Afterglow
The morning after, we shared an intimate breakfast on the balcony and noshed on fresh local fruit, steel-cut oats with warm milk, yoghurt and honey, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Seagulls stalked our mini buffet from the sky and Vladimir’s eyes sparkled in the Florida sunshine as we talked and laughed and enjoyed our privacy. In the weeks I had known him, I had never seen him so relaxed and happy.
He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Ya lyublyu tebya.”
His unshaven cheeks felt sandpapery against my skin. “What does it mean?”
“I love you.”
I curled my finger around one of his ringlets. “Ya lyublyu tebya.”
As we noshed and enjoyed the sunshine and salty ocean air, I couldn’t ignore Boris calling me on the special phone. I’d heard it going off in my purse for, like, the billionth time. “I’d better get that. It might be important.”
“My phone has been going off all morning too.”
I could tell by his expression he was amused, rather than alarmed, but nonetheless I was a little freaked considering I had lied to everyone and jetted off to Miami Beach with my dad’s boss. Maybe someone had found out, and Boris was trying to warn me.
I ran inside and lifted the ringing phone. “What’s wrong?”
“Dobroye utro. Good morning.” Boris sounded relieved. “Everything okay?”
I glanced outside. Vladimir motioned for me to join him. “I’m khorosho.” I went back outside and curled up on his lap. He wrapped his arms around my belly. His touch excited me. I sucked in a deep breath.
“What’s wrong? Is boss there?”
“I’m with Vladimir now.” I turned my head and smooched his lips. “Vladimir is khorosho, too.” He tickled me and I giggled.
“I take it you and Vladimir had a khoroshiy evening together?”
“Da.”
“Good girl. Call if you need anything.”
After breakfast, I went to the bathroom to get changed for the beach. I slipped out of my robe and slid on a super cute fringy white and gold bikini. As I checked out my reflection in the mirror, a boney, battered, and bruised young woman with bags under her eyes and sallow cheeks stared back.
If I set foot on the beach with my older, prison-tatted Russian boyfriend looking like I got my ass beat on a daily basis, someone would call the cops. Up until that point, I’d kept my bruises hidden from everyone—including Vladimir. When we were naked, the lights were off and my body was hidden under the sheets.
“How does it look? You like it?” he asked from the other side of the door.
“Love it. I’ll model it for you after I finish getting ready.”
Shit. He would be mad for sure—either at me for deserving the marks he had left on my skin, or he’d be pissed at Boris for hurting me. Or he’d interrogate me about what I did that made Boris so mad, and then I’d have to cop to the Leonardo Examination Incident. If I ratted out Boris, I would have hell to pay with him all over again.
Secrets or lies? Neither option ended with us happily frolicking on the beach. I had to call for backup. I picked up my special phone and turned on the shower to mask my voice.
Boris picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t look good in my bikini. I’m afraid to go to the beach.”
“You have a nice figure, lapsha, get over—”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I packed a long-sleeved swim shirt. One for boss, too.”
I heard a knock at the door. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” I tapped the screen and hung up on Boris.
I pulled my hair forward to cover my arms, leaving the good parts from the neck down visible. I put my hand over my side to cover the yellowing bruises on my stomach where Boris had pinched my skin. “What do you think?” I turned to give him a good view.
He leaned in for a smooch. “Amazing. Who were you talking to?”
“Boris called to remind us to wear the swim shirts he packed. I guess coming home with matching sunburns might raise a few eyebrows.”
He took the phone from my hand to check the call log. “You said Boris called you, but you are the one who called him.”
I dismissed his objection with a wave of my hand. “Um, he called me, and then I called him back. Are you ready to hit the beach?”
He checked the call list again and shot me an accusing glare.
Don’t lie, don’t lie, don’t lie…
“I needed his advice. He’s my sovietnik, too.”
“What do you need? Why not come to me?”
I pushed my hair over my shoulders and exposed my secret.
Vladimir ran his fingers down my arms and assessed the damage. The bruises on my body told a story on my skin just as his Russian tattoos revealed his crimes and time served behind bars. He lined up his fingers over the marks he’d imprinted on my arms. Judging by his pained expression, he had no memory of hurting me.
“This happened while you were a guest in my house?”
“Saturday night after you—”
My phone rang in the palm of Vladimir’s hand. I shut my mouth, remembering Boris had warned me not to bring up alcohol.
His jaw clinched. “After I what?”
I hesitated. The phone continued to ring.
“Tell me.”
“After you had a lot to drink.”
His eyes dulled and his expression went blank as if the truth had planted a bullet in his brain. He reeled me in for a hug. “Never again.” He rubbed circles on my back, kissed the top of my head, and rocked me side to side. “I swear to God, I’ll never lose control around you as long as I live. I’ll never have a sip of alcohol in your presence again. I love you, Carter. More than anything in the world.”
I burrowed inside his robe and buried my head against his bare chest. He let out a mournful sigh when my tears wet his skin. “Moy slomonnyy angel.” He hugged me so tightly, I could feel his heart beating against my cheek. “Say you forgive me.”
I could tell he felt horrible for hurting me, and I believed that if he didn’t drink, he would never become violent. He loved me, and I loved him. “I forgive you.” My words caught in my throat.
The ringing stopped.