by R. J. Lewis
He nods. That’s it. Just nods.
“How do you know it’s real?” I ask, though my body shakes a little, because I’m not understanding what he’s trying to get at.
“Because I dropped it,” he answers, looking back at me.
I wait for him to tell me he’s joking, but it’s not even Nikolai’s style to joke.
“Why are you walking around with an emerald necklace?” I smile like it’s funny and I’m playing along, but I’m deeply disturbed by how serious he is.
“Before I twirled my cigarette, it was that chain I played with. I used to take it with me everywhere. It belonged to my mother. I took it off her body right before they buried her. I needed a piece of her somehow and my father had destroyed everything else.”
Now I’m paralysed to the bed, staring up at him with horrified eyes.
He kisses me again, but he might as well be kissing a rock. “I dropped it almost twenty months ago now. I retraced my steps, but couldn’t find it. Then one day Ivan came around for a loan, and that month I went by the shop for a payment and there you were, turning to me with her necklace on.”
I feel like I’ve swallowed sand, my throat is so dry. My poor heart is racing inside me, and all I keep thinking about is the night I walked out of the store, stepped on something hard and picked it up. I raised it up to the dimming sky, liked the way the emerald twinkled and then I pocketed it and went home. I didn’t wear it for several weeks. I’d totally forgotten its existence until one day I heard something clinking in the washer at the laundromat. It was the necklace, and I threw it on just because it was pretty and I didn’t have any jewellery.
Now I feel like an asshole.
“It’s been in the wash,” I weakly admit, regretfully.
He just smiles now, and it reaches his eyes. “It’s a sturdy fucker, yeah?”
I try to smile, but I’m still a little uneasy. “Why didn’t you say anything, Nikolai? I would have obviously given it back to you.”
“My mother believed in signs,” he explains. “What were the chances I found them on the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? Nil. I kept coming around, telling myself I’d get to the store and take it back, but then there you were, standing behind the counter, looking like an angel with it on. I didn’t have the heart, so I bought the disgusting no-pulp orange juice as an excuse to keep visiting you and that necklace.”
“That’s a beautiful story.”
“Yes, very romantic until we learn the hero is actually a villain who’s done more harm than good his whole life.”
“You did me good,” I reply quickly. “You saved me. Like a prince.”
He fights to keep his smile. “A prince that fucked you because he wanted you for his own selfish reasons. Nobody would buy it.”
“I would.”
“You’re broken. We’ve established that.”
This time I laugh. “Broken people find beauty in chaos. It’s a perk, and it’s landed you me so be grateful of all my brokenness.”
He kisses me again, this time longer than before. I melt into him, parting my lips so he’ll slip that sweet tongue in my mouth and make us both hotter.
Yeah, it works. Because soon he’s sliding off all our clothes and parting me wide. He doesn’t stop kissing me. Not when he’s sliding inside of me. Not when he’s thrusting. He keeps his mouth locked to mine, fucking my lips with the same passion he delivers inside of me. There isn’t a place he’s not touching me. I feel him on my skin everywhere. I feel him inside me, in my heart, in my mind, between my legs and in my soul. Our breaths hitch, and we swallow each other’s moans as we come at the same time.
Turns out making love to Nikolai is just as good as fucking him.
*
I get up early and change in case Scarlett gets up, and I don’t want her to find us like this. Nikolai is dead asleep, and I have to hover over him like a creepy person because I’ve never actually seen him asleep before. He’s beautiful. I can’t not kiss him, either.
Then I walk out and meander to the kitchen, dressed loosely in one of his shirts and my shorts from yesterday. I immediately search his cupboards and gather enough ingredients for pancakes.
Just before I start to cook, I hear the pitter-patter of Scarlett’s feet, and I turn just in time to see a blonde hair poke in.
“Alina?” she murmurs, still half-asleep.
“Yeah, beauty.”
“Where are we?”
I laugh and pick her up, settling her on the stool around the island.
“We’re at Nikolai’s,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Because we had to get out.”
Her brown eyes burn into mine with confusion. “Is that your way of telling me it’s a secret?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Okay.”
I return to the stove and place a pan over a burner. “I’m going to make pancakes. You want to help?”
She nods and I move her again, placing her on the counter next to the stove. She watches me cook, her face brightening the more she wakes up.
“You’re not taking me to Roberta’s?” she asks.
“Nope,” I answer. “We’re going to hang out here for a bit.”
“So we’ll be together.”
“Yes. Well, Nikolai too.”
She smiles then, and it makes her look so cute with her cheeks all bunched. “I like him.”
I pour the batter on the pan and look at her. “Yeah? Is it his amazing puzzle skills?”
“No, they suck, but don’t tell him that.”
I laugh. “Okay, I’ll keep it a secret. Why do you like him?”
“He makes you happy.”
This time I can hardly keep a straight face. I blink back tears and nod at her slowly. “Yeah, he does, Scar. He does a lot.”
“That makes me happy too.”
