The Last Kolovsky Playboy

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘This is not to be reproduced,’ Kate explained. ‘This is the Kolovsky dress, designed for a Kolovsky or a soon-to-be Kolovsky bride.’

  ‘I want,’ the princess said, and her mother nodded—because there was nothing on God’s earth that this family could not afford…except what was not for sale.

  ‘Your dress will be designed with only you in mind,’ Kate explained. ‘This dress was designed for someone else.’

  The design team took over then, coming out to greet the bride and her mother, pulling her into the very centre, and as the Princess went Kate watched as she gave one last lingering look at the gown on display.

  There could never be anything more beautiful.

  Georgie never wrapped herself in sheets or put a towel on her head as a make-believe veil—but Kate had done. She had adored dressing up as a child and, watching a royal wedding on the television, had wanted, wished, hoped that one day she would be as beautiful as the bride who walked blushing up the aisle towards her prince. Her mother had said that she had a good imagination—which she had—but even if her imagination could somehow transform her from tubby and serious to petite and pleasing, her secret, wildest dreams could never have conjured up this dress…

  Kolovsky silk, so rumour had it, was like an opal—it changed with the mood of the woman whose skin it clung to. Each time Kate saw the dress it seemed slightly different—golden, silver, white, even transparent. Sewn into the bodice were tiny jewels, and there were more hidden in the hem, just as Ivan and Nina had hidden their treasures when they fled Russia for the haven of Australia.

  This dress should have been passed, like a revered christening gown, down through the brothers’ brides and then to Annika, Ivan and Nina’s daughter.

  But instead in turn each had shunned it.

  Millie, Levander’s wife, had come the closest to being married in it, but on her wedding day she had taken off the gown, left it like a puddle on the floor, and fled—only to marry Levander hours later in a jeans-clad ceremony.

  Second son Iosef’s wedding had taken place in the weeks after Ivan’s death, and he and his wife, Annie, had felt it improper to have a lavish celebration while everyone was grieving, so the bride had worn off-the-peg lilac.

  His sister Annika’s wedding had taken place at Aleksi’s bedside, after the accident.

  Only Aleksi remained—so presumably the dress would stay where it was: locked behind glass.

  ‘Daydreaming?’ Aleksi made her jump as he walked up behind her.

  ‘No,’ Kate lied. ‘What are you doing down here?’

  ‘Just making sure everything’s in place for our esteemed guest.’

  ‘It’s all going smoothly—she’s in with the design team. They’re looking forward to dining with Nina again tonight. Oh, and I rang your sister. Annika’s agreed to go along too this time—I thought it better that we make an extra effort, given that we might have offended.’

  ‘You’ve got more of an idea than Nina. Imagine her at the helm! We’ll have name badges and cash registers…’

  ‘And charge extra for a carrier bag!’ Kate joined in the joke and then stared back to the dress, a question on the tip of her tongue. But she swallowed it.

  ‘What,’ Aleksi demanded, ‘is your question?’

  ‘Is there any point asking?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he said, and then relented. ‘Try.’

  ‘Why did Millie run away from her wedding?’

  ‘You know I’m not going to answer that.’ He saw her eyes narrow. ‘The House of Kolovsky is a house of secrets.’

  ‘And of course your secrets are far better than anyone else’s.’ She was annoyed.

  The past weeks had been hell—toying with whether or not to ring Aleksi, risking her job by doing so, because if Aleksi had been unable to return and her indiscretion had been outed Nina would have dismissed her in a heartbeat. And yet Aleksi strolled in, asked her about her daughter, about her problems, her life, and gave her nothing of his.

  ‘You’re a snob, Aleksi, even with your family shame.’

  ‘But our secrets are so much better than yours,’ Aleksi teased, as he often did. Except this time, instead of enjoying the banter as she always had in the past, Kate promptly burst into tears. He was a mite taken aback. He had never seen her cry, not once—not even the day he had visited her in the hospital, where she’d lain alone after a long, arduous birth…

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘What do you think?’ She was suddenly angry. ‘What the hell do you think is wrong?’

  ‘Oh!’ Aleksi suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry. I forget these things…’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ She didn’t. ‘You think I’ve got PMT?’ Her mouth was agape, because that was so Aleksi! ‘How about I’m suffering from YND!’

  ‘YND?’ Aleksi frowned.

  ‘You Nearly Died!’ It tumbled out of her—and he just didn’t get it. Didn’t get how hellish this past week had been, these past months, Kate clarified to herself, and realised she had never fathomed all that she was holding in. There was Georgie, up at night with bad dreams, Nina being poisonous at work, money problems, Aleksi hurt and on top of all that—or rather buried beneath all that—the hell of his accident, the sheer fright that had come, which had still not been processed, when she had been informed by Iosef that Aleksi had had an accident and might not make it through the night.

  There was a fabulous coffee area on the second floor but she couldn’t face that, so they headed out of the golden doors and across the street, and she sat in a coffee shop as he fed her napkins and she snivelled into them.

  ‘I thought you were going to die!’ Kate wailed. ‘We were told you could well die.’

  ‘But I didn’t,’ came his logical reply.

