Russian Tattoos Obsession (24 page)

Chapter 49

Mother Russia

Vladimir drew a bath in the whirlpool in his bathroom, filled the tub with bubbles, and added a few drops of lavender essential oil to the warm sensual water. I was shell-shocked, but I tried to live in the moment and not be a killjoy over the fact he was leaving—forever—but I couldn’t help question why he had tried so hard to win me over only to dump me as soon as he got a little piece of my puzzle.

“Relax, angel. I’ll wash you.” He turned me around so my back was to him, took off his shirt, and sank us in the tub. He wet my hair and massaged a big glob of shampoo through my waves. Once he worked up a lather, he rinsed it off, ran a silky seaweed-colored conditioner through my hair, and then stacked my locks on top of my head in a freestyle bun.

With my hair up, he had a perfect view of my Christmas Eve Bullshit Boris had imprinted on me after the football game. He drove a bar of soap back and forth over the foot-stomp impression still hanging on between my shoulder blades. It was as if he thought he could magically erase it—or maybe he was rubbing it in.

While the conditioner set in, he scooted my body back and rested my head on his chest. He lifted my left leg, lathered it with soap, and commenced shaving. After both my legs were smooth, he ran a washcloth down my body, starting at my neck and working his way down to my feet, stopping at all ports on the journey south.

After he polished my body, he rinsed my hair and washed my face. Neither one of us said a word. I understood: I was disgusting. In his mind, the game was over. He had won. What use was I to him anymore? Now that the skank was clean enough to sit in one of his fancy cars, he could send me back home to my papa dirtier than I was before I left the house.

Bravo. Well done, Vladimir. It must feel awesome to con a virgin into letting you work your magic down there. Is there a special tattoo for that achievement?

Sophia huffed.

The devil pumped his fist.

I stood up and got out of the tub. Dirty gray suds clung to my body. I covered myself with a towel, collected my rumpled clothes off the floor, and scurried back to my bedroom to shower off the grime. I sent Boris a text and asked him to take me home. He would be giddy knowing he was rid of me once and for all.

I put myself back together, slid on my coat, and braided my wet hair as I waited in the kitchen for my keeper to show up. When Vladimir found me, I wouldn’t look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Boris is coming to get me. I asked him to take me home.” I hid my hands in my pockets. They were shaking like rattlesnake tails.

“Why?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Stop pretending. You got what you wanted. Leave me alone and go back to Russia.”

God, I hate myself.
He tried to put his arms around me, but I shoved him off. “Just open the gate. I’ll walk home.” I ran to the kitchen door.

He bear-hugged me from behind, pinning my arms at my side. “I don’t understand. What did I do?” He dragged me away from the door.

“Cut the shit. Let me go.”

“Talk to me. I honestly have no idea why you’re so upset.”

I struggled to get free which only made him squeeze me tighter. “You won, okay? Let me go.” I rocked my body side to side and back and forth to throw him off balance—no luck.

“You think I’m leaving you?”

Resilient and still high on the idea I could out-muscle him, I tried to weasel my way out of his arms. “Duh, genius. You
are
leaving me.”

He exhaled, and his body lightened like all the air had been let out of his soul. “
Moy slomonnyy angel
.”

“Don’t call me that. I Googled it, you jerk. I’m not ‘broken,’ and I’m not your ‘angel.’ Get off me. Let me go!”

He loosened his grip, and at the same time, I lunged forward, lost my balance, and crash-landed on the kitchen floor. Vladimir knelt beside me, scooped up my deflated body, and cradled me in his arms. I buried my face in his chest, hating myself for craving the warmth and comfort I felt cocooned in his arms.

“You are my world, Carter.” Vladimir picked up my right hand and kissed my knuckle. “I planned to do this in a more romantic way this evening, but you leave me no choice.” He pulled a gold ring with a huge blue-green stone out of his pocket and slid it on my finger. “This belonged to my mama. She’d want you to have it.”

My face was wet with tears, snot, and sweat. “Why?”

He studied my bewildered expression. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Carter. Marry me.”

I blinked at the exquisite engagement ring on my finger. “You want me to go back to Russia
with you?
”

Vladimir blotted my face with the sleeve of his starched shirt. “We have fine colleges in Russia—tennis courts, too. I’ll hire the best coaches to train you.”

As I considered Vladimir’s proposal, still curled up on his lap on the floor, the kitchen door opened. Boris towered over us with his arms crossed, stance wide, eyes narrowed. Nothing fazed the big guy.

“What do you say, angel?”

I couldn’t imagine living my life without Vladimir by my side. I needed him. I loved him. “
Da
,” I answered.

“
Da
?”

“
Da
, I’ll marry you.”

