Ivy Secrets (14 page)

It was a short ride along a winding road, and it seemed to take forever. Acres of tilled ground spanned the land around them, dotted by tobacco sheds, barns, and an occasional winter-abandoned sign that boasted Strawberries or Native Corn. Off to the right, Marina saw the Connecticut River bend and stretch its sleepy path; straight ahead she saw the rim of the mountains scallop across the early spring sky. Concentrating on the landscape seemed easier than thinking about what lay ahead.

Finally Marina saw a small sign, pointing left toward Skinner Mountain, the Summit House.

Viktor turned the car.

Up the mountain they went. The road was icy in parts, made even more narrow by snowplows that had plundered the pavement, leaving crumbled edges and ominous holes.

“The Summit House is at the top,” Marina said.

Viktor kept an obedient silence.

They passed a sign that read Halfway Point. Marina felt
her heart beat a little faster, and an eager quiver shiver in her stomach.

Viktor slowed for a steep, sharp turn. The wheels of the Mercedes spun on ice, then grasped the road again. Still he did not speak.

And Marina’s heart beat even faster.

Finally, they reached the top.

“Some of the girls came here on Mountain Day,” Marina said. “Will you come with me to see the view?”

Viktor turned off the engine, got out of the car, and walked around to open Marina’s door. As she stepped from the car, she let her hand brush against him. Then she walked toward the building—a large, white house perched atop the mountain like a nesting bird, a watchful sentry. Marina turned to look at Viktor. Suddenly, over his shoulder, beyond his back, the view was there. She gasped.

Viktor turned and followed her gaze.

“Wow,” he said.

They stood, unmoving, yet moved. The Pioneer Valley loomed below, the snaking Connecticut wove itself through the barren farmlands, past tiny strings of roads and houses that resembled Monopoly board pieces—children’s toys, in miniature. The orange sun tried to sink behind the distant charcoal mountains; a small plane hovered, lower than their place above it all.

“It is magnificent,” Viktor said.

Marina closed her eyes and tried to calm her heart. She opened them again and moved close to Viktor. She slid her arm through his. “So are you,” she said quietly.

He turned his head; his eyes met hers. The flutter inside her quickened; she stood on her toes; she kissed him once, lightly, then again.

“Viktor,” she whispered, “do you have any idea how I feel about you?”

He looked into her eyes. He did not smile. He did not frown. “Princess …”

She placed a finger at his lips. “Hush,” she said. “Do not say it. I want you to love me. I want you to make love to me.”

She put her arms around him and parted her lips. She kissed him again. His breath was warm, wet.

“Princesca. What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I am making love to the man I love.” She slipped her tongue inside his mouth; she touched the tip of his. She moved her hands down his back; she thought she heard him moan.

She led him back to the car, moving swiftly, keeping the dream intact. It was going just as they had planned, as Charlie and Tess and she had planned. They reached the car and Marina opened the door—the back door. She pulled him in; he closed the door behind them.

“Princess …” he said again, but Marina had her hand on the buckle of his pants, his faded denim, now bulging pants. She unzipped his fly so quickly it surprised her. And, suddenly, he was in her hand. This time, she knew she heard him moan.

He reached for her. She slid from her jacket; he pulled her sweater over her head. If Viktor was surprised to see her braless breasts, he did not say. Instead, he bent and licked her nipple—first one side, then the other. The ache inside her mounted; the need inside her grew.

He tugged at her pants; she let them slide. He guided his hand between her legs; a finger moved inside her, she felt a quick, sharp pain.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you,” he said, in a low, tender voice Marina had never heard, “I love you so much, my princesca.” He moved on top of her and pushed his hardness inside. Sharp pain pierced her again. She cried out.

He touched her face, her cheeks. “Princesca, I am hurting you.”

She shook her head. “No. No. Don’t stop. Please.”

He stopped. “I have hurt you. I did not mean to.”

