by Kendall Duke
~~~
I stayed in my room that Saturday, feeling sorry for myself. I heard Ivan walk by my door several times, and once, when it was very quiet I heard a sigh that told me he might be sitting on the floor in the hall, or maybe at the top of the stairs. I wondered if he missed me; I missed him. As terrible a daughter as this makes me, I was honestly less affected by the awful news that my father had essentially treated me like property than the idea that I had to marry someone who wasn’t Ivan.
Is that dumb? It seems dumb. But it was how I felt.
And then I thought… I had to marry Alexei. The charming sociopath with the dimples and the auburn hair—hotter than hell, sure, but not who I loved. I loved Ivan. There. I admitted it. And even if I had to marry Alexei in some distant future, I was here, now, with Ivan. In the same house. Down the hall from the master bedroom that was now definitely his.
I sat up. I went over and looked at myself in the full length mirror, and tried to remember everything he said. I tell them you good girl. Beautiful, nice American girl, very smart. Will be doctor one day. I threw my hair over my shoulder and looked at my figure. I’d always thought of myself as scrawny, but my boobs had filled out in the last two years since I went bra shopping, for sure. And… there was definitely a little more curve to my hip. I realized I’d been eating a lot more regularly since I had someone to share meals with—gone were the days when I’d drink a cup of coffee and run out the door. It looked better. I looked better. My teeth were white and straight, my hair long and dark and wavy. I would never call myself beautiful, but he had. I promise to take care of my beautiful Julie.
Ivan wanted me.
He thought I was beautiful.
Maybe he didn’t feel like I did—maybe he didn’t have this twisting knot of insanity called love blooming inside of him, growing roots and clamping down on his heart. I felt it taking hold, and it gave me strength. It made me brave.
Ivan wanted me. Alexei could marry me, sure. But he would never have me—certainly not the first time, and certainly not my heart.
I was giving those to Ivan.
~~~
I started small. I am not naturally very good at flirting, or even approaching a guy—I had no experience, and prior to this, no real desire. But I really wanted Ivan, I wanted to feel the heat of his calloused hands on my body, I wanted to know what he looked like, inside of that designer suit. Since that conversation he’d been keeping up The Bodyguard façade, cold and arrogant expressions dominating his face whenever we were close. I knew he was still trying to protect me. He wanted this arrangement with Alexei to work, and I knew that if it didn’t I would be killed or sold. So the first thing I did, just to break the ice, was sit down for breakfast on Monday as if everything were normal.
“Hi Ivan,” I said, and walked over to make the coffee.
He was wearing his usual outfit—baggy sweatpants, hanging down around his angled hip bones so I could see every single ab muscle, every silky hair between his enormous pectorals. He stopped rummaging through the cereal and froze when he saw me.
I didn’t go over-the-top. I just wore the usual cami and traded in my long jersey pants for a pair of jersey shorts. Very short shorts. “Don’t eat that stuff,” I told him as I got the coffee ready. “I’ll make some bacon—and there are still a couple of muffins left.” I smiled at him, feeling shy. “Didn’t burn that batch, I promise.” It was rewarding to see the look on his face, and I blushed as I went back to work. I made us a big breakfast and set it on the table, where he’d been sitting, watching me, the entire time.
Just as I took my seat, Ivan blurted out, “the wedding will be in January. Alexei ask I stay with you until then.”
“Okay,” I said, and shrugged my shoulders. Ivan took a giant bite of his food and stared down at his plate. Something unpleasant occurred to me. “Did you… Did you want to leave?”
Ivan was still for a moment. “I thought maybe, it best I go. I think maybe I not good bodyguard for you any more.”
I put my fork down. “Why?”
“Not important now, Julie,” Ivan said in his gruff voice. He leaned back in his chair and played with his bacon, staring down at the plate. “Sergei say I am best choice. He know I care about you. I will take good care of you for his son.”
