Nice Day For A White Wedding

by Le Carre, Georgia

  “See. You’re a natural,” he says. “Polnoch doesn’t easily accept a stranger’s touch, let alone nuzzle one. He likes you.”

  “The feeling is mutual. He is absolutely gorgeous.”

  Boris comes in and says something to Alex and Alex turns around to tell me our horses are ready. I give Polnoch’s neck one last rub and whisper goodbye to him before I follow Alex and Boris back out into the sun.

  A large, chestnut-colored stallion stands beside a smaller gray mare. Alex takes my hand in his, and I feel a rush go through my body as he leads me towards the horses.

  “This is Nikita,” he says.

  I reach up to pet Nikita and she accepts my touch with calm acceptance. Alex gives me a moment to get comfortable with her before he nods to the stirrups. I swallow hard. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a horse, and I was never worried about making a fool of myself. Now I am. I try not to show it as I walk around to Nikita’s side. I put one foot in the stirrup, and before I can talk myself out of it, I push myself off the ground and launch myself strongly onto Nikita’s back. Some part of me didn’t expect me to succeed at my first attempt, and I laugh with joy. I’m sure it wasn’t the most graceful moment of my life, but I don’t care. I’m on a horse. I settle into the saddle before looking down at Alex.

  “Very good,” he says approvingly.

  I feel myself blush at the compliment. I quickly bend my head and stroke Nikita’s mane to cover my embarrassment.

  “A gentle tap with your feet will get her moving when you’re ready,” Alex says. “Use the reins to guide her. And when you want to stop, just pull back on the reins.”

  I nod. Now I’m up here, I feel confident and ready to go. Alex was right. You don’t forget. I wait for him to mount Milan; his mount is by far more elegant and accomplished than mine was. He speaks to Boris for a moment before he turns to me and asks if I’m ready. When I nod, I see him gently touch his feet to Milan’s side. I do the same and Nikita begins to walk. I sway a little in the saddle, but I soon adapt to her rhythm, moving with her rather than against her. I start to relax, enjoying the freedom I feel riding on Nikita. Alex was right about Nikita too. She is very calm and gentle. As if she senses my initial nerves she keeps her movements slow and steady. I pat her neck, wanting her to know I appreciate her.

  “You’re doing really well,” Alex throws over his shoulder.

  I beam happily at him.

  We move away from the stables, and once we’re out in the open fields, Alex slows Milan down a little, and the two horses walk side by side. I turn my face up to the sun and let it warm my skin. It is the best feeling in the world. The Macau feels like another life.

  We’ve been riding for about half an hour when Alex points to the left. “The lake is that way.”

  I nod and pull on the left of Nikita’s reins. She turns immediately and I pat her neck again. I am feeling braver now, and I tap her with my feet again, moving her into a slow canter to keep pace with Alex’s horse.

  Soon I spot the lake coming up in front of us. The sun shines on its surface, making it look like a sea of sparkling sapphires. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here. We ride to the edge of the lake and I pull Nikita to a stop. We climb down from the horses and Alex takes the reins from me. He leads both horses to the lake and lets them drink their fill. When they’re done, he leads them into the shade and secures them to a tree. When he returns, I’m sitting on the grass looking out across the surface of the lake watching a lone swan bob for seaweed. In the sun it seems to glow with grace and flawless beauty. Alex lowers himself down beside me and lays back on the grass.

  “It’s so peaceful out here,” I say in a hushed voice.

  “Mmm. It’s a great place for thinking,” he replies.

  I look down at him. His eyes are closed. The desire to reach out and touch his face is so strong I have to stop myself.

  “Relax,” he murmurs.

  I let myself lay down beside him and look up at the sky. It’s mostly clear and I focus on the one fluffy white cloud that meanders lazily over our heads. I feel different. More centered. More like myself. As if this is the real me. I’m not entirely sure if it’s the country setting making me feel that way, or whether it’s Alex, but whatever it is, I like it.

