by Tee, Marian
Her fingers danced on the keyboard, her heart beating faster with every second that passed.
If this idea worked—-
Seri forced herself to swallow back her excitement.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seri.
More minutes passed before it was finally ready, and she leaned back against her seat, wonder filling her as she stared at her screen.
This was it, she thought. For better or worse, this was it.
Clearing her throat, Seri first tried doing it the way she usually did, imagining herself as the heroine.
Once the heroine’s image had settled in her mind, she clicked on Play. The female character started to speak, and Seri clicked on Record while she voiced out the heroine’s dialogue.
W-what are you doing? Don’t come nearer. You’re making me nervous.
She stopped the recording and replayed it. Seri closed her eyes and her lips curved as she listened to her voice. Maybe she was being biased, but she did think she got this part down pat.
Thank you Mom, for the vocal genes, she thought.
The next few seconds featured a seduction scene, with the hero’s hand climbing under the girl’s skirt while his tongue licked his way down her neck.
Clearing her throat, Seri tried dubbing this scene.
Aah. Oooh. Nooo. Oooh.
She stopped recording, played it back, and almost fell off her chair.
Oh my God! That couldn’t be her.
She played it back again, and this time, she did fall off her chair.
It was her!
And it was awful.
Her moans had come out like a cross between a raging pit bull and a monkey in distress, and the mere memory of it had Seri wincing. Arielle was right about her. She sucked horribly, immensely, and terribly at this.
Going back to her seat, Seri squared her shoulders and told herself it was time for The Idea.
First, she played the scene and took note of every little detail on the characters’ faces, their body movements, and the interplay between the plot and the music. She played it another time, and then another, and finally Seri was ready to record.
Here goes...
Seri pressed Play and Record.
The girl on the video started backing away, but instead of an animated figure, Seri saw...herself. It was Seri who was in the library, and it was Seri’s heart beating madly as the guy she liked was walking towards her. His sense of purposefulness terrified, thrilled, and confused her at the same time, affecting her body in the strangest way.
W-what are you doing? And it was Seri saying this, not anyone else.
Don’t come nearer.
You’re making me nervous.
The video’s angle changed, finally revealing the face of the hero.
But instead of another animated figure, Seri saw...him.
Vassi.
It was Vassi with her in the scene, Vassi wearing the same school uniform that eerily looked like their uniforms from their own school. It was Vassi’s beautiful eyes that captured her gaze, Vassi’s young, hard body that was making her feel so weak in the knees.
The hero reached for the girl’s knee, and in her mind, she saw Vassi doing the same thing.
The heroine’s lips parted to moan, and Seri moaned with her.
The hero’s hand climbed up in a tantalizingly slow pace, and Seri jerked in her seat as she found herself falling into a hot, vivid illusion. In her mind, she saw Vassi doing the same thing, his powerful hand moving up on her skin—-
Seri’s legs trembled the same time the heroine’s legs trembled in the film.
The hero’s fingers found the girl’s core.
And Seri imagined, Seri saw, Seri felt the same thing, Vassi’s hand finding her most tender flesh.
The heroine gasped, and Seri gasped with her.
The hero smirked, and she saw Vassi smirking.
The heroine’s breath hitched, and so did hers.
And then the hero was kissing the heroine, making her moan.
And. It. Was. The. Same. For. Her.
Oh God.
She blindly fumbled for the mouse, clicked Stop, and slumped in her seat. Oh God, she was panting, and her body felt like it was both weak and burning hot and the same time. It was almost like she had a fever that no medicine could suppress. No, the only cure for this was—-
Vassi.
She closed her eyes and swallowed back a moan.
Vassi.
Her fingers trailed down her body.
Vassi.
Oh God, Vassi.
Seri tried played back her recording.
Her moans and gasps filled the room, and they were...beautiful.
Hot.
Real.
Chapter Eight
The buzzing alarm clock beside her laptop jarred Seri out of her concentration, and she quickly fumbled to stop its alarm. She glanced at the time, and a squeak of surprise escaped her when she realized it was already ten minutes past five in the afternoon.
The boys would be back from their shopping trip any moment now, and since they also had the mayor’s annual Christmas fundraiser to attend, that left her with—-
She glanced at her laptop’s screen to check the time.
Derr’ mo. She only had half an hour to shower and dress up.
Seri jumped out of her seat and almost fell flat on her face. The muscles in her legs had gone numb, and she wondered vaguely how long she had been working. Five hours? Six?
Seri couldn’t remember exactly what time she started, and if she had to be honest, her brain didn’t seem to be working at all. It was still submerged in the sensual haze of her fantasies, and when she was inside the shower, the weird, drugged state she was in only got worse.
When Seri closed her eyes, she was stunned to find her body reacting to the shower’s exquisitely hot water like it was a caress, the liquid sliding down her skin echoing the movement of imaginary long, hard fingers.
It lulled her into a dreamy state, and Seri practically floated to her closet. The fantasies continued, and everything she touched and wore seemed to be the perfect complement to her secret desires.