This put a bit of a damper on my mood. My willpower struggled to keep fighting against my disappointment, and then something occurred to me. “What about sex?” I should just talk about it, put it out there in the open.
“What you say?” Ivan stared at me, his eyes wide, pupils dilated.
“I said, what about sex?” I innocently looked back at him, just managing to keep from batting my eyelashes. “What kind of marriage is this? I don’t know anything about arranged marriages.” I went back to eating my muffin, trying to sound nonchalant. “Alexei doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who wants to settle down.”
“Sergei believe he need wife to appear legitimate in America.”
“My father felt that way too,” I said, and then immediately realized my mother died almost instantaneously on her arrival. Had my father, the man who just tried to sell me, had he… “Is Alexei a good person?” I’d managed to frighten myself, and now when I looked at Ivan I knew he could tell I was scared again. “Will he… Is he…”
“Alexei is my oldest friend,” Ivan said, quickly reading my thoughts. “He is not a good man, but he will be good to you.” He said something in Russian afterwards that he didn’t bother to explain, but I felt like the tone was something along the lines, ‘I’ll make him.’ “He is very smart. Very good with business.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically. Ivan tapped his fork against his plate. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to be rude about your friend. I just…”
“He is cousin,” Ivan said after a minute. “Our fathers were brothers.”
“Do you get to see your dad very often?” I was glad for the change of subject.
“My father die when I am a baby,” Ivan said indifferently, and stuffed more bacon and sausage in his mouth.
“Oh Ivan, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why?” He looked genuinely confused. “You were not born yet, you don’t know him or what happen.” He shrugged. “When he die, Sergei raise me with Alexei. Now I am here, with you. Good life,” he said.
Brushing off his father’s death was one thing, but lumping what happened to me in with the rest of his ‘good luck’ was a bit much for me. “Alright,” I said, and took a sip of my coffee. “Back to Alexei then. Is he expecting me to treat this like a real marriage?”
“Marriage will be legal, da,” Ivan said, looking at me.
“No, like a real marriage,” I said, looking back at him. He stared. I stared. “Sex, Ivan. What about sex?”
“You have boy-friend?” Suddenly, Ivan’s whole body was tense. Every muscle was wire-tight.
“No,” I said, and watched as he uncoiled. “I mean sex with Alexei. Is he expecting me to… That’s what I’m trying to say. Is it a real marriage, where a husband and wife…” I gestured with my hand, and he heaved a heavy sigh and put down his fork again.
“Legal marriage. Normal, American marriage.”
“He expects me to sleep with him.”
It took him a minute to answer. “Yes.”
I didn’t care how good looking Alexei was, I didn’t want that. I wanted the hulking, brooding mass in front of me. “I don’t want to sleep with him,” I said softly. Ivan couldn’t look at me.
“Ladies love Alexei,” he finally said. He wasn’t eating anymore, and wiped his mouth. “Alexei have many, many women, he make many women very happy. I see it myself.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “I don’t want to sleep with him,” I said again, staring at Ivan and hoping he would catch my meaning. “I don’t want him to be my first.”
“First?” He looked genuinely confused again.
“My first,” I said, and nothing could hide the blush that filled my chee
ks. “The first guy to… To…” I threw up my hands. “I’m a virgin, Ivan.”
I was not prepared for his reaction. Ivan froze, his body perfectly still, and groaned softly, his hands clenched; he sprang out of his seat and stomped over to the windows facing the backyard and stared into the distance for a full minute. Honestly, it was kind of funny.
“Why are you laughing?” He was back again, looming over me, but the beginnings of a smile were starting as he reacted to my giggles.
“What is wrong with you? Is it really that strange to be a virgin?”
“You are nineteen years old?” I nodded. He stomped back over to the window. “Nineteen year old, smart, beautiful American girl with perfect ass tells me she is virgin. Do I believe her? Yes. You never lie. But is this strange? Yes!” Ivan bit his knuckle, and it made me laugh again; I’d never seen anyone do that in real life. I thought it was just an expression. He got himself under control and came back to the table.