*
Nikolai wakes to the smell of pancakes. We’re already through two pieces when he comes out in sexy pyjama bottoms. I’m secretly appreciative he’s dressed suitably around Scarlett. When he sees us sitting around the island, he pauses just outside the kitchen and stares. He looks like he’s been knocked back by a brick.
“We made pancakes,” Scarlett chews.
He walks more slowly, eyeing us like we’re ghosts, this wild look in his eyes. “I like pancakes,” he replies casually, though I catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
I feel a little uncertain just then, like maybe I’ve gotten too comfortable in his home and he’s not happy about it. When he looks at me, I mouth, “Is everything okay?”
He stops in front of us and leans over the counter, kissing me swiftly on the mouth. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” he tells me.
Then he plates a few pancakes and sits with us.
Chapter Thirty-Three.
Nikolai
I’m in love with her.
Alina’s been in my home for a month and I can’t get enough of her. Her things, her scent, her sister – they’re everywhere when I step through the door, and it gives me so much purpose.
She still works at the store, and it irks the fuck out of me, especially when I swing by in the mornings and she’s talking to that Benji moron. The amount of times I’ve been compelled to kiss her in front of him just to make a statement is ridiculous. But she’s adamant she stays there for a little while longer, until she’s saved enough money for Social Services courses for the following year.
She still won’t work for me. It’s driving me a little mad she prefers the company of Ivan and Benji than Vlad and me. It’s juvenile thinking, but this relationship shit has brought out some juvenile tendencies in me I feel are justified.
Today’s important for me, and I feel good when I see the girls in the kitchen, hovering around Roberta as she cooks. I like Roberta. She doesn’t irritate me, or glare. She’s also served a purpose, and not with the cooking, but with looking after Scarlett when I want some alone time with Alina. Life is easier when Roberta’s in it, an
d I like to think we’ve made her life easier too with the frequent paycheques I give her.
I approach Alina and nuzzle my lips against her neck. “You look good, rybka.”
“I’m in my home clothes,” she mutters, as though she’s insulted I’ve complimented her.
“You’re right. I’d prefer no clothes.”
She laughs and turns, kissing me back. “How was your day?”
“Miserable.”
“Why?”
“You weren’t there.”
“I went with Scarlett on her field trip to the apple orchard.”
I look down at Scarlett. “And how was it, bumface?”
“I picked a lot of apples,” she answers, “but then I got in trouble because I wasn’t allowed to, so Alina stole some in her purse.”
Alina’s eyes widened. “That’s not entirely true. They fell on the ground, so they weren’t good anymore.”
I smirk. “Thieves.”
“I’m not a thief,” Scarlett says.
“You’re just an accomplice,” Roberta cuts in with a laugh.
I take Scarlett by her hand and haul her out of the kitchen. “Alright, criminal, off with your head for your crimes!”
She giggles when I tickle her and denies being a criminal. I grab the bag I’d come in with off the counter. “I have to show you something,” I tell her, crouching down to her level.
Scar looks at me and then the bag. “What is it?”
I hand it to her. “Open it and see.”
Alina and Roberta gather around us, curiously watching Scarlett as she opens the bag and peers in. Instantly her eyes light up and she squeals, “It’s Rumple!”
She pulls out the teddy, and I can’t deny he’s still sad looking. Because he is. He looks like something a dog would carry around its mouth. He looks even worse than before, all patched up, too much stuffing in one arm, too little in the other.
But…fuck, Andrei did his best, and he’s officially proven he’s useful in more areas than fetching freezers for bodies.
That’s a morbid thought.
Scarlett squeezes the sad looking thing to her chest and then she gives me the biggest hug she’s given me to date. “Thank you, Nikolai!”
That fucking muscle in my chest slows. She’s a beautiful little girl, with the sweetest soul. She’s quiet, and Alina assures me that’s just her nature, but I’d love to see her break free and grow into a fiery personality like her sister.
When I stand back up and turn, Alina and Roberta have tears in their eyes.
“It’s a teddy bear,” I remind them. “It’s not a diamond necklace, or even a baby kitten.”
“You’re right,” Alina says, wrapping her arms around my neck. She goes on her tip toes and presses her mouth against mine. “It’s better. And you’re a good man.”
As I look into her eyes, my body calm, my fingers still, that serpent missing from my soul, I start to believe it.
If only a little.
*
The Sokolov hound me on occasion. I turn my back to them every time. I knew it would be like this, though. After I made that call to my father, he seems to think I’ll bend to him. I’ll never bend to him. I’ll never bend to anyone.
Except maybe Alina.
I watch her read that night, my eyes already feasting on her skin. She’s wearing this small little gown I bought her, and I can’t resist running my hand up them. She grabs it before I get to her pussy, and she doesn’t even look at me when she says, “It’s already happened.”
“Once is never enough.”
“You’re greedy.”
“I’m addicted.”
She laughs. “I’ve witnessed addiction my whole life, and it’s not healthy, Nikolai.”
“Some bad things are good for you.”
She lets go of my hand. “Always smooth.”
I don’t journey between her legs, not when she reminded me to say something I’ve been dreading.
“Your mother’s running with some low life.”
