Under His Spell
When Boris and I got back to the house, Vladimir greeted me at the door. “Ready to celebrate?” His eyes were lit up and dazzling. I believed Boris when he said he didn’t drug me for the reason I’d thought. Vladimir would never hurt me—that way.
“I’ll wait while you change into something clean.”
Such tact. In the car I noticed I had vomit splashes on my clothes and reeked like a frat boy on a Sunday afternoon. “Yes. I’ll hurry.”
Once I showered and dressed in fresh designer clothes, Vladimir took me to lunch at a trendy high-rise restaurant that overlooked the holiday festivities on Fountain Square. We had a cozy u-shaped booth tucked in the corner. The best seat in the restaurant.
I choked down a couple bites of bread and a few spoonsful of vegetable barley soup, but I was so anxious from all that had gone down in the last twenty-four hours, I doubted I could keep anything in my stomach. Not to mention, I had the Big Papi of all hangovers caused by whatever Boris had slipped into my drink last night.
A text came in on my special phone. It was a photo of Leonardo lying on the ground with a busted up and bloody face, holding his ankle in agony; it was clearly broken. Acid built up in my throat and chills rocked my body.
Boris: Any more messes need cleaning up?
Carter: No.
Boris: Not a word, understand?
Carter: Yes.
Boris: Good girl. Delete this now.
I trashed the picture and tucked the phone back in my purse.
Vladimir pushed his soup bowl aside and folded his hands on the table. “Talk to me, Carter. I need to know what you’re thinking.”
I must have looked as crappy as I felt. I tucked my hands into my shirtsleeves and stared out the window. I held back tears, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t get me into trouble. Ever since Leonardo had given me a lift home, one fucked up thing after another had been set into motion. I didn’t know how to make it all stop.
Coach, Natasha, Leonardo—no more mistakes.
Our twenty-something-year-old waitress with bouncy pigtails and artsy tats came back to the table. “Are you finished with your first course?”
Vladimir motioned for her to take his bowl. “Please.”
“Cool tats.” The waitress flashed a flirty smile. “Goes great with the accent.”
“Spasibo,” he replied.
She tilted her head and giggled.
“I’m finished, too,” I said.
After the waitress skittered away, I asked, “Jeez. Do all girls throw themselves at you like that?”
“Jealous?” He winked.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No.”
“Ready to talk?”
“There is something I want to ask, but I’m afraid—”
“Don’t be.” He scooted closer to me in the booth.
I wrung my hands in my lap and tried to think of how best to phrase my question.
“Tell me.” He put his hand on my back.
His touch startled me. I lowered my gaze, slumped my shoulders.
He wrapped his arm around me. “Please don’t fear me. I would never hurt you.”
“Did you come to Cincinnati because of me?”
He squeezed my shoulder. “You have quite an ego, Miss Cook.”
Why had I bothered? He wasn’t going to tell me the truth anyway. “Yeah, whatever. Can we go now?” I stood up to leave, but he held on to my arm.
“Wait.” He pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and cupped something in his hand.
I sat back down and he revealed a striking picture of Sophia with the New York skyline behind her.
“I spent five years of my life in a Siberian prison camp. The idea that this vibrant young woman was waiting for me to return kept me alive.”
“You thought she was waiting for you?”
He tipped his head.
“When did you find out she died? Before or after you got out?”
“After. Boris thought it best not to tell me. He knew she meant the world to me.”
“You must’ve been devastated.”
“With the love of my life gone, I had no will to live until—” He flipped over a second photo of me, holding a tennis trophy. I was in high school, and I’d just won my first tournament.
“Whoa, whoa. You’ve been stalking me all these years?”
The restaurant went silent. All eyes were on us.
“Not stalking, looking after you.”
I blinked as if I’d been conked over the head with a blunt object.
“Sophia loved you so much, Carter. With her gone, I felt it was my duty to watch over you. Knowing a part of her lives on through you has helped me get past the grief.” He picked up my hands. “My family convinced me to stay away from you, for your own good. My line of work can be unpredictable.”
“Why’d you change your mind?”
“I’ve kept tabs on you over the years. When I found out your papa had been out of work for so long and your family was struggling, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing, could I?”
“You came all the way from Russia to help my family?”
“You know me well enough to know there are no limits. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He folded my hands into his, lifted them to his lips, and kissed the inside of my wrist. “You are my world.”
The idea that this man, this powerful man, cared so deeply for me that he left his country, disrupted his world, and came to Ohio to rescue my family and me left me speechless. “Then why do you keep pushing me away?”
“Moy slomannyy angel,” he whispered. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to resist you, Carter. You’re better off without me in your life, but you’ve captured my heart. I can’t breathe when we’re apart.”
We stared into each other’s eyes.
“A young woman as beautiful as you can choose any man she desires. Stop wasting your time on losers who don’t deserve you. Choose me.” He leaned down to kiss me.
Under his spell, I closed my eyes, parted my lips—
The waitress bounced back to the table with our entrees. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I opened my eyes.
“No apology necessary,” Vladimir said. “I have a lifetime to show my angel how much she means to me.” He kissed my cheek and whispered something sexy in Russian.
The waitress’s cheeks flushed. “You are the luckiest girl in the universe. I wish my boyfriend treated me like that.”
Boyfriend? Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into now?