“I’m sorry, I’m just… I was not expecting that reaction.” Ivan resettled in his seat and picked up his fork to start eating again with a determined expression on his face. “But maybe now you can understand why I’m worried about this marriage with Alexei?” He put the fork down again, looking defeated. “I don’t want to sleep with him, Ivan.”
“Why are you virgin?” Now he was watching me with something like confusion.
“Why?” I shrugged. “Never had the interest or the opportunity, I guess.”
“You never…” He took a deep breath and forged ahead. “You never, with boy from school, college, even neighborhood, I see the boy next door—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve barely talked to other people. You’re my first real friend.”
That seemed to end it. Ivan chewed on his bacon thoughtfully, staring in to space, but didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal until I got up to clear my plate. I heard him clear his throat and turned towards him. “Vanya,” he said, glancing at me before he looked back down at his lap.
“Excuse me?”
“Not Ivan,” he said in a low voice, “not if we are friends. Vanya.”
“Oh,” I said, and when I smiled at him I saw him clench, as if it hurt him. I had no idea what he was thinking. “Vanya. Okay, thanks.”
I went upstairs feeling more confused than before.
~~~
I had a long time to think about all of this: my impending gangster marriage, and the Russian giant sleeping down the hall for the next two months. The way I felt when I saw him working out in the yard, as I realized I could if I got up just fifteen minutes earlier. The way my body felt when I allowed my fingers to run over my nipples as I watched the muscles in his back ripple while he lifted a sawed off tree trunk over his head, again and again. The rush of blood to my most private parts when a trickle of sweat threaded it’s way between his shoulders. The anticipation of seeing him inside, fresh from the shower, still shirtless, and trying not to look at my ‘perfect ass.’
Needless to say, my sexual appetite was duly awakened—loudly—for the first time.
I wanted Ivan more and more, every day. Every day we talked, and we talked about everything. Our families, his life in Russia, my life before him, books, my classes, television, politics, religion, even scientific theory. It got to the point where I’d never spoken to anyone about any of the things I talked to him about, and I was sure that many of the things he told me were things he’d never said out loud before either.
We were close. We were very close.
But not physically.
Ivan worked over-time to keep some distance between us. There was that one second, right before the phone rang, when I was sure he was going to kiss me. But that ended with my ‘engagement.’
I was not resolved to giving my virginity to Alexei. Someone else could marry him, too, as far as I was concerned, but I wasn’t sure what to do about that yet. I was only sure of one thing: I had to seduce Ivan.
It took me a while to understand our dynamic. For about a month, after that morning, I moved closer to him on the couch when we were both sitting on it. I leaned over him to grab things when I knew my body would brush against his. I wore more and more provocative clothing. And at first, I did it without even consciously noticing; I just wanted him, so that’s what I did.
Ivan noticed.
“Julie,” he said, a full five weeks after he’d arrived, “I need talk to you.” Ivan’s English had gotten much better; we’d spent so much time talking that he could use many new words and understood everything I said without too much trouble. But whenever he was stressed he would revert to the harsher, more utilitarian English he used when we first met. We were sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast as usual. I’d gotten very comfortable around him; I made jokes, I wore what I wanted to, and I was sassier with Ivan than I’d ever been in my life. He was best friend, and I was pretty sure, the only man in the world I would ever want to be with.
“Sure,” I said, puzzled. I leaned against the counter-top, jutting my hip towards him. I was wearing a skin-tight camisole and a pair of pajama bottoms that hung below my hips—if anything, I was taking a cue from him. It was the feminine version of his outfit, that first morning in the kitchen. “I hope you know you can always talk to me.”