  ‘And now here you are—back, as if nothing has happened…’

  ‘Kate.’ Aleksi shook his head, moved to correct her, then halted himself. He certainly wasn’t going to reveal to her, or to anyone, just how much had changed. How he struggled with so many things that sometimes he wondered if he should be back at work. Because he was running a massive empire, yet without thinking really hard he couldn’t even remember how many sugars he had in his own coffee. ‘I’m fine…’

  ‘I know you are!’ She was being unreasonable, illogical. She wished she had fled to the loos to weep, instead of sitting in this public place with him. ‘It was just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Seeing you like that,’ she settled for. ‘You were still so badly hurt when you went to rehab, and now…’ She struggled to describe just how confusing it all was. ‘Now you’re back. As if nothing happened. All this stuff with your mother, Krasavitsa, the arguments, Belenki…’ She screwed her eyes closed, took a deep breath, and tried to articulate what she was thinking. ‘Everyone’s straight back to business, but I’m just taking a little while longer than everyone else to forget just how bad things were. You nearly died!’

  There had been no downtime, Aleksi acknowledged. No reflection, really.

  Yes, he had lain in that hospital bed, but his brain had been too messed with trauma for contemplation, and in the Caribbean his mind had been too blurred with painkillers to allow anything other than for him to aim at one fixed goal: to get well, to return, to be as good as—no, better than—before.

  But now, sitting in a café, perhaps for the first time he saw what he had almost lost—saw too the emotion that had been so lacking in his recovery, in his life.

  ‘Thank you.’ So rarely he said it, it felt strange to his lips. ‘For all your kind thoughts and help. I hadn’t realised how hard all this was on you. But I’m back now and I’m well.’

  She nodded—felt a bit stupid, in fact.

  ‘Now…’ Aleksi stood. ‘I have to show the world just how well I am.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The old Aleksi is back.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you…?’

  He was about to stand to go, but when she frowned, A
leksi remained seated.

  ‘Shouldn’t I what?’

  ‘Calm things down, perhaps?’ It was far from her place to tell him how to live his life, but given the circumstances Kate took the plunge. ‘Just till the board make their decision.’

  ‘I think it might take a bit more than a few early nights to convince them I’ve changed. No.’ Now he stood up. ‘I’m not going to change just to appease them.’

  ‘Will you think about it?’

  ‘I just did,’ Aleksi said, and gave her that smile that always made her stomach curl.

  Although she returned it, her heart sank as they headed back and up to his office, because the moment they stepped back into the building all tenderness was gone and he was back to his usual cold, businesslike self—though he did remember to check if she was okay to stay when the clock nudged past five.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Kate said. ‘My sister’s picking her up from after-school care.’

  ‘She lives in the country?’

  Kate nodded, her throat just a touch dry, a dull blush spreading on her cheeks, but she hid it well, busying herself on the computer and trying, desperately trying, to keep her voice light. ‘Yes, Georgie’s staying there this weekend.’

  He made no comment. She wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her—didn’t even know if he’d factored it in.

  Kate had.

  Going over and over and over the nights he’d come to her place, the only common denominator was that Georgie hadn’t been home.

  Had she been, Kate might not have let him in.

  So she had the figures ready for the meeting with Belenki, and afterwards, when he came out with a face like thunder, she informed him she had arranged the best table at the casino for him and his date to dine that night. Then finally, after a very long day, she picked up her bag as Aleksi left for his very public night out.

  He was dressed in a dinner suit.

  Freshly washed, his hair was slicked back, gorgeous yet slightly unkempt, and Kate frowned.

  ‘Did you keep your appointment?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  She glanced down at his hands, at nails that were spotless but just not as polished as usual. Every other Friday without fail Aleksi headed over to the trendiest of trendy salons, sat and drank green tea as his thick black hair was washed and trimmed, his nails buffed, his designer stubble made just a little bit more so. She had rung them during the week to say the appointments would now resume, and had told Aleksi the same.

  Except his five o’clock shadow was a natural one and his hair was still just a touch too long.

  ‘The salon—’ Kate started, but Aleksi just screwed up his nose.

  ‘Tell them they are to come to me now—I’m tired of going there.’

  ‘Sure.’ She made a quick note in her diary and said goodnight—it wasn’t an unusual request. Aleksi often changed his mind, and it was her job to sort it out when he did. ‘Have a good night, then,’ she said to him.

  ‘You too,’ Aleksi said. ‘Any plans?’

  ‘A bath and then bed,’ Kate admitted, and then she smiled. ‘Or I might just hit the clubs!’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ Aleksi said. ‘You don’t have Georgie tonight.’

  ‘No.’ She was standing by the lifts, and had to turn her face to concentrate on the lift buttons rather than let him see her blush. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She would, Aleksi told himself.

  She would see him on Monday, and not a moment before.

  He watched her leave, watched her yawn as she pressed the lift button and could, for a dangerous moment, imagine her slipping out of those shoes, peeling off that suit, sinking into a bath, relishing the end of the week, the end of the day.

  For Aleksi the night had just started.

  He was tired, but he blocked that thought.