  “I never imagined myself being so comfortable in this kind of setting,” I say after a few minutes. “I always thought I was a city girl through and through. But there’s something so damn good about watching clouds float by that aren’t just smog. And the lack of dirt. It’s amazing.”

  “The city has a certain appeal, but it has too many people.”

  “You don’t like people much, do you?”

  “Not much.”

  I turn my head to look at him. “Why? Is it because of what you saw when you were in the bratva?”

  His lips twist, he turns towards me. It is a shock to look into his eyes this close with only blades of grass between us. “What do you want to know, Cindy?” His voice is quiet, magnetic. I can’t look away from them.

  “Did you ever kill anyone?” I whisper.

  “Dead people sometimes feature in my nightmares,” he admits quietly.

  I feel my stomach lurch. I know so little about him. How could a man who lived in this paradise give it up for the life of a criminal? “Was it worth it, Alex? The excitement?”

  He looks away from me and stares up at the blue sky for so long I start to think he’s not going to answer me. Finally, he turns his head towards me again and looks deep into my eyes. “No. It wasn’t worth it. If I had to do it all again I would do it in a totally different way. I was seduced by the idea of power and violence because I was furious with the world for taking my parents away. It was a terrible mistake, but the past cannot be changed, and regrets are useless.”

  We stare into each other’s eyes. The air changes, becomes more viscous. I can smell the grass, but I can also smell his cologne. It makes my head swim. The rest of the world falls away. The lake, the lone swan, the blue sky above, the springy grass underneath … there is only me and Alex. My hand lifts on its own accord and gently touches his cheek. His skin feels like raw silk. I see him swallow hard.

  “What are you doing, Cindy?” he asks hoarsely.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “Are you sure? Every woman I’ve been with I’ve let down.”

  “I don’t care, I want you.” My voice sounds different, thick and guttural, and throbbing with strange need.

  His head lifts, moves towards me, then suddenly, jerks away. He sits up. “We should go,” he mutters as he springs up.

  He goes for the horses, taking them for another drink and then leading them over to me. I’m on my feet by the time he reaches me and I climb onto Nikita’s back wordlessly. I can’t even look at him. I feel as if I’ve been slapped with a cold fish. He mounts Milan and we start back towards the stables.

  “Babushka asked last night if I would ask you to have lunch with her today.”

  “I’d love to have lunch with her,” I say automatically.

  He says nothing and for a while we ride without speaking, until I can bear it no more and blurt out, “Have I offended you?”

  “No, of course not,” he frowns. “Why would you think that?”

  “Just the way you reacted.”

  He stops his horse and I follow suit. He looks at me and his eyes are hard and hostile. The eyes of a stranger. “I didn’t bring you here to fuck you. You’re here to do a job. Don’t let what happened just now change anything. Babushka has the intuition of an animal with many predators. She will detect even the smallest change in you.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t be any different around her,” I say tightly.

  “Good. Never forget that nothing is more important than the role you have been hired to play. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” I reply tightly.

  Cindy

  “Oh no, I couldn’t eat another thing,” I protest, rubbing my stomach and smiling at Babushka a
s she tries to tempt me with another rich cake.

  “Come, come now. Just one bite of this. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  “Honestly, Babushka, I’ve already eaten far more than I ever normally would eat at lunch time, and I really think my stomach is on the point of bursting. Especially since I was still full from breakfast.

  “All right,” Babushka concedes with a laugh. “I can’t help myself. I’m a feeder. Just ask Alex. Seconds, thirds. He had them at every meal. I have to wonder how he didn’t turn out to be about thirty stone.”

  I laugh with her, although I can’t picture Alex as anything other than toned and muscular.

  “The old saying is true dear. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But you already have Alex’s heart, I can see that much, so I guess you don’t need to resort to such mundane tactics.”

  I feel a strange pang of pain at the thought that I can’t go after Alex’s heart. Not now, not ever. It’s just a professional relationship. Nothing more.

  “Alex is very good looking,” she continues. “He always was. But it takes someone special to love him.”