He took a deep breath; I watched his eyes. They were exquisite. As time passed, I grew to appreciate the arch of his brow, his aquiline nose, his beautiful face more and more; that arrogant expression was just masking how curious, sensitive and thoughtful he was. And more and more often, I noticed Ivan’s gaze wandering over my figure before snapping to attention. I knew he fought the urge, but I wanted him to fight it and lose. Take my virginity, my body practically screamed, but he hadn’t even tried.
So far.
“Julie, your clothes…” He bit his lip, and my heart stopped. I could hardly look at him without feeling a flutter between my legs. Sometimes I had to fight the urge to stare at his mouth, just so I could concentrate on what he was saying. “I need to tell you… Your clothes.” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “You are engaged. You cannot wear these clothes.”
“Why?” I stayed where I was. I wasn’t wearing a bra; I’d gotten very comfortable, as I said… And maybe a little passive aggressive. I turned my body very slightly so that my breasts were pointed towards him.
“These clothes are…” He hissed out a sigh as his eyes ran over my figure. My nipples grew hard under his inspection and my shirt hid nothing from his gaze. I felt myself growing wet, down there—could he smell me when that happened? When his tone was particularly commanding or his eyes went too far? Did he know what he did to me?
“Are what?” I didn’t move. My voice trembled. His eyes flew up to my face.
“Are for girls who… Girls that…” His breath was coming in short bursts. He could smell my wetness, my desire. I suddenly knew it, was absolutely sure.
I took a step closer to him. “Girls that what?”
He didn’t move an inch, staring down at me like I was prey. His chest rose and fell. “Girls that like yeblya; girls who fuck, Julie.” Had I pushed too hard? No. Not for either of us. The dark undercurrent of his voice was hypnotic; my labia swelled, the blood rushing below, begging to be touched. “You are not a girl like this.”
“How do you know?” I was a foot away from him now. We gazed at each other, our eyes locked on one another; my body was desperate for his. Was he desperate for me?
“I know,” he whispered.
“I don’t,” I told him, and dared to reach out and place my fingertip on the shallow depression between his abdominal muscles, then let it slide all the way over his navel, down to the waist of his sweatpants. “I might like it. With the right person.” I felt shy, but more than that, I felt like I was starving. I wanted him, right there, right on the floor. I would do anything he asked. Anything.
If he would only ask.
He took a step back from me, letting my hand fall. I saw now the beginning
s of what I would have to be able to take, if I got what I wanted; he moved his pants to hide the outline of his cock, but he was hard. He wanted me too. “Change your clothes, Julie,” he said roughly, and left the kitchen.
This did not have the effect he intended.
I was a goner. I’d moved straight from lust to love, and my hunger was nowhere near sated. Only one thing could cure the ravenous desire in my body: I wanted Ivan inside of me. The sooner the better.
~~~
I realized I had to be bold. I had to be a little bit different than the old Julia, shy and deferential and innocent. I couldn’t help but be those things—I was those things. But I had to learn how to be bolder. How to make what I wanted so obvious that even the most loyal bodyguard in the world would falter in his duty. I had to drive Ivan wild.
It was easier than I thought.
I didn’t change my clothes; I wore them all the time. Once, in a fit of real desperation, I came out of the shower when I knew he would be in the hall in nothing but a towel. I was too shy—good old Julia—to drop it, but I thought about it. Ivan took one look at me, made a small grunting sound in the back of his throat, and stormed downstairs. I felt like that was progress.
Our conversations after dinner maintained a trust, a safe zone where we could just talk and be friends. It was still hard, though, because the topic of my marriage would often come up, and over time, as we grew closer emotionally, I would find that by the end of the night our chairs were squeezed in next to each other, side by side, so close our arms rested on one another.
One night, I noticed this before Ivan had—and could run away—and I looked up into his beautiful face. “Vanya,” I whispered, “why won’t you make love to me?”
It took the breath right out of his mouth. “I… Julie, I am here to keep you safe for Alexei, I would never…”
“But I want you to,” I said, feeling bolder than ever before. “I want it to be you.”