Boris exhaled, mentally exhausted by our crazy. Apparently, the
pakhan
hadn’t consulted with his
sovietnik
about his marital plans or our future together back home in Mother Russia.

Vladimir and I stood up.

“Surprise.” I held out my hand to show Boris Irina’s ring.

Boris patted Vladimir on the back, clutched his shoulders, and said something encouraging in Russian that made Vladimir smile. It looked like an endearing father-son kind of moment. Boris even called him “Vova,” which must be an affectionate nickname.

Boris turned to me. “Welcome to the family,
lapsha
.” My future papa-in-law of sorts pulled me in for a hug and kisses on my cheeks. He held out his fist for a celebratory bump. I lifted my hand, made a fist, and squinted in anticipation of the customary way-too-hard knuckle-knock. Boris lightly bumped my hand and gave me a tiny smile. “You’ll make a fine Russian.”

Chapter 50

Plan Of Attack

From that point on, our
sovietnik
insisted on being involved in all our endeavors. We huddled around the bar, an unopened bottle of vodka between us, and devised a plan that seemed as complicated as overthrowing the Kremlin. The demands of Vladimir’s position were heating up in Russia. He and Boris would leave the States in three days to settle some sort of rival conflict that had escalated back home.

Of course, Vladimir wanted me to drop everything, ditch life as I knew it, and board his private jet. That game plan had compounded problems. Small detail, but I didn’t have a passport. Vladimir scoffed at the idea and said he could get me one in five minutes, but Boris intervened on my behalf and denied him. I was an adult and there was no need to leave the country illegally—or against my papa’s wishes. Boris sealed the deal by adding it was best to handle the
conflict
before introducing me to the life.

Vladimir held out a moment more, until Boris flashed the For Her Own Safety card. I’d stay here, waiting.

Their world was fascinating, really. I wondered if
rival conflict
translated to
mafia war
, but I didn’t push for details. I got the sense this was the minor issue back home that had him all fired up on my first day of work.

The Official Game Plan:

Vladimir and Boris would go back to Russia in three days.

I would apply for a passport and have it in hand in time for spring break.

Vladimir would fly back from Russia, and together we would confess our love and marriage plans to Dad.

I would fly back to Russia with Vladimir, we would spend spring break at his
dacha
, summer home, and we would plan our June wedding.

These things were decided, but the last piece of the equation—when or if I would return home to America after spring break to finish the last few weeks of the semester and to reach a peace agreement with Dad—was still under negotiation.

“Vladimir, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. I need time to ease out of my life here. If I drop out, it won’t look good on my record when I apply to colleges in Russia.”

“You’ll go to any college you want. I’ll see to it personally.”

“Newsflash: I don’t need
you
to see to it. I earned my way. I’m not going to throw away everything I worked so hard for.”
He’s like me; he has to understand that.

Vladimir tapped the tips of his fingers together and eyed the vodka bottle. “As my
wife
, you’ll enjoy the privileges that come with being married to a man of a certain influence, understand?” His cheeks were red, jaw clenched.

“Of course she understands, boss.” Boris reached for the bottle.

Vladimir held up his hand to Boris in a stop motion and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this. We’ll stick to the plan as it is, and you will decide when or if you go home after spring break. You might love your new country so much you may never want to return to America.” He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “Your happiness is my only concern.”

“Perfect.
Spasibo
.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. He ran his fingers through my hair with one hand and with the other he squeezed his arm around my back. He was a different person without the vodka, and he was willing to give up drinking—for
me
. In return, I would give up my family, friends, and country to spend my life with him in Russia.

When you love someone, you make sacrifices.

Our make-out session was getting a little sloppy. I could tell he was excited when he whispered in Russian and nibbled on my ear. I cracked up, embarrassed the Juicy Love Fest was going down in front of Boris.

“There you go, boss.” Boris patted him on the back. “Now, let’s talk about the wedding. Russians believe in elaborate celebrations. My mama will spoil you rotten,
lapsha
.”

“I can’t wait to meet your family,
Vova
.”

“My family can’t wait to meet
you
, angel.”

Chapter 51

Izvinite

When Boris drove me home, the car was silent except for the sound of his gold rings tapping on the steering wheel.

“You have your
sovietnik
face on,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

He glanced my way as he drove down the windy road. “Why do you say that?”

“You look deep in thought,” I pointed at his hands, “and you do that tapping thing when things are messed up.”

He thought a moment before he responded. “I don’t like surprises.”

“You’re surprised Vladimir wants to marry
me
?”

“I’m surprised you want to marry
him
.”

I scoffed. “Why?”

By the incredulous look on his face, it had appeared my Stupid Girl meter had tipped over into the red zone. “You do know what we do for a living, right?”

