by Piper Rayne
“Really? They didn’t tell you?”
“No,” she exclaims. “All I got was an invitation that someone dropped off at the front desk of our hotel yesterday at noon. If Charlie hadn’t gone to the desk to check out, I never would have gotten it.”
“That seems odd.”
“Yes! But don’t worry, I talked to my agent and got it figured out. It was a huge mix-up with her new assistant who she’s been training.”
“So, you went to a New York party instead of catching your flight to see me? I see where I stand, Katya.” I squeeze her knee.
“It wasn’t just a party, Vanya. It was a surprise for me.” She grabs my forearm and turns to me. “They named the fragrance Katya!” She squeals.
“You’re kidding?” I ask with wide eyes. She shakes her head. “Kayta, that’s amazing! You have your own perfume. That’s huge!”
“Yes!”
I love the pride in her eyes and excitement in her voice. It makes my heart swell with happiness for her.
“Well, I’d say that’s a fine reason to miss your flight.”
“And, I didn’t call last night after the party because—” Her face scrunches up and she bites her lip.
I glance at her, widening my eyes as if beckoning her to continue. “Because?” I draw the word out.
Her gaze moves to the floor. “I passed out.”
I burst out laughing, which makes the wheel shake a bit, I check the mirrors and correct myself immediately.
“The champagne was flowing, Vanya!” She giggles. “And you know how much of a lightweight I am.”
I reach out and touch her cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It was so surreal. I was actually a bit pissed when I got the invitation. Though I didn’t know the surprise part of it, I wondered how something so important as a release party had slipped through the cracks.”
“That’s understandable, though. I mean, you have a busy life. A slip like that is massive.”
“Are you okay.” Her brows furrow with concern as she reaches out and traces the skin under my eye with her thumb. “You look stressed.”
“I’m good. I swear.” I grab her hand and kiss it. “I actually have good news, too.”
“Really?” She tucks one leg under her butt and turns toward me. “What is it?”
“I signed a contract extension this morning.” I glance at her quickly. “The Chargers want me for four more years.”
“That’s wonderful! They see you as their future.”
“Can you handle four more years in Detroit?” As soon as I say it, I realize how presumptuous it sounds. We’ve barely been dating for two months and I’m asking her about the next four years.
I shake my head. “Forget I said that.”
“I’ll go anywhere you are, Vanya. I love you.”
The words surprise me, but a jolt of adrenaline hits me as I process them. “I know I said we were going directly home, but do you mind if we make one quick stop first?”
“Not at all.”
We laugh and chat happily as we drive. She tells me about the party and how she smiled so much her face hurt.
“I thought that only happened when you were with me?” I ask, feigning being offended. “We’re here,” I announce just before I swing the car into a parking spot.
“A flower shop?” she asks as she scrambles out of the car. When I round the corner, I grab her hand, and she kisses me.
Upon entering, I have my eyes peeled for the old woman who helped me pick flowers the day before, but I don’t see her. I lead Katya to the back wall, watching with a smile as her face lights up.
“What are your favorite flowers?” I ask.
“Tulips,” she replies, walking down a bit, and pulling a bouquet out.
“I bought tulips for you yesterday. An older lady I met here advised me to.” I crane my neck, looking over Katya’s head. That same woman is walking toward us, as if she sensed we were talking about her.
“That’s a smart lady,” she says, waving the flowers at me before closing her eyes and taking them to her nose.
“You’re about to meet her.” When I nod, Katya turns around.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in for the second day in a row,” the old woman says, her face lighting up when she sees me.
“Second day?” Katya from me to the lady puzzled.
I shrug. “I brought flowers to the airport.”
“Let me guess, this is the girlfriend.” She points to Katya.
“Yes, this is my girlfriend, Katya.” I step back and gesture from the lady to Katya. “Katya, this is woman I teach Russian customs yesterday.”
“Real funny,” she scowls at me before replacing it with a grin for Katya. She stretches out her wrinkled hand. “You can call me Lucia.”
“Lucia. That’s a beautiful name.” As Katya shakes her hand, the old woman beams.
“Lucia, you own this shop?” I ask as I look around. It’s busier in here today than it was yesterday.
“Yup. That’s why my name is on the sign.”
“Your sign say Vitale.”
“Are you sure about this one, Katya? He seems a bit thick.” She taps her temple. We both laugh. “Vitale is my last name.”
“You liked the tulips so much, you came back for more?” Lucia nods to the flowers Katya’s holding. Red tulips—the exact kind she picked out for me yesterday.
“These are my favorite,” Katya replies, closing her eyes and bringing the flowers to her nose.
“You know, your boyfriend wasn’t sure about the flowers to get you yesterday. I told him to get you red tulips.” She sounds proud of her advice.
“Well, thank you,” Katya replies. “I bet he told you he needed an odd number, yes?”
“I will admit, he taught me something I didn’t know. We don’t get many Russians in here.” She says conspiratorially.
“Glad I could help,” I chime in.
“I’m gonna go save another man from making a stupid flower decision.” She laughs. “I hope I see you both again.” She seems happy, she must have lived a fulfilled life, a life she truly enjoyed.