  I raise an eyebrow, wondering if she’s going to reveal some deep family secret.

  She laughs uproariously. “You should see your face. Don’t look so worried dear. He’s not a closet axe murderer or anything like that. I just mean it takes someone special, someone he really clicks with and trusts for him to let his walls down. For you to have got to the man beneath the hard exterior, you must be special.”

  Have I ever seen the man beneath the hard exterior? I think I have. Once, when we were at the lake, I saw something more, but he shut down faster than I could blink.

  “Then you must be too,” I say with smile. “Because he talks about you a lot, and it’s obvious how much he loves you.”

  “Ah, he’s a sweet boy.” Babushka smiles, clearly pleased to hear that Alex talks about her a lot. “He has a heart of gold, even if he does try his best to keep it hidden. Enough of my ramblings. Tell me about you, Cindy. Where did you grow up?”

  She seems interested in what I have to say and she asks a lot of insightful questions and I am enjoying talking to her now we’re on a safer subject than Alex and I. So I begin to tell Babushka what amounts to pretty much my life story.

  When I finish telling her all about me, I ask about her life and I am instantly enthralled by her stories of growing up here in Russia, about what life was like when she was a child and then a teenager. She is full of amusing, fascinating anecdotes and I realize I really do like the woman a lot, and I can see why Alex dotes on her so much.

  We both lose track of the time, and Babushka seems as surprised as I am when Valeriya comes in and asks if she’s ready to get changed for dinner.

  “It’s that time already?” Babushka exclaims. “Well I never. I’m going to eat dinner in my room tonight though, so no need for a fuss.”

  “Are you alright?” I ask her, concerned that she wants to hide away in her room.

  “I’m fine,” she smiles, waving away my concern. “I just want you and Alex to spend an evening together without me in the way.”

  “You’re not in the way. We have all the time in the world to be alone when we get back to London,” I say immediately.

  Babushka shakes her head decisively. “No, no, you are on holiday and there must be a million things you want to do together. I’ll eat in my room where I can watch an old James Bond movie. I like the ones with Sean Connery best. Doesn’t he remind you of Alex?” she asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

  I smile at Babushka. “I never thought about it, but you are right. There is something about him that is similar.”

  We exchange goodbyes as Valeriya leads her from the room. I guess I’ll be spending tonight in my room watching movies too, and tomorrow, Alex and I can come up with a story about what we’re supposed to have done together.

  Cindy

  I was wrong about what would happen.

  Visions of sitting in my room making a start on the DVD collection weren’t to be. Just as I got into my room, Alex knocked on the connecting door. He surprised me by telling me he’d made reservations at his favorite restaurant in the nearest city, and that we would be leaving the house at seven thirty.

  As I zip myself into a slim fitting white dress I wonder if after what happened this morning Alex thinks it will be easier to keep our ruse up if we go out and not join the others for dinner. Whatever his reasoning, I know for sure it’s not because he really wants to spend alone time with me. His complete and utter rejection earlier still stings. The only good thing about it is I now know exactly where I stand. There are no more illusions about what he wants from me.

  There is a soft knock on the door and I take a deep breath and go to open it.

  Alex is dressed in a white dinner jacket, black shirt and black pants and I realize Babushka is right. He is very, very James Bondish with a sexy, devil-may-care look around him. I can see the lower half of several Celtic design tattoos poking out from beneath the sleeves. He looks so hot I am finding it hard to tear my eyes away from him for even a second.

  “Are you ready?” he asks quietly.

  I nod. I’m not sure how to play this anymore. We walk down the empty corridor silently and when we reach the staircase we meet a servant who politely steps back to allow us to pass.

  Downstairs the driver is waiting next to the open passenger door of a long black Rolls Royce. I thank him and slip in. The door closes, a heavy reassuring thunk. Classical music fills the faintly perfumed air as Alex slides in next to me. Instantly, I feel my heart start pounding in my chest. Even though he rejected me, my body still responds to him.

  “Are you familiar with Russian food?” he asks quietly.