I nodded.

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

“You’re a nice girl, Carter, with a bright future. You can handle being married to the
pakhan
?”

“Well, he’s not bad—like you.” I peeked over at him. “He does the cyber stuff and you handle the
other
side of the business.”

“Ah, now I understand. He’s the good kind of bad guy.” He chuckled. “What he does is okay as long as no one gets hurt, right?”

“I know he had a hard life growing up behind the Iron Curtain, not to mention he lost his entire family, and went to prison,” I placed my hand over my heart. “After all he’s been through, how can I judge him?”

“You’re a very understanding young lady, Carter.” He parked at our meeting spot. I opened the door to get out of the car, but Boris held my arm. “Once you’re in the family, there’s no getting out. If you have any reservations—”

“I love him.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

“There’s nothing to worry about, Boris.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

“The boss is a lucky man.”

“
Spasibo
. I’m lucky, too.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

***

That night, Vladimir invited the family to a Middle Eastern restaurant for a going away party. Bongos, belly dancing, and falafel balls would have been fantastic under different circumstances, but my fiancé was going back to Russia without me in two days.

When Dad, Karen, Megan, and I arrived at the restaurant, Boris greeted us at the door. I didn’t know how Vladimir and I were going to hide our feelings for each other in front of Dad, but knowing Boris was there to keep us in line eased my stress.

“Ded!”
Megan bounced over to Boris holding a fuzzy black kitty in one hand and a lanky white beanbag cat with blue eyes in the other. “This one is you.” She held up the black one. “And this is
Dyadya
.” She held up the white one. “Santa put them in my stocking.”

Boris studied his feline representative. “Too fat.”

“He’s not fat, his fur is fluffy.”

“If you say so, dear.” Boris patted her on the head and handed her a chocolate bar.

“I hope I don’t cry,” Karen said. “I can’t believe you two are leaving us. Wouldn’t you rather stay in America?”

“
Nyet.
I miss my wife, family.”

“You’re married?” Karen and I said in unison.

“Thirty-two years.”

I knew he had kids and his mama back home, but he’d never mentioned his wife. “What’s her name?”

“Anya.”

I smiled. “Pretty.”

“Vladimir and his guest will join us momentarily,” Boris said to Dad and Karen.

Guest?

While the hostess collected our coats, Boris emblazoned a mind-melting mental warning directly onto my corneas. After that non-verbal assault, I decided to keep my coat on—my wardrobe choice was a tad questionable.

Mystery Guest: Vladimir arrived fashionably late with a green-eyed redhead, with cascading curls, huge boobs, and legs longer than a camel’s. He introduced everyone to his ‘girlfriend,’ Svetlana, adding that she only spoke Russian.

My mouth gaped.
What the hell was he trying to pull?

“Good to see you again, Miss Cook. You look well. Over your boy troubles?”

“
Da
.” I evil-eyed the bombshell. “
Do svidaniya
.” I extended my hand to her.

“You mean
privet
?” Vladimir laughed. “
Do svidaniya
means goodbye.”

“My bad.”

Karen and Dad exchanged glances. “You picked up some Russian over Christmas break, sweetie?”

“
Da, Papa
.”

Vladimir laughed and patted me on the head like a child. I wanted to smack his hand away, but I had to keep it together in front of my family.

“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” Vladimir asked.

Dad and Karen walked ahead of me, Vladimir behind. I unzipped my coat, slid it off, and peeked over my shoulder to gauge his reaction to my sexy duds. I had on low-rise jeans and a curve-hugging sequined top, with a matching shrug, a belly chain, and a rose-gold choker in the shape of a tigress chasing her tail.

I wore my hair down in a wavy messy sexy do and turned up the heat a bit by tracing black eyeliner around my eyes like a cat to accentuate my fiancé’s favorite feature of mine. He bit his lip and chuckled at my crazy.

“Whoa,” Dad said when he caught an eyeful of my dinner attire.

“What? I was going with a theme outfit. Too much?”

He gave me
the look
.

“
Izvinite
.” I tipped my head with my hand on my heart, apologizing for my bad choice.

“You sure picked up a lot of Russian in two and a half days,” Dad mumbled.

Vladimir motioned for everyone to have a seat. I headed for the chair next to him, but Boris caught my elbow and pointed to the other side of the table. Karen and Dad settled in seats across from Vladimir and his date, and I got marooned next to Boris.

Megan pulled her doppelgänger cat family out of her backpack and set up a nest for them using starched white napkins from the table.

A text came in on my special phone:

Boris: My idea. Relax.