The rasp of silk as she zipped her dress up reminded her of how the hero undressed the heroine—-
(Of how Vassi undressed Seri)
She selected a pair of pearl studs, and as she pinned them to her ears, her mind was somehow able to conjure yet another breathtakingly similar scene.
The hero biting the heroine’s ear—-
(Vassi biting Seri’s ear)
Her fingers shook, and it took a couple of tries before she was able to secure the studs on her ears.
Seri reached for the perfume and sprayed a bit on her wrists and the back of her ears, and even this struck a vivid memory in her.
The hero breathing the heroine’s scent as he wrapped his arms around her from behind—-
Slowly, she placed the perfume bottle back on the dresser.
Her eyes closed.
She wrapped her arms around herself, and it was almost...
Almost like...
Him.
In her mind, she remembered the way the heroine moaned at the hero’s caress, and Seri’s lips parted in a silent cry of pleasure. Slowly, she came to her feet and moving to the shoe closet, she chose a pair of metallic pumps. And again she remembered, this time of how the hero worshipped every part of the heroine’s body, even placing a kiss on the arch of the girl’s dainty foot—-
(Of how Vassi worshipped Seri’s body, even placing a kiss on the arch of her foot)
Her body trembled, just as someone knocked on the door.
For one moment, she was tempted to pretend not to have heard anything.
But when the person kept knocking, she forced her limbs to move, feeling like she was sleepwalking all the while.
Whoever it was, Seri thought vaguely, she would get rid of the person immediately. Right now, everything was just a distraction, none of it as important, as beautiful, as seductive as the
ability to imagine things...
Seri opened the door, and the first thing she saw was her hero, no, wait, it was Vassi—-
Fantasies collided with reality, and she jumped nearly a foot back. “Derr’ mo!” She was so disoriented for a moment, unable to decide if the Vassi in front of her was real or not.
Unable to help it, Seri reached out to touch his cheek.
Her hero – or was this Vassi – raised an eyebrow as her fingers grazed his skin. “Uh...Leech?”
B’lyad.
This was the real Vassi.
She snatched her hand back, stammering, “You had, umm, dirt on your cheek.” She couldn’t meet his gaze as she lied, and the burning heat in her cheeks just made her feel guiltier.
He gave her an odd look but only asked curiously, “Are you okay?”
“Uh huh.” Or at least she was as okay as someone who had just come face to face with the very person she had been fantasizing...doing...things with.
The thought made Seri’s cheeks burn hotter, and she asked quickly, “What time did you guys get back?”
“About twenty minutes ago,” Vassi replied. Like Seri, he was already dressed for the party, his body encased in a black tux. It made him look a lot older than his seventeen years, and Seri found herself disliking the thought. A mature Vassi would attract even more females, girls who were older and prettier than Seri, girls who knew how to do certain...things.
“Okay, leech. What did I do this time?”
Oops. Realizing she had been scowling at him, she forced a smile, saying, “I was just thinking of something.”
He shook his head. “It’s not like you to space you out like this. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am. I promise. I was just thinking about work.” She changed the subject before he could ask her about work, asking, “Are we leaving already?”
“No, not yet. The reason I’m here is to give you this.”
“Oh, Vassi.” She couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling either as she took the jewelry box from his hands. “You know you’re supposed to give me this on Christmas Day.”
His eyes gleamed. “Exactly.” He touched her nose. “I want to be the first.”
She had to bite her lip hard at the words, her heart wanting to tell him that he was her first for everything.
As she started to open the box, he said softly, “Merry Christmas, solnishka moya.”
A rose gold Cartier love bracelet studded with diamonds lay on a bed of white silk, and picking it up, she noticed Russian characters engraved on its inner surface.
“What does it mean? Seri asked.
“A Russian saying,” he answered. “Literally, it translates to visiting is good but home is better. In English, the closest to it would be—-”
Something clicked in Seri’s mind, and she said slowly, “There’s no place like home?”
Vassi smiled.
And of course, she had to smile back. She couldn’t help it, pleasure unfurling inside her at the knowledge that she had gained Vassi’s approval.
“Wear it tonight?” At her shy nod, he slid it in place, murmuring, “Perfect fit—-”
His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her wrist, and she jerked. It reminded her of the scene where the hero had gripped the heroine’s hand, using it to haul her close—-
And almost on cue, Vassi inched closer to her.
Mother of Russia, why was it suddenly hard for her to breathe?
“Seri? What’s wrong?” Before she could even think of what to say, he was already tipping her chin up, and his frowning gaze took in her eyes. “You’re sick, aren’t you?” Before she could even answer, he continued, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how flushed your cheeks are.” He felt for her forehead, his touch hot and gentle at the same time, and her knees knocked hard under the semi-loose skirt of her gown.
Oh God.
“You don’t feel hot enough for a fever, but...” Releasing her face, he lowered his head so he could gaze straight into her eyes—-
No!
“We should go now!” She ducked under his arm and raced down the stairs. Mother of Russia, that was close! When she reached the landing, it was to see her two older brothers emerging out of the study and on their way to the front door as well.
