Knocked Up By The Russian Mafia Billionaire
 

What a beautiful day, I thought, sighing.

 

The sun was shining bright over the park outside the studio, making the colors pop, a delightful inspiration for me.

 

With my hands on my hips, I took a moment to admire the landscape before getting on with arranging the canvases for my class.

 

The door creaked and I heard the familiar click-clack of Debby’s stilettos. I always told her she had an addiction to high heels but she never listened. I shook my head at the thought and turned.

 

“Oh, you’re already here,” she said instead of a greeting.

 

“Yep, always earlier than you, my dear.”

 

“Gee, you make me sound like such a bad teacher!” she joked.

 

I shrugged as if to say “What can I do if I’m such a good student?”

 

She left her shiny purse on her desk and joined me to prepare the art supplies for class. We worked in silence for a while but she just couldn’t help herself.

 

“God, I’m amazed by your hair! How do you even make your braids so freaking thin?”

 

I craned my neck to one side and gave her a “really?” glance. I was, however, impressed that she had managed to hold it until after we'd mounted the rest of the canvases.

 

“Really, how do you do it?”

 

“It’s pretty simple, in fact. I don’t.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Someone braided my hair, Debby. And yes, it takes a painful lot of time. But it’s worth it, isn’t it?”

 

I winked and she gave me a grimace.

 

“I can’t believe you’re not using extensions,” she went on.

 

“I don’t need them. My hair is long enough and, besides, I don’t want to worry when I sit on a toilet.”

 

She laughed, and by her expression I knew she actually picturing the scene. I shook my head, amazed by her childishness. How did we ever become such good friends?

 

“Oh, Dianne, I wish I had your hair.”

 

“Girl, you already have curly hair.”

 

“I know, but it’s not like black curly. There’s something…magical about your curls. I could never braid my hair like that and not lose half of it when it came out. You know what I mean?”

 

“Sure. Have you found a model yet?”

 

I felt like the conversation needed a change of subject or we could run into the risk of Debby getting depressed she didn’t have the right kind of curls. It was a big issue for her.

 

“Oh, yeah!”

 

“What? Really?”

 

She nodded, a mischievous smile forming on her lips.

 

“Someone agreed to stay still for an hour for no pay? What did you do, find some sort of attention-seeking…individual?” I stopped myself from using the usual word, as a group of students came in.

 

Debby giggled.

 

“No, dear. It’s a friend.”

 

“Ooh, intriguing!”

 

“One of my exes,” she threw in, before walking to her desk, leaving me with my jaw near the floor.

 

I followed her, in need of more information.

 

“Which is it? Mike? The one who was obsessed with the gym? Or the redhead? Is your husband OK with this?” I had so many questions.

 

“Oh, you don’t know him, Di,” she waved me off.

 

“That’s preposterous. I knew all your exes. You wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you?”

 

“It was before we met, don’t worry. Of course I wouldn’t. Anyway, he’s coming in today so I need to tell the class. Would you mind?”

 

Walking to my canvas, I shot her a scolding look for not letting me know about this before everyone else. That mischievous expression persisted on her face.

 

She checked her wristwatch.

 

“OK, class, I know everyone is not here, but you can spread the good news when the others arrive. We finally have a model!” Cheers and various other manifestations interrupted her. “Settle down, lovelies! I know we’re all happy that we can make it to the competition deadline but don’t lose focus, alright? We need to make our best work if we want to look even slightly decent. We’re competing against bigger and better schools of art so keep that in mind. OK? Now I have to make a phone call to confirm that our model doesn’t bail on us.”

 

She left the classroom without so much as a glance at me. I got the impression she was planning something unholy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it somehow involved me.

 

I didn’t have time to worry about the issue, though, as fellow students kept bothering me with their happiness. Soon, I was too excited about the competition to remember why I was upset with Debby.

 

She came back and sat on her desk.

 

“Is everyone here?” she asked, raising her voice over the noise of the class.

 

“Kaminsky’s missing,” someone shouted from the back.

 

“As usual. Well, then, I guess it’s time to introduce our generous model.”

 

I held my breath, curious to bits about this mysterious ex of hers.

 

The door opened and he walked in. Tall and slender, he looked like they gave him a child’s robe for this class.

 

I licked my lips, grateful that this class was for human proportions in nude form. I caught Debby’s eyes and she was grinning too.

 

He waved a hand, long, strong fingers dancing delightfully in the air. I suddenly felt like holding on to that hand.

 

“This is Peter, everyone. Peter, this is everyone. We’re really grateful you accepted to model for us.”

