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 winding 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.