by L. L. Ash
“You just keep getting better and better,” he sighed finally, brushing his thumb over my swollen lips.
“Well thank you,” I winked at him, making him smile.
He just chuckled and pushed me off him, making me plop over on the bed beside him.
“Well, I’m pooped,” he grunted, scooping off our second condom in one hour before throwing it away.
I couldn’t help it.
I giggled.
Serge chuckled and turned back to me, taking me into his arms, our sticky bodies molding instantly together.
We laid that way for a while until I blurted, “I don’t want to go home.”
He hummed into my ear, arms tightening around me with his chest plastered to my side.
“I know. But we have to.”
“Right. Not like the studio can run without me for a while,” I frowned.
“Don’t frown,” he told me. “I only like to see you smiling.”
“Aren’t Russians supposed to like...not smile? Isn’t that your shtick?”
He groaned.
“For the love of God… Russians smile too, just not a lot. Besides, I’m American-born.”
I chuckle, loving the feeling of his hand resting between my breasts.
“Ok. Fine. Maybe it’s stereotypical, but it’s still true.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like your smile. I could watch you smile all day long.”
“That’s a little creepy.”
There was a pause as he sat up a little, getting up onto his elbow to look down at me.
“This whole thing between us is a little creepy, malishka.”
“A little,” I shrugged, not caring at all if it looked weird from the outside. All that mattered was what I thought, and what he thought.
“Go to sleep,” I told him. “We have an early flight in the morning.”
“After you,” he pinched my side a little, causing me to shriek and laugh before settling down again.
In his arms, I could sleep forever.
Chapter Eighteen
Serge
After landing in the winter wonderland that was New York City in early January, I held my girlfriend’s hand as we hailed a cab to bring us back to her place, trying to shield ourselves from the sharp blades of snow hitting our faces.
After spending a week in a hot paradise, it felt like hell.
Adele was shivering in my arms as we drove, the cabbie too fucking cheap to turn on the heat.
At her house we went inside, me carrying both of our big suitcases up and her with just my suit in its bag and her carry-on.
Thank God for elevators.
Just as we walked through the front door, my phone started ringing.
I plop the bags down on her marble entry floors and checked to see who it was.
Babushka.
“Hello,” I answered in Russian.
“Kot! Are you home yet?” she asked back.
“Da. We landed an hour ago. We just barely stepped into the house...”
“Good! Then you will be at the Christmas Liturgy!”
Shit…
“Babushka, we just landed...we need a nap and a shower...”
“You have three hours!”
With that she hung up and I groaned, which echoed through Adele’s home.
I heard her clicking heels enter back into the room with a glass of wine in her hands.
That was fast.
Hell, I could use a tall Vodka, too.
“What?” she asked, sipping.
“Christmas Liturgy,” I frowned. “We’re expected to show up.”
Her mouth popped open.
“Serge...I’m exhausted...”
“I know,” I said, shoving my hand through my hair. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll just go and that’ll satisfy my grandmother for now. I’ll take you another day to a service.”
Adele chewed the inside of her lips for a moment before nodding.
“Ok, well I guess we’d better hurry if we’re going to make it, right? How long do we have?”
“Adele, you don’t have to...” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“I’m going. I want to meet the woman who raised you.”
My heartbeat stuttered at her words, making my chest swell.
God I loved this woman.
“C’mon!” Adele called, waving me toward the elevator again so we didn’t have to expend energy going up the stairs.
I dragged our bags up with us, dropping them in the room where we both got into the shower, washing off our twenty-seven hour trip.
“Anything special that I should wear?” she asked as she stood in her closet, nothing but sexy white underwear on her curvy body.
“Something nice, but it’s gotta cover your shoulders and try to get it to the knee or close if you can,” I said, unzipping the bag with my suit in it, glad I didn’t have to go home for one.
It had a few wrinkles and could use a pressing, but it was good enough for church.
“This ok?” she asked, holding up a cap-sleeved white sheath dress.
“Are you trying to torture me?” I groaned back at her?
I loved her in those sheath dresses. So easy to just pull up and…
“I think it’ll be nice,” she nodded once and slipped it on.
It hit about mid-thigh but it was modest enough that she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.
“You happen to have any ties lying around here?” I asked her, only finding the ones I’d tied her up with still knotted and crumpled in my bag.
“I do not,” she frowned. “The other ones ruined?”
I just wrinkled my nose and nodded.
Well, I supposed I could pull off the no-tie look.
Unbuttoning the first two buttons at my throat, I pulled the collar open and got a more relaxed look.
“We look like we’re going to a wedding,” Adele laughed as we stared at each other in the mirror.
“Eh, who cares,” I shrugged, pausing in my dressing for a second to kiss her.
“Don’t you get that started here,” she chuckled against my lips. “We’ll never get out of here.”
“Fucking stupid Christmas service,” I sighed, stealing another kiss, then two more.
