by Renee Rose
I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.
All I know is Dima has me out of my mind. He may end up winning this battle after all.
Dima
Natasha is incapable of walking, so I scoop her into my arms.
I love the weight of her soft body against mine, the way she turns her face into me, tucking it against my neck, looping her slender arms around my shoulders. She smells like ginger and peaches with the faint scent of pine and sunshine from her time outside.
I want to lick every inch of her.
And I will.
Because this is the only option available to me as far as I can see. I won’t let Ravil or anyone else put pressure on Natasha. And I’m unwilling to use her pressure points. There’s no way on Earth I could ever threaten her and still be able to look at myself in the mirror.
Hell, I may not be able to after this, but it won’t be because I’ve hurt or scared her.
It will be because of my trampled vows to Alyona.
And that’s why I simply can’t open that box up and unpack it with Natasha. I’ve already done everything else with her. I’ve held her hand. Kissed those sweet, soft lips. I’ve fucked her in several positions. I’ve spanked her, tied her up, had my cock in her mouth and her ass. The only thing I can keep back now is my memories of Alyona. Our bond. Our story. To share it with Natasha seems like the ultimate betrayal, and I can’t do that.
I sit her on the bathroom counter while I turn on the water. Natasha’s hair is adorably rumpled, her eyes glassy bright. While the water heats, I trace my index finger along the delicate curve of her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. Her nipples stand up in stiff peaks. Since I’ve neglected them sorely, I lean down to take one into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it before I give a hard pull.
Natasha whimpers, her hands flapping loosely at my arms.
I strip out of my clothes and then stand between her open knees, palming her ass to lift her to straddle my waist. Once more, she drops her head to my shoulder, as docile as a babydoll. I step into the shower and set her on her feet, keeping a hand at her waist to keep her steady. Her legs don’t seem to hold her. She’s drunk on orgasms.
She blinks, those sea-green eyes tracking across my chest and down my abdominals to the part of my anatomy that’s still thrilled to see her.
I wash, giving her time to gather herself.
“Dima…” she croaks. She drags the backs of her knuckles across my tattooed pect.
Something has shifted between us. I want to bring it back to the dominant sex tease I had going for the last hours, but the way she’s looking at me is too real. Too honest. Too raw.
I don’t mean to be tender, but I can’t help myself. I cover her hand with my own. She touches my fingers, traces Alyona’s ring.
I should pull away. I should stop this whole thing. I’ve already told her we can’t do this. But I don’t. I’m rendered immobile by her closeness.
“Who did this belong to?” she asks. There’s no innocence in the tone. It’s not an idle question. I realize, with a jolt, that Natasha knows more than she’s let on. Suddenly her demand that I explain why we can’t be together feels like a direct attack on my memories of Alyona.
I catch her wrist and step back, under the spray of water. “Don’t.” I turn her to face away from me—looking at her is too much. We aren’t playing games anymore. We’re light-years away from what we just did in the bedroom.
“Who was she, Dima?”
“Don’t.” I raise my voice. My body registers the question as a threat, my heart thudding too fast, the warm shower suddenly too hot.
“I want…” It takes a moment for me to recognize the tears in Natasha’s voice. “I want to be her.”
“No, you don’t,” I say harshly, even though she’s already breaking. “She’s dead.”
“At least she had you.” Natasha turns back around to face me, and I’m hit by the full force of her pain. Those green eyes overflow with it.
Blyad’. I did this to her. I hurt Natasha.
I lean my shoulder against the tile wall, feeling the weight of three elephants sitting on my chest. All the loss I suffered at Alyona’s death seems fresh again, mingled with the guilt and shame over what I’ve done to Natasha’s gentle heart.
And then I just go dead. I can’t function. Can’t choose. It’s all too much.
And my silence, my lack of response seems to send a message to Natasha because she nods and pulls the shower curtain half-open then steps out.
