by Kate Stewart
“I hardly knew her,” she tells me. “She was a storm. And we just tried to survive the bad days until the sunlight broke through.”
“You took care of your siblings,” I reply.
“I was the oldest,” is her answer. “She kept us locked away. During the bad times. In a room, together. We only had each other.”
Her eyes drift up to the ceiling, and she finishes. “And now, it is just me.”
I know what I need to tell her. The thing that is true, but I cannot bring myself to admit. That she has me. The words don’t come. So I comfort her in the way that I can. With my hands. Combing through her hair. Clearing away the tangles from her face.
She likes this. She will never admit it. Just as I will not admit I enjoy doing it.
“Tell me what you think you should feel about your mother,” I say.
This time, she answers without delay. “Sorry. I should feel sorry for her. Because she was sick.”
“But what you really feel is anger,” I reply.
She moves her gaze back to me. Examining me. Picking me apart. “Tell me about the woman in the bathtub.”
“This is not about her,” I deflect.
“It never is,” she replies.
“You need to allow yourself to be angry, Solnyshko. Release that anger. On me, if you want. But you have to accept that it’s there.”
“But you don’t,” she says. “That’s always the way it works with you.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“By lying to me and yourself?” she sits up and stares at me, the anger I asked for rising to the surface. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. A selfish asshole.”
She tries to get up. To leave me. But I hold her in place. My own anger coming out to play.
“Yes, and you are a psychotic bitch.”
She tries to yank herself away, but again I don’t let her. I grip her chin in my hands and force her to kiss me.
“But you’re my psychotic bitch,” I murmur against her. “And I am your selfish asshole.”
Her resistance flees, and she places her hands on my face. Kissing me back. Stroking through my hair. But then she pulls away again, angry and hurt.
“They are just words, Solnyshko.”
And then she says the thing I don’t expect. The thing that guts me. Because it is the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said.
“Not when they come from you. Not then they aren’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Talia
When Magda and I reach the bottom of the stairs, Alexei is waiting for me.
He is dressed as he always is. Gray trousers, black oxfords and a charcoal sweater stretched across his muscular frame. He is in the process of shrugging into his black coat and flat cap when he pauses to look up at me.
He takes a breath. And I feel a sense of relief pulsing through me.
The dress is one that he picked, Magda informed me. Not something I’d ever worn before. Black embroidered tulle with an exposed back. It’s expensive and flashy. Alexei wants to show me off tonight. As his wife.
A part of me questioned if it was because Katya would be there. But the response from him now tells me otherwise.
He moves towards me as if he can’t help himself. Magda smiles and steps to the side as his fingers find my cheek and skate down over my neck.
“You are so lovely, Solnyshko,” he tells me.
I reach for his waist and touch him too. My hands against his warmth. And for a moment, we just look at each other. I want to believe that I’m not the only one who feels this pull between us, but I’ve been wrong before.
I’ve been so wrong.
My heart is beating too hard. Too fast. And I need to think of something else.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“What?”
“Solnyshko?”
He pulls me closer still, his lips hovering over my ear. “It means little sun.”
He kisses my ear and pulls away, resuming his activities of dressing for the outdoors. Once he has finished, he takes me by the hand and leads me from the door.
Franco is already outside where two separate cars are parked and waiting. He’s examining one of them, checking underneath and all around it. I swallow and glance up at Alexei, who is already staring at me.
“It is okay,” he tells me. “Just a routine safety check.”
I nod, and he leads me to the car and deposits me in the passenger side. Then he kneels down beside me and captures my leg in his hand.
“Give me your foot,” he tells me.
It is a strange request from him, but I don’t argue. I stretch out my leg over his muscular thigh, my heel dangling in the cool evening air. He removes the shoe and does the unexpected. Dragging his fingers down the center, the most sensitive part, before he removes a switchblade from his pocket.
“You will want this tonight,” he tells me. “But only a little bit.”
How he can know this about me is unnerving. But he does. He sees my anxiety at the prospect of leaving this sanctuary.
“Only a little bit,” he tells me as he drags the knife to the ball of my foot. “And only the first time, Solnyshko.”
I nod, and he scratches the sensitive flesh with the blade. Not even to draw blood. But enough to sting. And then he leans down and presses his lips to the curve at the top of my foot.
I watch in fascination as he puts the heel back into place and directs me to press down onto the ball of my foot. Until I feel the pain that I will need at some point tonight.
“Good?” he asks.
I nod, and he puts the knife away before buckling me in and closing the door. He speaks with Franco for a few moments, and then climbs inside with me, the scent of him mixing with the rich leather interior. The headlights of the car behind us follows as we leave the house, and I know that Franco is coming too. Though why he is driving separately, I’m not entirely sure.
“I thought it would be more comfortable this way,” Alexei answers my unspoken thought. “It is a long drive.”