She grabbed his back and pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

He moved again inside her. This time, there was no pain.

“I love you,” she said again.

He raised his head and cried out. “Princesca!”

She lay still, then felt the hot wetness ooze inside her. His breaths were quick, short. He collapsed on top of her. She held him close; she stroked his hair. And Marina smiled. She had
made Viktor happy. She had given him herself. She had given him a princess. And that was one thing Dell Brooks—or any other common female—never could. At last, Viktor Coe was hers.

    It was after dark when Marina returned to Morris House. She wanted to go to her room and lie in bed, quietly alone. She wanted to savor the lingering warmth of Viktor’s touch, and his sticky, sweet wetness inside her. But when she opened the door to her room, Charlie and Tess were there.

“Oh, God,” Tess cried when she saw Marina’s face. She turned to Charlie. “She did it.
They
did it.”

Marina smiled.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked.

“Never better,” Marina answered. “But I am tired. Would you mind leaving?”

“Shit,” Tess said. “We want to hear the juicy details.”

Marina shook her head.

“Come on, Tess,” Charlie said. “She wants to be alone.”

“What a rip-off,” Tess muttered, as they began to leave.

“Girls?” Marina asked. They turned and looked at her. “Thanks,” she said, and meant it with all her heart.

    The next morning Viktor, as always, waited outside Morris House for Marina to go to class. She was late: she’d spent too much time fussing with her hair and trying on six different outfits before deciding on the white silk sweater and black denim skirt. She wanted to look her best for Viktor; she wanted him to know she felt good; she wanted him to feel good. She wondered if he would grow hard with longing if she touched him by “mistake.”

He nodded “good morning” as Marina stepped onto the front porch, the same as every morning. But this morning, they had a special secret. Marina smiled back.

They walked in silence toward the classroom building: Viktor kept a discreet distance; there was no chance to touch him by mistake or otherwise.
Eyes
, Marina thought,
are everywhere.
She felt a growing pride at the respect he held for her, and at his protectiveness.

It was a full day for Marina. She handed in her paper in
government: Edward James gave a noncommittal nod when he took the carefully typed, acetate-bound folder. After government there was English literature, followed by music appreciation, then Spanish and Spanish lab. Marina barely had time to see Viktor, but she thought of him all day.

When he met her outside her last class, Marina assumed they would have dinner together.

“I have another commitment tonight,” Viktor said as they crossed the campus toward Morris House.

“Excuse me?” Marina asked.

“I said I have another commitment. You always stay in and study Monday nights. There’s something else I do. I am sorry.”

Marina was too stunned to speak.
Something else? Or was it someone else? Someone like Dell Brooks?
Bile rose in her throat.

He took her elbow and guided her toward the house. All her hard work, all her hopes and dreams, were disintegrating with each step. He didn’t want her; he didn’t love her. He had used her. The only woman he wanted was Dell Brooks. Old, dowdy Dell Brooks.

They walked up the stairs. Viktor opened the door for her and said, “You’d better go inside. You will be late for dinner.”

She didn’t move. He turned to leave. “Viktor?”

He looked back at her, his distance and his demeanor no different than they had been before last night. As if last night had never happened.

“No good-night kiss?” she uttered.

He held her gaze a moment, then shook his head. “That is not a good idea, Princess.”

She stomped her foot. “Dammit, Viktor. What are you doing?”

“I have plans tonight,” he repeated. “I told you.”

Anger rose within her. “You’re full of shit.”

He began to move away.

“What is more important than being with me?”

“You sound like a spoiled princess. You sound like your sister.”

“I am
not
Alexis, Viktor. But I
am
a princess. And you are supposed to answer to me.” The sharpness of her words surprised her.

“No,” he said calmly. “I am only your bodyguard. And I answer only to your father.”

She bit her lip until she thought it might bleed. Two other house residents skipped up the stairs, laughing and talking. They smiled at Marina and pushed their way past her into the house.