I’m unable to move. To say any words to fix this fuck-up I’ve created.
“I will call Alex now.” There’s defeat in her tone. Something I never wanted to hear. Why, in the fuck did I push her to this?
But no, she’s not broken because of Alex.
She’s broken because of me.
I stand in the shower, numb. I don’t feel the water turn cold, or track how long it’s been since Natasha walked out of the bathroom.
When she returns, dressed and holding the keys to the Land Rover, my brain can’t compute what’s happening.
“I’m leaving,” she tells me. It’s not a dare. There’s no anger in her deadened tones. She knows I’m going to let her walk out of here. Her imprisonment is over because she decided it was. “I can’t stay with you in this place any longer.”
Somehow, I make myself move. I turn off the water and reach for a towel. “I’ll drive you.”
“No. “ She holds up a hand. “I can’t be with you. I just… can’t. I’ll give the keys to Ravil when I get back.”
I go dead as she walks out. Turn into an empty shell of nothing.
My brain barely functions, but when it sparks, I try to tell myself this is for the best. I was destroying everything I had with Alyona and breaking Natasha’s heart in the process.
Except no part of me feels like this is the right thing.
It must be because I can’t think my way out of a paper bag right now that my overwhelming sense is that I’ve let Alyona down.
I’ve let Alyona down by letting Natasha go.
But that doesn’t make any sense.
17
Natasha
I get behind the wheel of the Land Rover and adjust the seat forward.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I’m not going to cry because I’m so done. Christ, it was like Pamela Harrison all over again. I was sticking around, waiting, hoping to be good enough for Dima, but I was just a fall-back friend.
The kind you play with when you’re stuck in a cabin with them, and there’s no one else around, but not good enough to be his girlfriend.
Screw him.
Seriously: Fuck. Dima.
I swipe a few bitter tears from my eyes and reach for my phone.
I found it with Dima’s keys. They were in a dresser drawer in his and Nikolai’s room, along with the pistol. Nikolai had just watched me wordlessly as I pulled them out and shut the drawer. “You leaving?” He obviously wasn’t going to try to stop me.
“Yes,” I clipped.
I search for Alex’s name on my phone, and it doesn’t come up. “Right,” I mutter, remembering Dima had changed it. “It’s under Douchebag.” I find his new moniker and dial. He doesn’t pick up.
“Hey… Alex.” I sigh into the phone. I can’t make my voice sound bright and sunny to save my life. I’m sure every bit of heaviness I’m feeling comes through in the message, which I think is fine. “I guess I would like to get together and hear your side of things. I’m sort of… confused about everything. Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee tomorrow? Give me a call.”
I end the call. Was Dima listening to that? Did he tap my phone? Can you even tap a cell phone? I have no idea how these things work. After seeing how much Dima is capable of, though, I have no doubt he’d have some method of listening in to my calls.
And I’m going to stop thinking of him right now.
I don’t care if I ever see the guy again. In fact, that would be my preference.
By the time I park in the underground garage of the Kremlin, I’ve put up a pretty solid shield of indignation and anger, which I intend to hang onto to keep Dima from ever getting a shot at hurting me again.
I’m done. I’m done. I’m done.
I use my keycard to go all the way up to the penthouse suite without an invitation and knock on the door.
Valentina, an older woman who lives in our building and works as Ravil’s housekeeper answers the door. “These are for Ravil,” I say, holding out the keys.
Valentina won’t take them, though. Instead, she holds up a finger and disappears, presumably to get Ravil.
My gaze goes straight to the place Dima usually is when he’s here—sitting at a makeshift work station in the middle of the living room. Of course, it’s empty, but the living room is not. Oleg and Story are on the sofa, Story curled onto her huge boyfriend’s lap. Sasha’s standing near one of the bedroom doors.
“Natasha!” Sasha greets me first. “You guys are back.” She tries to peer around me. “Where are Dima and Nikolai?”