She almost expired in relief. Those two were exactly what she needed to keep Vassi away...and stop him from ever guessing the truth.
Following them inside the limousine, she squeezed herself in between the two.
Sergei and Misha immediately stopped talking and turned to her in visible surprise.
Knowing that they were both wondering why she wasn’t in her usual place, which was right next to Vassi, she stammered, “I, umm...miss you both?”
Both of them immediately smiled.
“We miss you, too,” Sergei murmured, patting her head fondly.
“Cute little dove,” were Misha’s words even as he threatened to crush her ribs in his hug.
Vassi came inside and scowled when he saw where Seri was seated. Slamming the door shut, he patted the space beside him. “Come here, leech.”
Sergei and Misha shook their heads.
“Our baby girl misses us,” Sergei murmured in pleasure.
“So stop monopolizing our little dove,” Misha said with a reproving frown.
Vassi rolled his eyes.
Seri stuck her tongue out.
“See how disrespectful she is? You guys are spoiling her rotten.”
But Sergei and Misha were no longer paying him any attention, too busy asking Seri about her day.
Fyodor joined them last, and he, too, appeared startled when he saw that the only vacant seat left was next to Vassi, which was usually Seri’s place. A possible reason behind the odd arrangement occurred to him, and as the limousine started to move, Fyodor demanded of his youngest son, “Have you two fought again?”
Vassi scowled and she answered quickly, “No, Papa.” She deliberately squashed the guilt of accidentally putting Vassi in the hot seat, telling herself that the end justified the means. And right now, the most imperative thing was to not accidentally spill the beans about her current strategy at work.
Seeing Fyodor’s frown, she added, “I just miss Sergei and Misha.”
Vassi’s scowl became blacker. “You miss them but not me?”
Sergei and Misha grinned.
Fyodor reached forward to pat Seri’s hand. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried for a moment, thinking that Vassi’s done something wrong again.” Vassi sputtered in protest, but Fyodor acted like he didn’t hear a thing, continuing, “You must tell me if Vassi’s done something, da? I do not want you leaving home again.”
Seri’s conscience was stinging painfully. “I promise, Papa. And I’m really not mad at Vassi.” She just didn’t want him to know the truth, Seri thought. And the truth was—-
Her cheeks heated up.
Derr’ mo.
Her hands flew to her face, but it was too late.
Vassi growled, “Your cheeks are flushed again.”
When Seri suddenly found herself the object of everyone’s gazes, she stammered, “I’m...umm...”
Misha felt her forehead. “She doesn’t have a temperature.”
“Is it PMS?” Sergei asked in concern.
The color in her cheeks deepened. “Sergei!”
“Do you have a stomach bug?” Fyodor asked worriedly.
“No, it’s none of those.” Mother of Russia, save me, and stop my cheeks from blushing. Clearing her throat, she croaked out, “I’ve just been, umm, practicing my vocal chords. I’m trying to reach a really high note, so you know how it is, when you, umm, overexert yourself.”
“What do you need high notes for?” Vassi asked skeptically. “I haven’t heard any openings for animated musicals.”
Argh. Why did Vassi know so much about her industry anyway? “I...umm...” Seri noticed the limousine slowing down, and realizing that they were near the
ir destination, she exclaimed, “Oh, look, we’re here.”
Everyone was properly distracted, and Seri quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe...for now.
The town’s prettiest hotel was ablaze with lights, its façade decked with festive Christmas décor. A red carpet had been rolled out to welcome invited guests for the charity ball, and judging by the number of guests and the paparazzi surrounding them, this year’s turnout seemed to have more star power than its predecessor.
Fyodor squeezed Seri’s hand. “You sure you’re up for tonight, baby?”
She quickly pasted a smile on her lips. “I’m looking forward to the party, Papa.” And normally that wouldn’t be a lie.
Formal parties were her favorite because it allowed her to see the boys all dressed up. But this event was Seri’s sole exception, mainly because it was also that one time of the year when Seri and the boys were guaranteed to meet Fyodor’s ex-wife.
Which wasn’t so bad, Seri thought, if only Tanya would at least bother to hide the fact that she hated Seri’s guts.
Chapter Nine
The arrival of Seri and the boys were greeted with much fanfare, with reporters clamoring to have their questions heard while photographers jostled against each other for the chance to get the best possible shot of California’s most famous family. And to locals, the Russians and their beloved princess were like gods, with everyone well aware that it was all thanks to the Grachyov billions that their town had been steadily on the rise while neighboring areas had struggled to survive.
Everyone in the party was happy to see them – or at least everyone except for Tanya Darby, a beautiful dark-haired socialite in her early forties. She was also Fyodor’s former wife and mother to his three sons.
Tanya took a long sip of her wine, burning with envy and resentment as she stared at them over the rim of her glass. She should be there with them, dammit. She had every damn right to bask in the spotlight because if not for her, would Fyodor be blessed with three sons? But because of one stupid mistake—-