The band began warming up as the server brought pita bread, tabouli, and a pitcher of margaritas to the table. Vladimir poured the drinks and handed one to Karen, one to Svetlana. He said something to her in Russian that made her giggle.

I swayed and bounced to the beat of the drums, completely ignoring him. It may have been Boris’s idea to bring Miss Moscow, but Vladimir didn’t need to enjoy it so much.

A foursome of dancers, two ladies in belly dancer costumes, and two dudes—one hot, one not—in turbans, stretched out in the corner by the band. The hot guy busted me staring and swished a scarf at me. I turned away and pretended I hadn’t noticed. I could feel Vladimir glaring at me, but I wouldn’t look at him. He sent a margarita down to me. Apparently the rules of underage drinking didn’t apply to him
anywhere
, but I held up my hand and refused. “I’m going to stick with water tonight. Thanks anyway,
Vlad
—Mr. Ivanov.”

“Good choice, Carter. You can be the designated driver.” Karen sucked down half of her drink, and then turned and smooched Dad on the lips. They had already had a few beers before we left the house.

This could get interesting.

I got up and excused myself. I walked past Vladimir and ‘accidentally’ bumped his chair. When I came out of the bathroom, he pulled me into the kitchen. I tried to slap him across the face, but he caught my hand and trapped me against the wall.

“Nice girlfriend, you jerk. You two make a charming couple.”

He put his finger to my lips to shush me. “It’s for appearances, angel. Svetlana is one of Boris’s girls. No one could ever take your place.”

“If she belongs to Boris, then give her back.”

“How else can I mask my attraction, angel? I’m doing this for you.”

Satisfied with his explanation, I stood on my toes and kissed him. Our public display of affection in front of the staff was getting a little sloppy. The owner came over and asked us to go back to our table, under the guise that our appetizer course was being served.

Back in our private room, Vladimir and Dad dove deep into a conversation about some technology thing. Dad had bought out Vladimir’s shares of the company and was taking over as CEO. There was no way Dad could’ve afforded it without financial help. I knew without asking Vladimir had made it possible. Boris had told me the truth when he said the business was legit, and Vladimir meant what he said about coming to America to help my family.

Svetlana sat quietly drinking her margarita with my fiancé’s arm around her narrow waist. She was a distraction for him, but what about me?

“Want to dance, Karen? Looks like the guys are talking shop.”

“Sure. I’ve been dying to get out there.” She sucked down the rest of her drink. “I think the cute one likes you.”

When we stood up, I motioned to Svetlana to join us. She looked at Vladimir to check if it was okay.
Jeez.
What a tool.

He said something in Russian, kissed her hand, and she stayed at his side.             

Whatever.
When we joined the dancers, they wrapped scarves around our waists and showed us how to swing our hips like belly dancers. Karen busted out some dirty dancing moves with the twenty-something-year-old, but I turned my back on the male dancers and shook it with the ladies. Dad looked like he wanted to stab his eyes out with kabob skewers, as he watched his wife dancing with a much younger, hotter dude with a full head of dark, wavy hair.

I
knew better than to make my man jealous.

“Karen, why don’t you come back to the table now? They’re serving the appetizers,” Dad said. His face was burning red.

I stepped in and tried to pull Karen away, but she didn’t take the hint.

Karen raised her hands over her head and shook her bootie dangerously close to the dancer’s crotch. Dad chugged a glass of water and dabbed the sweat off his forehead with a napkin. I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed or humiliated by his wife’s behavior—and it was all going down in front of the manly Russians.

Dad dropped a stack of pita bread on Karen’s plate and dumped a big scoop of hummus next to it. “Try this, honey. You’ll love it.”

Translation:
Down, girl.

The dancer swished the scarf at Karen’s behind, totally digging her sloppy, flirty cougar drunkenness. Poor Dad looked like he was about to go medieval on the dude.
Enough.
I tugged on Karen’s arm and took her spot. “Sorry, my turn.” I kept the beat with the dude to deter her from cutting back in.

“You can have him, Carter. I’ve got my man.” She plopped down in the chair next to Dad and tried to kiss him, but he turned his cheek.

I glanced over at my dance partner. He looked jazzed at my enthusiasm to fight off my stepmom so I could have a run with him. He clapped in time with the beat and eyed my body as I danced. I turned my back to go back to the table, but the dude caught my arm and pulled me back. I prayed the Russians missed the fact he’d touched me.

To mask his dangerous faux pas, I danced until the music ended. Then I went back to the table without making eye contact.

Vladimir will understand why I stepped in, right?

As everyone filled his or her plates from the family style platters, a text came in on my special phone from Vladimir. I couldn’t tell what it said, because the words were in Russian.

I snuck a peek at him and laughed.

The
pakhan
didn’t see the humor.