Chapter Forty - KATYA
I’ve been waiting at the church for two hours. I wanted to go to Oliver’s place, but Ariel was adamant that I not. She told me to go home. So did Mariel. And I agreed, but I came here instead. There are two places Oliver will go looking for me right now. On the bus stop bench outside his house where I’d wait if I wanted to hang out with him and have sexy times. Or here, at the church, where I’d wait if we were meeting in secret.
I think tonight totally counts as a secret meeting. So I don’t care how cold it gets, or how long I have to stand here, huddled up in the shadows of the gothic arches overhead. I will wait until he comes to find me.
Mariel’s story was long and complicated, just like she promised. But it was the call from Ariel and Cindy’s father that shocked the hell out of everyone in that room.
Mr. Corporate was dead.
Victoria broke down crying hysterically. The strength inside her—strength that radiated out from her like a suit of armor—melted away in one instant. We pulled up the pictures of West online. Shot in the head.
Oh, God. I can’t even think straight. That moment… God, poor Victoria.
But then a text came in for Ariel. Don’t. Panic. That was all it said. It was Oliver.
Of course, it said a whole lot more than that after Ariel explained what it meant. And even though we had no details, we convinced Victoria that West was OK. We talked her into it. We talked ourselves in to it. We had to believe that they knew what they were doing. That it was fake. Mr. Corporate was not dead. He can’t be dead. Because if he is, then all the Misters can die.
It was a sobering thought for everyone. And if Mariel wasn’t there to herd us together into one solid wall of bricks, we’d probably have fallen apart.
I hear the Camaro before I see it pull around the corner, and I’m on the sidewalk in an instant. He barely stops the car before I’m pulling the passenger side door open and slipping inside.
He drives off without a word. We stay silent all the way back to his house. He enters the fortress the back way, like he did last night, the gate opening, closing. Then the garage doors.
When the door is finally shut behind us and we’re sitting in the dark, he grabs my hand. “It’s OK,” he whispers. “West is OK. You’re OK. We’re all OK.”
I look at him, looking at me. He is lit up only by the dim, greenish glow of the dash panel lights behind the steering wheel. “This is it,” I say. “We’re in that moment for real this time.”
“No, Kat,” he says, shaking his head and squeezing my hand. “This isn’t it. Not at all. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. And we’re safe here.”
I look away. Look out the window at the walls of the garage.
“Come on,” he says. “You hungry? How long were you standing out there waiting for me?”
“Long time.” I sigh. But I get out. Because he’s the only thing that makes tonight better. He’s the only thing I have that’s going right instead of wrong.
We close our doors at the same time. They clunk, the way old cars do. And then I meet him at the front of the car and he takes my hand again, leading me to the door. We are in the garage closest to the main living area, so we don’t need to pass through any more before we are safely inside.
He flicks on the lights, but I flick them off. “No,” I say. “I don’t care if the windows are mirrors at night. I can’t be in here if the lights are on. I feel way too exposed.”
“Maybe just one or two, then. Hmm? How about this?” He walks over to the buckeye tree and slips a switch on the wall. It lights up the trunk, but just barely. And it casts shadows on the glass ceiling twenty feet above it. “Is that OK?” Oliver asks.
It’s too pretty and perfect not to be OK. So I nod. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks, walking towards the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I’m starved. We should’ve gone through the drive-through.” And then he looks over his shoulder at me and smiles.
God, he has the most charming smile ever.
“I can make you grilled cheese. Want some grilled cheese? And tomato soup?”
I laugh as I walk over to him.
“I bet you thought I forgot,” he says, letting go of the fridge door to cup my face with his hands. “I forget nothing about you, Katya Kalashova.” He leans down and kisses my lips. “Not one thing. And just so you know, this is not that moment.”
I look up into his eyes. Wanting that to be true so bad.
He kisses me. Softly. Gently. And then he whispers, “Not that moment,” into my mouth just before his tongue enters and begins to wash away the horror of today. “West is fine, Katya. It was fake. Makeup. He’s alive and hidden away until we get what we need. It’s an act and we,” he says, pulling away from my lips just a little, just so he can make sure to look me in the eyes as he finishes his thought, “we are in control this time.”
I don’t believe him. I want to believe him, but I don’t.
“Soup and sandwich?” he prods me again.
I sigh and nod. “Yeah, sure.” I’m so good at pretending. So good at lying. So I pretend and I lie as I sit on the same stool that we had sex on two nights ago and watch him cook me the only good thing I kept of my mother after I was left alone at age fifteen to fend for myself. To raise my sister.
Grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Comfort food.
When he’s done cooking he serves me and we eat. Me sitting at the bar, him standing up on the other side of the island.
“I think…” I say, when we’re about halfway done eating. “I think something is very wrong with my sister.”
“What?” Oliver asks. “What happened? What were you guys doing all day?”
Where the hell do I start? With this morning? And the visit from my sister? The lies she told me to get me to go over to that Antimony Association brunch? The creepy feeling I got walking through the house? The fact that Mariel is back? I almost laugh at that, but I hold it in so he doesn’t ask more questions.
Hell, the fact that I even know Mariel would probably be a shock to him. That I work for her? That I work for Liam? That I work for Gori? Which parts of my mystery does he know? And which one of them will finally make him turn against me and walk away?
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “If we go there right now, I’ll be lost, Oliver. All the things I need to say will ruin the only good thing I have left. You.”
He takes in a long draw of air and lets it out very, very slowly. And then he walks around the island and takes my hand. Pulling me off the stool. We walk past the beautifully lit up buckeye and climb the stairs to the bedroom.
When we get to the top, he lets go of my hand as we stand at the foot of the bed.
He undresses me. He slips the green dress over one shoulder, then the next. It falls to my waist as he palms my breasts, just for a moment, before reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. I let him take that off and lick my nipples. Trading off, one to the next, like he’s afraid they might feel neglected if he only pays attention to one. His mouth covers them. Sucks and nips them.
“Sit,” he says, lightly pushing me to lower myself to the bed. He kneels in front of me and lifts up one of my boots. He drags the zipper down and takes it off, his palm flat against the bare skin of my calf. His touch so light, it sends a chill up my body. Then he goes to work on the next one.
He stands me up again after that. And the dress is pulled over my hips and falls to the floor.
I stand there in only my underwear and let him look. I let him get a good long look at the words that he wrote on my body this morning. And I wonder how that day and this day can be the same one.
When his eyes finally come back up to mine, I say, “Your turn now.”