“Nice to meet you, Lucia,” Katya calls as the woman walks away. When she’s out of sight my girlfriend turns to me. “That’s it! I’m never leaving Detroit again.”
I laugh. “Why is that?”
“That woman has a crush on you!” Katya puts her hand in mine as we stroll to the counter to pay.
14
Katya
It’s been over a month since I’ve seen Vanya. Between both of our schedules, we haven’t had any time to get together. I miss him more than ever, but it’ll only be a few more days until I see him. I finally have a free weekend, and I’m flying to New York for the NHL All-Star game where Vanya, and many other Russian players, will be.
Currently, I’m in Los Angeles to shoot a music video for Andres Martinez’s latest single. I’ve been looking forward to this moment ever since Andres’ agent told Jill that Andres wanted me to be in the video at the Katya fragrance release party in New York.
I don’t think I’d ever been more excited about a project in my life. I’ve done hundreds of photo shoots—literally hundreds—but this is my first music video. I haven’t been able to sleep more than four hours over the last few nights, which has been hard on my body.
The shoot will take two days, but I’ll only be needed for a half day on each of them. They’re filming the scenes with Andres and his band this morning, and I’m supposed to be on set at around seven p.m. Since becoming a model, I’ve been around many celebrities and musicians, but I’ve never met Andres. Which is kind of funny, since we’re both based out of Miami. You’d think we would have crossed paths at some point.
After a full day of training and workouts, Jill and I grab a late lunch in L.A. before heading to the studio in Long Beach. I’m whisked straight to hair and make-up. I don’t know anything about the concept of the video or what I’ll be doing, but since I love being on camera an
d dancing, I figure I’ll be okay.
Once the artists have worked their magic, I’m led to a room with racks of clothes. A stylist hands me a pair of leather, bootcut pants and a black and white top. There’s a flurry of activity around me, and I can hear Andres’ song piping through the studio. It’s catchy, and I find myself already moving my hips as I get dressed.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about out there, Katya. You’ve already got the groove,” the production assistant tells me as she hands me a jacket.
“It’s such a great song,” I gush, sliding on the coat.
“Come on.” She waves for me to follow her.
Shivering, I tug the jacket closed, as she leads me through the air-conditioned studio to the set. We walk quickly, making sure not to trip over cords and wires as my stiletto heels clack along the floor. A camera crew from a music network follows us, filming the entire process for a behind-the-scenes video.
“Katya!” Andres greets me with a wide, infectious smile.
“Hi, Andres,” I say as he grabs my shoulders and kisses me on each cheek. His lips are soft, and he smells like expensive cologne. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m so happy you agreed to do this. I’ve been excited to work with you.”
“I’ve been excited as well. I haven’t stopped smiling since you asked me.
“That’s exactly why I wanted you, Katya! You’re always sporting that stunning smile. At that event for your perfume, I told my agent, her!” He points at me. “We need her.”
His compliments make my grin even bigger. I feel like my cheeks will explode. With cameras capturing our entire interaction, I make sure to keep my smile and laugh ready. It’s not hard, since he’s so sweet and makes me feel very comfortable.
I clap my hands together, excited to get started. “I’m ready. Where do you want me? What should I do?”
“You play my love interest in the video.”
“Your love interest?” I laugh, hoping it hides my nervousness. I’m actually relieved I didn’t know the concept before I got here. How would I have been able to keep that from Vanya? And how would he feel if he knew?
He turns and points behind him where there’s a stage and crowd of extras ready to cheer him on. “This is the scene where you’re watching me in concert and you get really excited.”
“I get excited watching you?” I ask, crossing my arms under my chest. “From the performance, right?”
“Absolutely. The sex scenes are tomorrow.”
“Sex scenes?” I ask, rearing back in surprise, but the smile stays on my face. “Is that why you asked me to be on this video?”
“We’re totally clothed. Just making out!” He holds his hands up in the air laughing.
“Okay. Okay.” I touch his upper arm.
“But this first part, you’re in the crowd staring at me, enthralled by my magical voice and how I’m singing just for you.”
“Oh, you’re singing just for me, yes?” I place both hands over my heart as if swooning. “What are you singing?”
“I will sing anything you want me to.” He lifts his arms as if gathering the world for me. “You’ll be in the crowd and then everyone will be gone, and it’s just us. It’s the moment—that passionate moment—when you know you love me.” His voice gets higher, more excited, as he talks about the concept.
“Oh wow. Don’t get too excited now,” I say, laughing and touching his upper arm to bring him down a bit.
“I am excited! I’m standing next to Katya Novikova. Who wouldn’t be excited?”
“Oh, whatever.” I roll my eyes and wave him off. He’s very charming and complimentary. If I didn’t have Vanya in my life, I may be swayed by it.
He points behind him with his thumb and winks. “I gotta get to the stage. Jamie will be over to tell you what you need to do.”
I laugh at what a jokester he is. But I appreciate his ability to make me feel very comfortable when I’m a bit nervous.
