I get annoyed with myself suddenly for letting fear consume me to the point that I’m whispering at doors like this. I reach out and throw the bathroom door open, almost daring there to be a crazed ghost in there. The bathroom is empty, as I knew it would be. Its emptiness seems to mock me, laughing at the dumb foreign girl who doesn’t understand the ways of the house.

  I feel a shiver run down my spine at my strange thoughts and then I force myself to laugh. It comes out a little shaky, but it makes me feel better. As if the house is mocking me. I shake my head and turn to go back to bed. I grab my robe from the chair
in the corner first and slip it on. It’s short and silky, extremely thin, and it’s almost useless against the cold.

  It's only as I get back into bed that I realize the bathroom wasn’t cold. I felt the wave of warmth coming out of it as I opened the door. I wonder if I’ve accidentally knocked the heater off in my bedroom and I get back up and go towards it. The dial is still where it should be, and I reach out hesitantly to touch the actual radiator. I half expect it to be warm, to prove to me that this room is indeed haunted and the ghost of the crazy old aunt is making the temperature plummet. Of course, that’s not the case. The radiator is stone cold. I shake my head at my own imagination and head back to my bed again, making a mental note to tell Alex about the heater in the morning so someone can come and take a look at it.

  I sit back down on the bed and reach for the duvet. My hands have just grasped it when I hear a woman’s voice from the bathroom. The voice says my name as clear as day.

  “Cindyyyy,” I hear again, the Y sound on the end being dragged out until it’s barely a whisper, and fades altogether.

  I freeze, my eyes wide open and staring straight ahead in terror. I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. That sound is most definitely not the pipes, and nothing will convince me otherwise.

  “Cindyyyyy.”

  I jump to my feet, no longer frozen to the spot. I run across the room like I have all the hounds of Hell on my tail, and slam open the door that connects my room to Alex’s, and step into his room, instantly noting the warmth in here compared to my room.

  I expected Alex to be asleep in bed, and my plan was to sneak through to his lounge area and sleep on the couch in there. I was wrong though. He’s wide awake and sitting at a small table with a pile of papers in front of him.