 

“Damn right we are,” I whispered, a little louder than I should have, which prompted the female majority of the class to cheer embarrassingly.

 

Peter seemed unfazed, the sum of his reaction simply being a polite smile, like he was used to this sort of adulation.

 

Debby glanced again at her watch.

 

“OK, we really need to get on with this. Time is of the essence, lovelies.”

 

Another round of cheers as he lost his robe and we started sketching. For some reason, though, work seemed slower today. We seemed distracted by something.

 

Debby, shamelessly grinning, perused the class, making various comments at some canvases. She finally stopped at my side, deliberately silent, like she wanted to give me the chance to admit she had done a marvelous job with this.

 

I eventually gave in.

 

“Nice job, Debby.”

 

“I know, right?” She could barely contain her boastfulness.

 

“Is he wearing colored lenses?” I asked, after a while.

 

“Nope.”

 

I looked at him again. It couldn't be true. That blue could only be artificial, surely.

 

And then I wondered about the unfairness on Earth. Why did some have to look so gorgeous while others had to struggle with all sorts of undesirable features? I mean, really? He looked like a freaking god! Oh, how cruel life is, I thought, shaking my head.

 

My philosophical ponderings were interrupted by his perfect pose. My eyes lingered over his form, sighing.

 

The way the light touched his fair skin made me jealous, the shadows it made around his perfectly sculpted abs a reason for countless hard swallows.

 

His black hair, styled just modern enough but in no way looking like he wanted to emulate some trendy pop star, looked like it was sucking up the sunlight like some sort of trap of darkness. I shook my head again, trying not to lose my mind with such menial details. But damn, those details, I thought.

 

“He’s Russian,” Debby whispered conspiratorially. “Piotr. And he’s a mobster. A Russian mobster.”

 

I snapped my head to her, utterly shocked. She winked and left me with my mouth wide open. Again.

 

She didn't come within earshot again for the rest of the class. “What is she playing at?” I asked myself.

 

By the end of what felt like the longest hour I've ever spent sketching, I was feeling properly stupid. The point of a model was to be looked at, analyzed, even creepily stared at, but I couldn't. I had the feeling I shouldn't, that it was inappropriate to take in that much beauty. It wasn't like I would've stared at a guy in a bar, for goodness’ sake! He was my model. Why was I feeling so strange?

 

When Debby announced that we should get ready to finish, I just stopped, left my canvas and went outside. I needed some air so I opened a window in the large hallway.

 

The wind was starting to blow around the fallen leaves, making them dance in a thousand shades of red. I sighed.

 

“I think you've been single for too long, lovely,” I heard Debby behind me.

 

“What's your point?”

 

“Aw, come on, don't be like that!”

 

I turned to face her, my lips pursed in indignation. It made her giggle.

 

“OK, so what's the deal with this guy?”

 

“No deal,” she shrugged. “What?”

 

“You're up to something. And I would really appreciate it if I was kept in the loop.”

 

While I couldn't stay mad at her for long, she did annoy me constantly. One day I’d explode, I knew it.

 

She looked straight into my eyes, like she was considering how much to tell me.

 

“Come on, spill it!”

 

“Alright. He's single.”

 

“And that concerns me…?” Although I was trying my hardest not to show it, I suspected Debby caught on with the fact that my stomach was doing acrobatics at the possibility of going out with Peter.

 

“Oh, quit playing! Just say yes when he asks.”

 

“Talking about me, I see.”

 

His voice! I wished I could draw it.

 

He hadn't changed out of the university-issued robe but looked gorgeous just the same.

 

“Hi. I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Peter.”

 

He had only the slightest of accents, enough to get my blood rushing. I cleared my voice.

 

“Piotr, I know. I’m Dianne. Nice to meet you.”

 

He shook my hand with an inkling of a bow.

 

“I see that Deb has been talking about me.”

 

I felt my face flush red with embarrassment.

 

“Yes. She seems to be playing matchmaker.”

 

“Is that so?” He turned to Debby, who raised her hands defensively.

 

“Don't look at me like that. You both need it. I'll leave you know.”

 

“There's no need, Deb. I have to go,” Peter said, and I felt a pang of sadness. “But I wouldn't dare to spite Deb here, so, Dianne, how would you feel about dinner?”

 

I had to swallow hard.

 

“Um, I…I'd like that.”

 

“Good. Give me your number and we'll agree on the details later today. Is that alright?”

 

I nodded, already fumbling with my phone. I seemed to have mysteriously forgotten my own number. I was so embarrassed, I didn't dare to look up until after he had already left.

 

“You go, girl!” Debby cooed, and I could've choked her right there.