Stumbling back into one of her dresser drawers, I was pawing at her lips with mine, enticing her to give in to the natural draw between us.
“Serge,” she hummed with a groan into my mouth. “We have to go!”
“We have time,” I breathed back.
“I told you I want to meet your grandma. Let’s go.”
She pulled away from me and dipped to get some heeled boots for her feet.
“Let’s go, Serge!” she left the closet, leaving me watching after her.
She was some woman… The kind of woman that men give themselves to. The kind that men lived for. And I was quickly finding myself doing exactly that. She was my Helen of Troy. I would do anything for her. I would go to war for her.
“You just going to hang out in the closet?” Adele called from her spot at her vanity.
“Waiting for you to come back here and kiss me again,” I called back.
“You’ll be waiting a while,” she laughed.
Yeah, I’d definitely start a war for her.
“Fine, but you owe me!” I called to her as I joined her back in the bathroom.
“Mind getting my phone? I want to call my driver.”
“Let’s just take the subway,” I told her. “It’s faster.”
She lifted one brow.
“You still take the subway?”
“You think my head is so big I won’t use the subway?”
“Well, if we do that, I’m changing, I’m not wearing white on the subway.”
Probably a smart idea.
“I’ll find you something else,” I told her, excited to pick something out for her that I’d get cramped in the pants for.
After pulling on a green velvet dress I’d found in the
back of her closet, she followed me out the door, subtle makeup on her face and hair falling in gentle waves. Then, we were on our way.
“Your grandma still lives in Brighton Beach?” Adele asked as we got comfortable in the subway.
“No matter what I do to bribe her, the stubborn old woman won’t listen,” I sighed, running my hand through my hair. “I tried getting her to live with me, or to at least move out to the Upper East, but she insists she likes her shitty little house in Brighton beach.”
Adele smiled.
“I think we’ll get along just fine,” she nodded once, then looked out the window across from us.
The ride was quiet as I pulled her to my side, my arm loosely around her and my ankle over my knee. Adele sat beside me, legs crossed and looking delicate and feminine in her Christmas dress.
Every time I thought she couldn’t be more beautiful, she always left me gasping for air.
I hated how sappy I was with her, and how thoroughly she owned me, but I also loved it. I savored every moment.
I was capable of love, deeply and passionately capable. And when she eventually dropped my ass for some dude that was more deserving of her, I would take that with me and it’d help me nurse my broken heart.
Our station came up and the two of us moved out of the train, heading up the stairs until we were on the platform, immediately cold.
“Walk or cab?” I asked her.
“Which if faster?” She started shivering underneath her big, wool jacket.
“Walking,” I admitted. “I timed it once. It took them for-fucking-ever to actually get here once you call a cab.”
“Then let’s walk,” she said, putting her arm in mine as she pulled me down the street.
In the wrong direction.
“This way, malishka,” I chuckled, using our hooked arms to pull her toward Babushka’s street.
She grinned and held on tight as we went.
I didn’t even knock on the door before my grandma was throwing it open, a grin on her face.
“Come! Oh you are beautiful!” Babushka said, ushering us in.
I moved into the house, immediately kicking off my shoes.
Adele followed suit, zipping down her boots and stacking them neatly next to my own black boots.
“Come, I get to know you,” Grandma said to Adele, waving for her to sit down. “You want tea?”
“Oh, I’m alright. You don’t have to go through the trouble...” Adele began, but I nodded at Grandma.
“That would be very nice, Babushka,” I told her.
With a nod, she left the living room to get the tea going.
“Why did you do that?” Adele asked me.
“Because it would have insulted her if you’d have said no. She thinks of you as my future wife. You have to give her a chance to impress you.”
She looked at me all strange, like I’d grown a second head or something.
“Culture,” is all I whispered as Babushka came back into the room, the tea water having been placed on the stove with a familiar metallic clank.
“How long do you two...hmm...court?” Babushka asked in her broken English.
So many people spoke Russian in the area that she hadn’t had a lot of practice speaking the language outside of Brighton Beach.
“Date, Babushka,” I helped her find the word. “And I told you, we’ve only been dating for a short while.”
She tsked and turned to Adele.
“Are you Christian?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she nodded solemnly. “But I’m a Roman Catholic.”
Grandma’s upper lip curled in distaste.
“Why do you not date a good Orthodox girl, kot?” she complained in Russian.
“Babushka!” I scolded back in Russian so poor Adele didn’t understand. “Isn’t it more important to love God then to be Orthodox?”
She pouted, having been called out on her bullshit.
“Sorry,” I said to the beauty sitting beside me. “Babushka isn’t very good at English.”
“Oh, that’s ok,” Adele shrugged. “My great grandmother struggled learning English when she and her parents came to the states from Germany.”
Babushka gasped and clasped her hand over her heart.
“Oh shit...” I ground out.
“German!” my grandmother shrieked. “You date a German!”