The sexual nature of the video doesn’t intimidate me. Andres Martinez’s celebrity persona is all about being a brooding, sensual, Latin-lover. His songs ooze romance and sex, so even without knowing what the video was about, I figured it would be something romantic or sexual. It’s not that I’m excited to make out with a random man. I’m excited because it fits with my brand.
The reason I get many of my endorsements and magazine covers is no secret, and it’s not because of my stellar tennis skills. I’ve been sexualized in the American media since my parents and I moved to Florida to work with Charlie when I was fifteen. Articles and news stories have always focused more on my looks than my talent.
I love being in front of the camera. I love being a sex symbol, a fantasy. I love the attention that comes with it. It makes me feel like the strong, beautiful woman I am. Playing up my femininity and sexiness doesn’t mean I’m any less of a tennis player. I prove my talent by winning matches—and championships.
Being in a sexy video with an extremely attractive musician doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on my boyfriend. I don’t believe in marriage, but I do believe in commitment. There aren’t any feelings involved. All of my feelings are for Vanya.
Before I take my place in the crowd, the music network asks me a few questions for their footage.
Even though the process is long and intense, I decide quickly that I like acting. The last scene for the night is the last scene of the video, where Andres and I are alone in the crowd. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulls me into his chest. I wrap my arms around him and we embrace until Jamie, the director, yells, “Cut!”
As soon as he yells, we both back away as if the other is on fire. I push my hair back and giggle. “That was so fun. Good job, Andres.”
“Ha! Thanks, Katya. You did great. Thank you so much.”
“Andres and Katya and done for tonight,” Jamie calls out. “We’ll see everyone tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day, so don’t be late.”
It’s after ten p.m. by the time we finish and the East to West coast time change is taking a toll on me. I’m exhausted and I know it’s an early wake-up call to be on set again tomorrow.
When I rest my head on the pillow in my posh LA hotel room, my stomach swirls with excitement. It was an amazing day. Tomorrow, I’ll finish the video, then hop on a plane to New York. By nightfall, I’ll be in Vanya’s arms.
15
Vanya
All Star weekend is always a flurry of activity, only for me, there’s much more going on this year than in others. The official NHL events start tonight, but I got into town early because Kirya and I have been discussing a business deal for the past few weeks.
Instead of having the cab take me to my hotel, I give the driver the address to the Russian Dining Room. The bartender directs me to the office downstairs. Over the last couple years, it’s undergone a complete renovation. Why anyone would keep the office near the bathrooms is beyond me, but I guess space is limited in New York buildings, and you’d rather have as much patron-space as possible.
As I stand in the doorway, Kirya is behind the desk with his head-down, scribbling something on a paper in front of him. When I knock on the frame, he looks up. Then he stands and approaches me saying,
“Vanya, come in. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, brother.” After we embrace, he returns to his seat and I take the one across from him.
“Did you read the contract?” he asks, reaching onto a shelf and grabbing a bottle of vodka.
I nod as he sets two glasses on the desk. “You didn’t add anything since I last looked, did you?”
He looks up from pouring. “Just a twenty percent increase to my agent fee, but nothing else.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a silent partner?” I roll my eyes.
“Only on paper, dear brother.” He places the paperwork in front of me. “I’m the loudest mother fucker you know.”
“If you’re going to make all the decisions and tell me what
to do, I won’t sign.”
“Yes, you will, because this gives you a chance to be with Katya more often. New York is her second home, not Detroit,” he says, setting the glass next to the contract.
I grab a pen and lean over, my hand hovering over the page. I sign my name quickly, sealing the deal.
With that signature, I became a fifty-percent owner of the Russian Dining Room. The ghost on the other side of the desk owns the other half. But he can’t be seen by anyone but me—and whoever else he chooses. One of which is not Stasya.
In order to get my sister out of Russia safely, Kirya faked his death. Well, it wasn’t that he faked it as much as he sent her to America with her thinking he was dead—and he ordered everyone to keep it that way.
Stasya doesn’t know any different, and it kills me.
She’s upstairs right now without a clue that the man she loves is alive and well, right under her feet—literally.
Kirya raises his glass. “To the newest owner of the RDR.”
We clink glasses and empty the glasses in one swallow. Then he refills them and we do the same thing. The vodka gives me liquid courage.
“Stasya eats here almost every day. She’s going to ask about how the opportunity for me to become an owner came up. She’s going to ask who I’ve partnered with.”
“Well then, you’ll have to figure out something to tell her, won’t you?” Kirya doesn’t meet my eyes, keeping busy by filling the glasses again.
“Why are you doing this to her?” I bat the pencil cup off his desk to get some kind of reaction from him. “She’s a shell of herself.”
He glances at the pens and pencils scattered across the floor, then brings his gaze back to me. Though he looks amused, he’s still an intimidating figure—for most. I still think of him as the guy I grew up with—my brother from another woman.
“It looks like she’s doing just fine moving on with Morozov.” Kirya grabs the papers and rolls his chair to a printer in the corner of the office. He makes a copy of the contract and hands it to me. “She’s better off without knowing, without me.”