I shake my head, trying to fight the blurring of my vision, the choke of emotion.
“She left them there.” Maxim appears behind Sasha, exiting the bedroom. “Adrian went to pick them up.” He ushers Sasha forward until they both are standing in front of me.
“Wait—did something happen?” Sasha peers at me, touching my arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say firmly, trying to will it into reality.
Of course, Ravil also arrives at that moment, and it’s way more human interaction than I can handle at the moment. I hold the keys out to Ravil. “I left a message with Alex asking to have coffee tomorrow. I haven’t heard back yet.”
He takes the keys, his gaze cool and assessing. “Thank you for arranging it. You will let me know when and where it’s scheduled?”
I nod, mutely. It’s stupid, but I feel the loss of Dima’s protection. Interfacing with Ravil without him feels scary. I see Ravil differently than I did before the night Nikolai got shot. He’s no longer our powerful and wealthy landlord benefactor. That night revealed a slice of the criminal underbelly of his organization. They’re accustomed to violence. Deadly violence. It obviously wasn’t their first time treating a wound at a veterinarian hospital instead of a human one.
Still, he’s never been anything but courteous, even that night when he wasn’t sure if I’d screwed them over.
“Thank you,” Ravil says and walks away.
Sasha isn’t willing to dismiss me so easily, though. “Why did you leave Dima? Did things go south?”
“I’m done with Dima,” I say firmly, making my relationship status public. I know Story and Oleg are listening from the couch, and Sasha isn’t going to let me leave without something.
It feels good to declare it. Like if I say it with enough conviction, then I won’t be stupid enough to want to be friends with him again or to let that stupid flame of hope ever flare back to life.
Sasha winces. “Dang. I thought there was something between you.”
“Well, I thought so, too, but it turns out Dima would rather hang onto a ghost than be with the living, breathing woman in front of him, so I’m out.”
Sasha’s eyes widen, and Story gasps from the couch. “Oh no, was that his hang-up? Gospodi, I never knew,” Sasha exclaims.
“Damn.” Maxim shoves his hands in his pockets. “Me neither. I had no idea that was Dima’s problem. I mean, I knew he never dated. We just thought he was sort of antisocial—or introverted. That’s why he was more comfortable in front of a computer.”
“No.” I let bitterness leak into my voice. “He’s antisocial to keep himself from living.”
“I’m sorry, girlfriend, that sucks.” Sasha pulls me into a hug, and when she releases me, Story is there, too. I don’t know either of these women that well, but we’re friendly.
Maxim drifts away, leaving me with the women.
“You need a girls’ night out?” Sasha offers. “We can take you out and buy you enough drinks to forget about men who prefer computers and ghosts to live women.”
I let out a watery laugh. “I appreciate the offer, but I just want to be alone right now.” Being around anyone from the penthouse would just be another reminder of Dima, whom I do not want to think about.
I make my escape, promising to text them if I want to go out or if I need company, and then I go down to my apartment.
Mr. Whiskers greets me with an angry meow, and I sit down in the middle of my floor, dropping the bag with my clothes and wrapping my arms around my knees.
Mr. Whiskers takes a minute, and then he finally comes over to rub against me.
“There you are. Don’t be mad at me.” I pick him up and bury my face in his soft fur. “I’m sorry I was gone. I missed you so much.”
He meows again and starts purring. My tears dampen his fur as he kneads my thigh with his paws.
“I’m sorry I was gone. I was giving this love thing a chance, but it failed.” I sniff. “Don’t worry. I won’t be trying it again anytime soon.”
Dima
Bozhe moi, this pain in my chest. The moment Natasha drives away, I register it like a goddamn heart attack. She’s leaving.
She left.
Even though our end was inevitable, even though I was pushing for it, I’m suddenly blinded by guilt. By sorrow.