“She’s American, Babushka!” I stood, putting my palms out to calm her down. “Just because her grandparents came from Germany doesn't mean she’s a Nazi!”
Adele’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God! No, no of course not! We’ve been in the US forever!” she stumbled out of her mouth.
“I go check water,” Babushka said with haunted eyes as she left the room, giving us a moment to absorb everything.
“What the hell just happened?” Adele whispered harshly.
“Bad blood,” I frowned, “Very bad blood. Russians don’t like Germans.”
“Do Russians like anyone?” she bit back.
“Not really,” I admitted with a small smile. “But I like you.”
“Tea,” Grandmother came back into the room with three of her prettiest cups on her favorite wooden serving tray.
She handed one to me, then Adele before taking the last one for herself, staring over the rim at my girlfriend.
“How did you meet?” she asked, her accent so thick Adele probably had trouble understanding her.
“Oh, uh...” Adele fumbled over her words.
Neither of us were about to tell her how we actually met.
“At work,” I interjected before Adele slipped and said something stupid in her nervousness.
“That’s right,” Adele grinned in relief.
It was relatively true, anyway.
“You are salesman too?” Grandma asked.
“Oh, no… Well...”
“Her friend from work,” I hummed, pressing my palm onto Adele’s thigh to calm her down. “She’s a mutual friend of ours. I worked with her before and she introduced us.”
Babushka looked unconvinced by our blabbering.
“Mutual friend,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes at us.
“Yes, Babushka. A mutual friend,” I gave her a look back.
She let it go and sipped her tea.
“What are the plans after the service?” I asked my grandmother and she shrugged.
“We will enjoy the feast. As always,” she nodded decidedly.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Adele put in. “Is there anything I can help with to prepare?”
Grandma swatted her hand around.
“No, you are guest. I have already prepared my dish.”
“We should probably get going,” I said after a couple more minutes of silence. “Don’t want to be late.”
Babushka shook her head and jumped up, nimble in her old age, before putting her tea cup down.
I did the same and Adele followed suit, settling the tea cups on the tray.
I led Adele to the door and Grandma appeared with a big bowl of something, and her nicest scarf on her head, a baggy floral patterned dress on her body that was probably at least one size too big.
“And no-uh,” Grandma motioned to her own headscarf, addressing my poor, confused girlfriend.
“Oh, I didn’t...” she stumbled over her words again.
“No problem. I get you one.” Babushka said as she walked away again.
“Guess you’re wearing a headscarf,” I lifted a shoulder. “Sorry. She can be kind of...”
Fanatical was the word that was about to pop out of my mouth, but I ate it back as Grandma came back into the room and took her scarf off, putting another one on her head.
“Here, you use,” she lifted the scarf up to Adele, who looked almost shell-shocked.
“Oh, but you were just wearing this… I can use the other one...”
“Take it,” I whispered into her ear and she did. As nicely and politely as she could.
It was the way with us. Even th
ough Babushka didn’t approve of the type of girl I was dating, she still would respect her and give her the best that she had. Her best headscarf included.
We left the house and got into the car I’d bought for my grandmother a few years ago.
I helped her into her seat, insisting on sitting in the back before helping Adele into hers as well, sitting in the front beside me.
Driving, I managed in the ice until we got to the cathedral.
Again with the opening of doors, as was expected of me, helping my women out and holding each of their arms as we went into the building.
Once inside, Grandma went first, leading the way in.
She stopped momentarily at the holy icon, a picture of Christ, painted with holy hands.
Her head dipped down and she kissed it three times before doing the sign of the cross thrice, then moving onto the seats.
Next, I bent, doing the same kisses and crosses before straightening, looking at a confused Adele.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. “I feel like an intruder.”
“It’s a place to worship, malishka. We all worship the same God.”
She moved toward the idol and dipped, giving it a singular kiss before moving on, quickly grabbing my hand.
Babushka was already doing a series of three crosses and bows, something that I started as soon as I led Adele up beside her.
Adele watched as me and Babushka both pressed our thumb and first two fingers together, forming the Holy Trinity before shaping the cross across our bodies, dipping down and prostrating ourselves by touching the ground.
“Am I supposed to do that?” Adele asked with wide eyes.
“Do whatever you’re comfortable with, babe. Don’t do what we do just to do it. It’s just church.”
Adele turned to the silver cross shining on the wall and sighed, making the Catholic sign of the cross with her hand before kneeling and whispering her Catholic prayer.
Babushka watched with rapt interest as Adele stood and pulled a little on the knot of fabric under her chin.
She nodded with approval at her, something Adele didn’t see, but I noticed.
And it made me swell with pride.
We took turns lighting the candles, then stood and waited for it to start.
After the precession and the incense and the reading and the chanting and the singing, singing, singing, we bowed, kneeling in prayer twice as people drifted in, kissing icons and joining our standing crowd.