Now I’ve got her attention. She looks up from her book, her face blank. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought she was gone after Grant disappeared.”
“She’s back. If you want me to send Vlad to scare her away I can –”
“No,” she interrupts, her hard eyes returning. “I’m not going to stress about her anymore. She can come and go as she pleases. She’s not part of our lives, so I won’t be keeping track of hers anymore.”
I nod. “Fair enough, kitten.”
We spend the night quietly in bed, doing our own things. It’s always like this. Comfortable. Easy. Sweet.
Eventually, she puts her book away and then wraps her arm around my chest, her necklace pressed against my skin. She traces my tattoos, going over the lines that tell of my past.
“I don’t know what the future brings, Nikolai,” she whispers, looking up at me, “but I want you there always.”
“Why?” I press, waiting for her to say it. Fuck knows she leaves me hanging too often to count.
“No reason,” she lies.
“We’re back to this,” I muse with a relaxed smile. “Lying again.”
“I’m not lying,” she lies again.
“Then tell me why.”
Her breaths slow, the fight present in her face before she silences it and finally admits, “Because I love you.”
I push her off me and rest her on her back. Cradling her head with my hand, I look down at her like the beauty that she is and kiss her as hard as I can.
“The feeling is mutual, rybka,” I tell her after we’ve come up for air.
Epilogue
Two years later
I’ve got sixty seconds of hell, and I’m about to lose my shit.
“Tell me the story of Belle,” Scarlett says.
She’s wrapped in a thick comforter, Rumple pressed to her chest. I’m about to tell her I’ll have to do it tomorrow when Nikolai calls from the next room, “Yes, tell her, Alina!”
I smile hesitantly and slide into her pink princess bed. “There was a cow named Belle,” I begin, “and she grew up on a tiny farm. Her owner, Pucker, didn’t give her attention. He turned the farm into a dust ball, until she had nothing to eat. She’d go hungry for days, dreaming of a better place, and wishing for a better owner to rescue her. But it took her a very long time to realize nobody was coming.”
“She had to rescue herself,” Scarlett whispers, smiling at me now, the sadness no longer present in her eyes.
I nod, smiling back, no sadness in mine. “There are no princes in the night. You have to find them yourself.”
“So she broke out and left.”
“She wandered the empty roads alone, and it was scary. She didn’t know how she was going to look after herself without the help of anyone, even Pucker had given her scraps of food here and there. But she never gave up. She wandered from place to place –”
“Until she found a pasture of land rich with grass filled with other cows. And they took her in because not everyone is like Pucker.”
“No, not everyone is like Pucker.”
“And now she’s happy.”
“Yeah, she’s happy now. All that work was worth it. Belle broke out of her home to find her real home.”
Scarlett relaxes in her bed, her thoughts centred around the damn cow that has become central in our lives. I kiss her on the forehead and slip back out of bed. Before I step out, she calls me again.
“Yeah, beauty?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
With pink cheeks, she timidly says, “We’re Belle, aren’t we?”
I look back at her, and tears falls from my eyes as I slowly nod. “Yeah, Scar, we’re Belle.”
She sighs contentedly, squeezing Rumple tight. When she shuts her eyes, I no longer dread the walk to the bathroom where Nikolai stands. He turns to me, smiling when he catches my expression.
“Look at my Belle,” he remarks. “The sexy little minx. Maybe you can try on
that student costume again.”
“That’s not a costume, you jerk, it’s my real outfit for class.”
“Little saviour, going to be helping unfortunate little souls.”
“That’s the plan.” Or, at least, what I hope is the plan. Life is tricky. It changes sporadically without care of your intentions. If I’m to be a social worker one day, I’ll embrace it. If I don’t, I’ll just move on to other things.
“Now are you going to tell me what it says or not?” I ask him, biting my nails now as I eye the horrid stick on the sink.
“It’s been saying negative every time, rybka,” he murmurs with concern. “The doctors said it’ll take a while after the operation and you’re just in a rush. I hate seeing you disappointed.”
“I won’t be disappointed,” I lie.
But it’s a good lie. A lie I tell myself so I won’t feel down. Lies are good when they push away discouragement and have you trying again and again and…I groan, how many more agains can there be?
Nikolai takes the stick from off the sink, and looks down at it. I stare at his expression, my body tight with nerves.
Then he looks up, and the world is silent in that moment that follows, before he breaks into a slow smile and says, “Positive.”
THE END
Thanks!
Thank you so much for reading! Reviews and ratings are welcome and so appreciated! For news of upcoming books and giveaways, you can find me here: www.facebook.com/rj.lewis13
If you’ve made it this far, then wow!
This book was first written for my own enjoyment. I needed to release a lot of pent up memories, so there are some scenes (scenes of poverty) that really spoke of a dark time in my life.
Rumple is real.
Scarlett is based on someone real.
Nikolai’s personality is stolen from someone I love.
Alina’s inner dialogue reflect many personal journal entries I’ve written in those times.
Everything is sort of a combination of real that I plucked from my life and thrown into a crazy book that is not entirely realistic, of course. But that’s the joy of writing. It’s fiction!