  I turn to look at him. Gosh, he is so damn handsome. “My first introduction was last night when I tried the chak chak.”

  “Good. You’ll like this restaurant.”

  After that he keeps the conversation light and casual. The restaurant is in a grand old building. The staff are ancient and dour to say the least, but shockingly efficient.

  “Since I know nothing about Russian food, why don’t you choose for me?” I say.

  As I sip my champagne, very delicious by the way, he orders some fish appetizers for which the English translation is ‘herring under a coat’, and for the main course, meat stew, but no doubt a fancy version. I look around the grand, beautifully preserved surroundings curiously. There is something unreal, almost fairytale about the best of Russian architecture and this interior exemplifies that idea. One can imagine splendidly robed Tsars and Tsarinas in these lofty, gilded spaces. The Macau and my unrelentingly hectic life in London seem a million miles away.

  “Like it?” Alex asks, cutting into my thoughts.

  I look across the table at him. He looks so at home here. So regal. This is his birthright. I tried to imagine him as a thug and couldn’t. Not even with his huge, thickly muscled body or the tattoo poking out of his shirt collar. I smile at him. “What’s not to like? The architecture is stunningly beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Babushka’s palace.”

  He glances around as if seeing the interior for the first time through fresh eyes, through my eyes, then looks again at me with a strange expression. “Yes, it’s very beautiful. I’m afraid I took … I take all this privilege and splendor for granted.”

  “I can’t imagine taking something this marvelous for granted.”

  He leans back. “What was your childhood like?”

  It is flattering how interested he seems in what I have to say so I tell him about the small apartment we lived in, the neighbors next door who fought night and day, the school I went to, and my three best friends. I’m sure I would have carried on if the first course had not arrived. It is a colorful dish that looked like a layer cake. On the top was mayonnaise, then the fish, followed by the onions, carrots, apples and a bottom layer of boiled potatoes. Even though it looks beautiful I can’t imagine I would like cold fish, but i
t is surprisingly good.

  I put the fork down and find Alex watching me.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “It’s actually excellent,” I say honestly.

  He smiles slowly and I have to remind myself this is not a date. The conversation flows easily and I find myself revealing even more unnecessary stuff about myself.

  Next, an old Russian favorite, the Zharkoye, beef stew arrives. It is what the phrase ‘something to write home about’ was invented for. The meat is full of intense flavors that melt on my tongue. I close my eyes to shut out every other sensation but the taste explosion going on in my mouth.

  Alex laughs softly. “If this is your reaction, I wish you could have tasted Babushka’s version of it.”

  I look at him in surprise. I can’t imagine Babushka cooking. She has staff for everything. Alex seems to read my expression and he laughs.

  “Babushka has always had plenty of staff. And I’m sure you can see why.”

  I nod, thinking of the sheer size of the place.

  “But her real love is cooking and horses. She had a real talent too. She would cook up the most amazing meals and up until five years ago, she even tended to and rode her horses. No matter how wet it was, or how much snow there was, she’d be out there with them every morning.”

  “She sounds like a hell of a woman,” I say.

  “Oh, she is,” he agrees. “What you see now, is just a ghost of what she used to be.”

  “I don’t know, Alex. She seems very spritely to me and in good spirits. I think she is a very lucky woman to have you and Valeriya. Especially since Valeriya seems to have a genuine affection for her.”

  “Babushka is more her family than her own,” Alex says. “And I suppose compared to her actual family, we are. Her mother, who used to work as a maid for Babushka, died when she was ten. Her father immediately began to beat her. Because of the loss of income, he tried to send her out to work the streets.”

  My jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Why didn’t she go to the police?”

  Alex shakes his head. “It was a different time then, Cindy. The police would have done nothing to stop it. If anything, they would have taken her father’s side. Women’s rights were barely even a thing then, and Valeriya was only allowed to stay with us because Babushka stepped in and paid him enough money for him to go away. She didn’t tell Valeriya for a long time, because she wanted Valeriya to stay because she wanted to, not because she felt like she had been bought.”