I nod and sink back in the seat, turning my attention towards him.
“It’s not a good name for me,” I tell him. “Solnyshko. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense to me.”
That’s the only answer I get before his hand is on my thigh. He glances at me, his eyes moving over me as his hand slides up. Further and further until it’s between my legs.
“Pull your dress up,” he instructs me. “I want to look at you.”
I do as he asks because I always do with Alexei. I lift my hips and bring the dress up so the material falls around my waist, giving him full access to me.
He isn’t shy about what he wants. He just takes. But with Alexei, it never feels like he is taking anything from me. But rather, giving instead.
His hand cups the matching lace thong and his thumb pushes the material against me. I don’t make a sound, but my hips jerk and inside I’m begging him for more.
I like it when he touches me.
When he makes me forget. And makes me feel alive too. His hand on me is large. And I feel safe with him. He doesn’t let me get away with anything. But he doesn’t hurt me either.
“You are wet for me already,” he says, his voice husky.
I don’t reply, and he doesn’t say anything else either. His fingers move the thong aside and slip inside of me. Casually playing with me while he drives. His eyes on the road, his forearm flexing as his hand moves inside of me.
My head falls back against the seat and my legs splay wider. The wife he dressed to look so classy right now looks anything but.
“Take your tits out,” he says. “I want to see them.”
I pull the material of the dress down over my shoulders, trapping my arms and forcing my breasts out. They are hard and aching when he reaches up to squeeze one in his palm, leaving me cold down below.
“Play with yourself while I watch,” he tells me.
I try, but swiftly give up.
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“It’s better when you do it.”
He smiles at me and returns his palm between my thighs, giving me exactly what I need.
“Your foot,” he reminds me. “To give yourself the pain if you want.”
I do. And it only takes a couple minutes before I’m feeling on edge. Unable to tear my eyes away from Alexei. The way his wedding ring gleams against the steering wheel on his left hand. He wears it proudly.
Sometimes it’s still hard to accept that this man is my husband.
He’s more than that.
He’s my savior. My unwilling hero. And the thing that is most dangerous of all.
My hope.
“Be a good girl and come for me, yes?”
I do.
I come hard for him. And he pulls his fingers from me and sucks them into his mouth before placing his hand back on the steering wheel.
The car is quiet, except for my loud breathing as I come down from the high. He doesn’t speak. Or say anything else. Ask for anything else.
But I want to give it to him regardless.
I unbuckle and balance my knees on my seat, leaning over into his space. I kiss his throat and jaw, and then briefly, his lips when he turns into me.
My hand is fumbling with his zipper. His belt. I get them undone, and lower my head towards his groin. When I pull his cock free and get him into my mouth, Alexei grips the back of my head with his right hand, pushing me down further.
He drives, and I suck him off. My head bobbing up and down in his lap with the guidance of his hand. The insistence. He groans and then comes in my mouth.
“Swallow it all, Solnyshko,” he tells me.
My throat works around his cock, doing exactly as he orders. And only then does he release his hold on me, his fingers stroking over my face.
“Good girl.”
I put him back together, zipping him up and buckling his belt. And then linger in his space to kiss him on his throat once more. It’s a stupid thing to do. And it’s too much.
“Buckle yourself in,” he orders.
I move back to my side of the car, putting myself back together and buckling the seat belt. When I stare out the window, my throat is clogged, and I don’t know why.
Alexei’s hand finds mine, his warmth enveloping and surprising me.
“You are the perfect wife,” he tells me. “Perfect for me, Solnyshko.”
I look at him and nod.
I don’t know if it’s an insult or a compliment.
Chapter Thirty
Talia
The Christmas party is held at what can only be described as a compound. Every car is checked at the gate, and every guest vetted before they enter.
And in that moment, I realize that my life here with Alexei is not so different from how I lived at Arman’s. Only now, the same security measures that felt like a vice grip around my neck feel safe.
Alexei parks the car and tells me to wait, coming around to open my door for me. He is old fashioned in these ways. A man who values tradition. It is a rare quality. And for the briefest of moments, when he takes my arm in his, I feel a flash of pride from the idea of being at his side tonight.
We are greeted at the door by several men I do not recognize, nor understand. They speak in their native tongue, except for when Alexei makes introductions. Even then, they barely glance at me, except to nod and congratulate me on my nuptials. A sign of respect, I think. For Alexei.
It makes me curious. Exactly what his position in the organization is. I don’t even know what he does. But when I look up at him, looking down at me, I don’t care either.
He keeps me safe. He protects me.
He saved me.
Even now, in this room full of his own friends, he shields me with his body. Keeping me pulled close to his side and ready to destroy anyone who dares to enter my orbit.
We sit down to dinner within minutes of our arrival. A feast consisting of breads and pies, borscht and fresh fruit and nuts throughout the meal. Alexei keeps his arm across the back of my chair while we eat, sheltering me while he carries on conversation with the man across from us.