“If you must know,” Viktor said, “a group of us meets at the coffeehouse every Monday.”

“I could come along. I do not have to study tonight.”

Viktor shook his head. “Not with this group. They are not the kind of people who welcome princesses.”

She leaned against the door. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Viktor ran a hand through his long hair. It was longer now, Marina realized, than when they’d first come to America so many months ago. “It is a left-wing group. We talk about … socialist kinds of things.”

“Communism?”

“Socialism. For the good of the people.”

“What people?”

He waved a hand in the air: “All people. Any people. Now, please, be a good princess and go inside.”

She wanted to slap him. She raised her hand. He grabbed her wrist. “Please, Princess,” he said quietly.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Was it a joke for you? Would you prefer to forget that last night ever happened?”

He wiped the tears from her cheeks, then turned and went down the stairs.

    She skipped dinner. Marina told Charlie she had a lot of studying, and retreated to the solitude of her room. There, she lay awake most of the night. The problem, she knew, was because she was royalty and he was not. It was as simple as that, and as complex. Marina believed Viktor loved her. He had told her so. But if being a princess prevented her from having Viktor, there was only one thing to do. Sometime during the night she made the decision. She would tell Viktor she wanted to marry him. She would tell him that she loved him so much she would abdicate the throne for him. Let Alexis become the next ruler of Novokia, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was that she would be free, and that she and Viktor would be together.

In the morning, Marina dressed slowly. She waited until she heard Charlie leave for her morning run, then she pulled up her shade and crept downstairs to wait for Viktor in the lobby.

At eight-fifteen the front door opened. A man entered; Marina noted that it was not Viktor, so she quickly averted her gaze.

“Princess?” came a familiar voice, but the voice was not Viktor’s.

She moved her gaze back toward the man. Standing in front of her was Nicholas Furman, King Andrei’s confidant, King Andrei’s friend.

She jumped from the chair. “Nicholas!” she squealed. “What are you doing here? I was waiting for Viktor.”

He nodded and hugged her. “It is good to see you, Princess. You look wonderful.”

Marina laughed. “It is good to see you, too. How is Father? How is my mother?”

“They are fine. And so is your sister, though you didn’t ask.”

Marina wrinkled her nose and they both laughed. The friction between Marina and Alexis was well known throughout the palace, perhaps even throughout the world.

“I am going to take you out for breakfast,” he said.

“But what are you doing here?”

“I will tell you over breakfast. I hope you know a good restaurant nearby.”

“Of course. But we should wait for Viktor.”

Nicholas hesitated only a heartbeat before he spoke. But in that heartbeat, Marina sensed doom. “Viktor will not be joining us,” he said. “He has returned to Novokia. For the rest of your years at Smith, I will be your bodyguard.”

It was the first Sunday back at Smith: the beginning of her sophomore year. As Charlie took her early morning jog along the path that wove around Paradise Pond, she was filled with enthusiasm over the new year and the possibilities that lay ahead. She had made the dean’s list her freshman year, accumulating a 3.85 average. Her scholarship was intact; her life was on course.

She followed the curve of the path to an open spot with a clear view of the pond. In the distance two swans languished: two swans, mates for life. Charlie smiled. Maybe this would be her year to find her mate; maybe he would be Vance Howard, the guy from Amherst College she’d met on the bus from the airport last week, the boy she had a date with later tonight. She was glad she had worked at Felicia’s again this summer, and that she’d used some of her money to buy a few expensive outfits: a beige cashmere dress, an Ultrasuede skirt and vest, a creamy shirt and matching chocolate pants. If she was going to land a husband with money—a husband like Vance Howard, whose father was a U.S. congressman—Charlie knew she had to look the part. The rest would be easy. Her only concern now was which outfit to wear tonight. Vance was going to take her to the symphony, followed by a late supper. Charlie decided that when she returned to Morris House, she’d enlist Tess and Marina’s help in deciding what to wear.