  He was in pain, but he refused to take another pill. It had been twenty-four hours without them and it was getting harder by the minute, but he would not take another—they messed with his head.

  He headed for the lift and stared for a full three seconds. He didn’t want Ground he wanted Reception. He had made the same mistake so many times this week.

  Not that anyone could have guessed.

  Not even Kate.

  He raked back his hair with his hands, and as he stepped into the lift he closed his eyes and tried and tried again in vain to picture the location of the hair salon. His eyes snapped open as the lift doors did the same.

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Kolovsky.’

  He nodded to the receptionist. Actually responded to the doorman tonight. Made the steps with apparent ease and then slid into the back of his waiting car.

  Tonight he would prove to the world he was back.

  Put paid to all the rumours.

  He kissed his date thoroughly. They’d been out a few times before the accident and she was delighted, she said, pressing herself into him as they sped to the casino, that he was back.

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ Aleksi said, and then he kissed her again—but only because it was easier than talking. It was far easier to kiss her than to tell her that he couldn’t remember her name.

  Chapter Four

  THERE was no thrill.

  Aleksi put a million on black and just stared as the wheel went round.

  Win, lose.

  There was just no thrill any more.

  He didn’t need the money, and he didn’t need Kolovsky.

  Wasn’t sure if he wanted either.

  He won.

  He could hear the cheers, turned to what was surely the most beautiful woman on this planet and accepted the kiss on his lips, but he still couldn’t remember her name. He kissed her back, could taste her champagne on his sober tongue, and for a moment he pulled her in, wanted her smell, her breasts, her body to do something to cure the numbness.

  Yet he couldn’t even accept the toast that was raised to him, let alone raise one himself.

  He was back!

  His suite awaited.

  Paradise awaited.

  Oblivion, even.

  He was fifty million richer and he couldn’t even become aroused by the beautiful woman he held in his arms.

  Ah, but he knew his body. Like his Midas touch, it had never once failed him—and it didn’t now.

  There it was—that primal response, the Kolovsky legend that never dimmed—and there was her triumphant smile as she finally felt his surge of arousal…

  What was her name?

  ‘Excuse me one moment.’

  He had been born in Australia but schooled at home, surrounded by his family, his history, and despite his perfectionism still there was just a hint of Russian to his voice.

  He walked to the restroom.

  The door was held open.

  He relieved himself, zipped himself back into his exquisite suit pants and then washed his hands. Then, because it was numb and it felt like plastic, he washed his face as well. He pressed it into a fluffy towel and caught his reflection in the mirror.

  Black hair, thick and glossy—check.

  Slate-grey eyes, not a hint of blood in their whites—check.

  Smooth, unblemished skin—check.

  Designer stubble—check.

  The chief of Kolovsky.

  He loosened his tie, because he could feel his pulse leaping against his collar.

  He knew.

  What it was, he couldn’t remember—but he knew something important!

  More than his brother Levander, who had lived it.

  More than his twin, Iosef, who had dealt with it.

  More than his sister Annika, who had worked through it.

  He was cleverer than the lot of them—and being clever was a curse.

  He knew. He knew so much more than any of them, and though he denied it—though his father had beaten him into silence because the truth would change everything—it was harder and harder to hide from it now.

  There was a memory—an image, just
a breath, just a realization away—yet no matter how he reached out to it, over and over it slipped from his grasp.

  Why couldn’t he remember?

  He pressed his face into the cool mirror, willed clarity to come, and stared into the murky depths of his mind, hoping to God that coming off the pain medication would help clear it somehow. Because Aleksi knew that something had to be done.

  He just didn’t know what.

  His phone was bleeping in his pocket, summoning him back to his immaculate world. He took a breath and headed out there, and then it bleeped again and he looked at the screen.

  Brandy.

  Yes, that was her name. The word was suddenly there in front of him as she called him, no doubt wondering where he was, and now he remembered her name and also a ridiculous rhyme.

  Whisky makes you frisky; brandy makes you randy.

  Well, not tonight.

  He turned left instead of right, ended up in the kitchen instead of the high rollers’ bar, ignored the exasperated attempts to turn him around, and then, when his phone beeped again, instead of answering it he rang his personal driver and told him to ensure that Brandy was taken home or put up in the hotel—whatever it was she required.

  ‘Any message?’ his driver asked.

  ‘None,’ Aleksi said, and then clicked off his phone, tossed it into a deep fat fryer and pushed open a door.

  He walked down the fire escape stairs, past the skips and dumpsters, out to a side street and into a cab.

  ‘Where to?’ the driver wanted to know.

  Aleksi didn’t answer at first

  ‘Where to?’ the cab driver asked again.

  ‘The airport,’ Aleksi said, and as they made their way along the freeway it was all so familiar. He had been here before—he remembered then, the night of the accident, driving as if the devil was chasing him towards the airport, only he couldn’t remember why. Maybe it was because it would have given him time to think, Aleksi decided. Maybe that was what he had craved that night—what he craved right now. Except the freeway was clear, the streetlights shortening, and they were there in less than thirty minutes. ‘Take me back to the city.’

  The cab driver started to argue, but stopped as a wad of notes silenced his protest.