I hurt Natasha. That much is unforgivable. I shut myself off from her until she finally gave up on me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Didn’t I want her to give up? Wasn’t that the point of refusing to tell her about Alyona? About repeatedly telling her I wasn’t for her—that I wasn’t available?
Why, then, does it feel like I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
I move through the cabin like an apparition, barely aware of my surroundings, or what needs to be done.
Vaguely, I realize I need to arrange a pick-up because Nikolai and I are now stranded out here. I manage to text Ravil the situation then start packing.
“What happened?” Nikolai appears in the doorway of the office. He’s lost weight this week, but he showered, shaved, and dressed at some point today, so he looks better than he has.
I can’t seem to reply. My brain flips into blank space when I search for the answer to his question.
Like a jackass, he repeats the question, enunciating. “What. Happened. With. Natasha?”
“I…” I stare at him blankly. “I fucked up.”
He scoffs. “Obviously.” He raises his brows and spreads his hands, waiting for an explanation.
I sink into the desk chair and drop my head in my hands. “Do you think the dead are watching the living?”
“Bozhe moi, Dima,” Nikolai snaps, like he’s pissed at me now, too. “If they are... “ He pauses and draws a deep breath. “Do you really think Alyona would want you to spend the rest of your life in fucking misery when you could open your heart to someone else?”
His words fall like a bludgeon on my already battered chest.
I fall back in the chair. “Would she?” I ask. I’m desperate for the answer, even though I won’t believe Nikolai. How would he know anything about this? “I promised her there’d never be another.”
“You were seventeen,” Nikolai snarls. “You didn’t want your life to go on.”
The screech of metal against our car rings in my ears. That night on the bridge when I almost killed my twin.
“You’ve learned to live since then,” Nikolai says. “You can learn to love, too.”
My eyes burn. I twist the little ring on my pinkie.
Learn to love.
A fast-forward film of all the moments Natasha and I shared together this week flip through my head. Not just the passionate moments but the tender ones, too. Even the ordinary ones. Natasha making sure I don’t burn my eggs while we argue. The way she looked in the moonlight. The care she took with Nikolai. And fuck—the utter desolation I saw on her face
when she finally gave up on me.
I have learned to love. Natasha showed me. Even though I fought it at every turn, she kept knocking on the door of my heart.
And I kept denying her entry.
I thought I was staying true to Alyona, but the sense of failure to both of them pervades.
Is it possible that denying my love for Natasha is somehow also denying what I had with Alyona? That makes no sense, and yet it feels true.
I meet Nikolai’s exasperated gaze. “I fucked up.”
“Da.”
I stab my fingers into my hair. “I don’t know if it’s fixable.”
“Get your head out of your ass and figure it out.” Nikolai walks away like he’s decided his job is done.
“Yob vas.” I mutter the curse to his back, but I don’t mean it.
He’s trying to save me, as only a brother will.
Dima
Adrian shows up later to take us back. He brings his sister, Nadia, to help us clean the place, per Ravil’s request. There’s no cleaning service out here, and Ravil wouldn’t trust anyone but an insider to know where the place is.
Nadia doesn’t speak much English yet, and I think Ravil gives her jobs to try to coax her into the world of the living. She barely leaves the apartment, which is understandable. She’s suffered a trauma no human should ever have to endure.
At the moment, I find her depressing presence a perfect match for mine. I give her and Adrian quiet instructions about what needs to be done before we leave and work until evening.
When we have everything clean and our things packed, they head out to the car.
“Just… give me a few minutes,” I say.
I walk around the outside of the cabin. Every inch of it reminds me of moments with Natasha. The hot tub outside my bedroom. Movies on the couch. Spreading her open on the kitchen counter.
I follow the path from the back door, past the now-dry indentation in the earth where she fell in the mud. Where I kissed her and claimed her in a way that had nothing to do with controlling or punishing her.
I walk past it, along the path we took when we saw the deer. Twilight blots out the last rays of the sunset as I climb the boulder we sat on.