Viktor.
The same voice that called me a whore.
From his position at the table, I can see he is important. The most important man here tonight. He is served first, and nobody eats until he has taken the first bite. These men respect him. Alexei respects him. But I still can’t bring myself to truly respect him. So I keep my attention diverted to my plate and the food until the meal is over.
After a round of drinks is served, music starts to play from the other room, and the guests begin to migrate in that direction.
“You must take your new bride for a spin, Lyoshenka,” Viktor says.
Alexei looks uncomfortable with the suggestion. But still, he nods. And then he takes me by the hand, leading me into the other room.
“One dance?”
It sounds like a question, but already, he’s positioning my body close to his. Our right hands clasped together, his left on my lower back. Which we quickly discover isn’t going to work due to the height difference.
But Alexei is not one to let something like that stop him. So he kneels down and places my hands on his shoulders while he removes my heels. When he stands up again, the distance between us is even further, and I look up at him with questioning eyes.
“On my feet,” he instructs as he lifts me up and deposits my feet onto his shoes.
“Now wrap your arms around my waist.”
I do.
“Good girl,” he tells me.
And then we’re off. Dancing slowly, my cheek pressed against his warm chest. I don’t have to do anything but hold on, and we quickly garner the attention of some of the other couples around the floor. Some are laughing, jesting about his size.
But Katya is definitely not.
And when I see her standing next to another man, his eyes cold and lasered in on me, it makes me tense. He has been to our house before. To celebrate our marriage. But he did not speak to me. And right now, it looks as though he hates me.
Katya whispers something in his ear, and he brings his drink to his lips.
“Do not pay them any attention.” Alexei’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his fingers turning my gaze up to him.
Our eyes lock, and it’s easy enough to forget them as he asked. Because I’m captivated by the man holding me in his arms right now. Staring down at me with what feels like genuine emotion.
His eyes are warm, and it warms me too.
And then he does something unexpected. He leans down and kisses me. Not to put on a show. But because he wants to. It’s soft and tender, and I can feel him hardening against me as our bodies move in tandem.
I stretch up to meet his lips, which soon move to my throat. And for a moment, we both seem to forget that we’re in the middle of a party. That anyone else exists outside of us.
Until Viktor’s voice cuts through the haze and he slaps Alexei on the back.
Alexei reluctantly pulls his mouth from me and positions me in front of his body, his arms wrapped around my waist while he speaks with Viktor in Russian.
More than a few times during the conversation, Viktor’s gaze moves to me, and it’s obvious that I’m the topic at hand. But the disgust he felt for me before isn’t there, in his eyes. It’s something else. It’s warmth, and what looks to me like sincere happiness. It confuses me.
“It is time for the men to talk business,” he says in English. “Why don’t you send your little dove off to mingle, Lyoshenka.”
I tense against him, and he turns me in his arms.
“You will spend time with the other women tonight,” he says with a small shrug. “Tradition. The men in this room, the women over there.”
I follow the direction of his nod and my fingers move over the star on my hand.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. I think you will be more… compatible with her.”
I don
’t know what he means by that. But as he leads me in the direction of the women, all of their eyes on me, I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter.
They are looking at me as if I don’t belong. The same way Katya looks at me when she sees me with Alexei. As if I don’t deserve the man on my arm.
And they are probably right.
“Tanaka,” he calls out.
A girl around my age looks up at us from her chair where she is sitting alone. Not speaking with anyone around her. She is beautiful. With raven hair and amber eyes, and a reserved smile as her attention moves from Alexei to me.
I give her my own reserved smile before Alexei grasps my shoulders and smooths his palms down my arms in what can only be a comforting gesture.
“You will be just fine, Solnyshko,” he tells me. “You have your star, yes?”
I touch it and nod.
“I’ll be just a few short steps away if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
He waits until I am seated beside Tanaka and gives me one last glance, as though he too is hesitant to leave me. But he does.
And then it’s just Tanaka and I, in somewhat awkward silence for a few moments before she speaks.
“I don’t fit in here either,” she tells me.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
When I look at her, I can’t tell if she knows my background. But she seems to see me. And recognize something in me that she too is familiar with.
“I am simply collateral,” she tells me. “My father owes a large debt, and I am in Nikolai’s charge until he comes through with it.”
“Oh,” is my only reply.
I don’t want to feel sorry for her because sympathy is what gets you in trouble. But the more I examine her, the more I don’t think it is sympathy she needs anyway.
“When do you think that will be?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Never. My father cannot pay.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “So what will happen to you?”
She sighs and then glances across the room. A flicker of something moves through her eyes when her gaze lands on Nikolai. Who is currently speaking to Katya, her hand on his arm like she owns him. It takes me a moment to read the emotion in Tanaka’s eyes. She has feelings for him. For her captor.