Zariah
Where the hell did Connie go? The crew had ended up going to our Wednesday spot, since one of the secretaries hadn’t tasted sushi in a while. Connie texted to let me know that we might need to search Yelp for something new the day after tomorrow, when I asked her to bring me kakinohazushi. Somewhere in the mix, Vassili texted me thirty minutes late, to tell me that Vadim had run behind schedule with his fighters. Connie came in to drop it off, but she had Tyrese with her. And that heifa knows I zone out when I’m focused on work, but she came inside and indicated that she left her purse at work.
Tyrese bought the damn kakinohazushi for me. And now he has made himself comfortable, refuses to allow me to pay him back, and is content talking about old times.
My stomach was growling so loudly a minute ago, that I set aside my typing and started to eat. I just made a joke about wishing I remembered who Tyrese was in order to give him the opportunity to cough it up already. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see my husband. First of all, Vassili has no right to look so damn fine while jealous. Secondly, well, I should be the angry one, because I’m licking fingers and have just stuffed a gunkan maki into my mouth.
My face brightens at the sight of him. Tyrese takes that as an invitation to look at me like I’ve reinvented sex, so I hurry up and speak before he can come to the wrong conclusion, without even being aware that he just stepped on the hornets’ nest.
“Vassili, baby,” I quickly mention his arrival and place a hand over my mouth, “Oh, you brought my favorite.”
I gulp the rest of the sushi down my throat as Tyrese stands abruptly. Damn, my mouth smells like uni as I rise and step around my desk to hug my husband. His tongue soars down my throat, and he kisses me in ways that make me lose my mind. Vassili’s hand steers my lower back, aware my knees are weakening by the second.
As we let go, my gaze narrows at my husband, and then a fake smile plasters on my face. He couldn’t fuck with my head like this when we were at the bar in Brazil? He couldn’t dance with me? But now he can? Tonight, I will have words for him!
“This is my husband, Vassili Resnov.” I turn to Tyrese, “Vassili, this is the newest attorney at Billingsley Legal, Tyrese Nicks.”
The men shake hands and I take the glossy turquoise bag with the words Flour Bakery scrawled on the side. One of my favorite bakeries.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Resnov. I thought I’d bring your wife lunch, seems she was starving today.”
Tyrese’s word choice clears my mind of my anger with my husband. I know he didn’t! “I actually asked Connie to—”
Vassili gestures toward the door. “Good for you. You can go now.”
Tyrese looks incredulous, as my husband dismisses him. He glances toward me.
But Vassili finishes him off with, “Don’t ever bring my wife anything else.”
“Don’t feed your wife after she’s waited an hour for you?” Tyrese inquires.
Connie must’ve blabbed about him running late!
Vassili rubs a hand across the bristles at his jaw. “You know who I am? You look smart enough to know, right?”
“I know exactly who you are,” Tyrese says, voice dripping in disgust.
“So now I’ll ask that you don’t even address my wife unless it’s business related. It’s a courtesy for me to ask.”
“Okay.”
“And you understand anything I say goes. Have a good day,” Vassili turns away from him.
I offer Tyrese one of those quick grins that warns him to leave the room. He backs up toward the door as Samuel enters with our daughter. “This is her royal highness, Natasha Resnov,” Samuel is well aware of the tension, but his goofy demeanor permeates the tiny area. “She’s a fighter like her father. It took a while for me to gather both of their respect, Tyrese.”
“Thanks, Sammy.” I take my daughter from his arms. He whispers something to Tyrese that finally revs the man’s engine enough to leave my office.
Vassili stands toward the window at the far side of my room, arms folded.
“What the hell was that all about?” I ask.
His pitch-black gaze glowers in my direction. “That mudak wasn’t flirting with you?”
I roll my eyes at the rhetorical question. “He’s new. I haven’t yet had a conversation with him about…”
“No need. If he ever flirts with you—”
“What are you going to do, Vassili? Allow his opinion of you, of our last name, to be solidified by your choice of actions?’
“But of course, my beautiful wife. You know from past experience that I could give a fuck what most people think of me. Now eat your food.” He orders, nudging his square jaw to the bag.
“So, what was with the kiss, though?”
“I’m done discussing the matter with you, Zariah.” Vassili grabs the bag, and says, “Natasha, you ready for your sparkly cupcake.”
“She needs to eat lunch,” I tell him.
“The bakery is next door to McDonalds. We stopped for French fries, too. The little bully refused to wait.” Vassili steps closer to me, lust consuming that sinfully dark gaze of his. He smiles at Natasha. “Tell mama to be nice to Daddy.”
Our daughter begins to pull my hair at that. “Natasha, don’t be a bully like your father.”
I place her in the corner where there’s ABC-123 patterned carpet along with toys for her to play with.
Vassili is right behind me when I straighten up.
“The door is open, and Natasha is…”
“Busy,” his mouth finds my earlobe and sucks softly against it.
“You really were just being an asshole. And yes, for some reason that man wanted to play the fool with you. Vassili, were you stuck at Vadim’s?” I stare him straight in the eye.
“Oh, your friend brings you lunch, and now you’re paranoid? What kinda shit is that, Zariah?” In a snap, Vassili is helping Natasha right her balance.
“My friend?”
“Yup.”
My hands go to my hips. “I don’t know that man.”
Vassili grunts. “Seems like he knows you and was just about to take you down a trip to memory lane had I not arrived.”
“First of all, Vassili, I didn’t even get a chance to correct him, you came in like a barbarian. This is my place of employment.”
He waits for a moment, and I know Vassili isn’t a fan of arguing with me. Sometimes I have to force him to talk due to him not wanting to be disrespectful. I think Anatoly ruined him for how to deal with a wife. But his hard eyes flare into mine. “You are my wife. Act like it.”
My lips are bunched together, they begin to twitch in annoyance. Random thoughts bounce throughout my brain. Was he at Vadim’s Gym? Am I really getting too fat? Or was he with my child somewhere else? Why did the obstetrician say that I’d lose weight while breastfeeding? Hell, I just got hungrier!
And now I’m standing before this hoodlum of a husband of mine. Intuition tells me he lied. Love warns that my man would never cheat.
Vassili presses his hand against my cheeks, his palm fits along my jaw and he caresses softly. “I never mind when men look. You are so fucking beautiful it’s to be expected,” he says before planting a kiss on my lips. His mouth lingers on mine. “I’m a dick, okay?”
I eat every single word.
“But I don’t like that guy. You can tell me later how the two of you know each other. For now, can we eat?”
“I don’t really recollect where or how I know him, Vassili,” I murmur. This husband of mine has me right where he wants me.
“Okay, let’s eat before I get really hungry.” That deep baritone of his always blows my mind.
My pussy lips jolt, crying for action. I nod and move away from Vassili. Stopped by his hand caressing mine. He pulls, and I follow, pressing my body against his rock hardness. The words are lodged in my throat to say we are still at my office, with the door open to boot, but my mouth waters for him again. This time, the kiss is succulent.
His tongue licks mine, it purely animalistic, and I can’t help but imagine it’s his cock as my tongue swirls around his.
“Ya nikogda ne otpushchu tebya–I will never let you go,” he murmurs in Russian. I remember the first time he said that, although it was recently. It was after his last fight, with Tiago. I ran through the crowd with Taryn’s help to catch up to him. I’d cried and made promises. And I must’ve made a monologue of apologies for leaving during his match.
And then, again in Russian, he’d told me this and it made my heart swell with love. Every ribbon of doubt—my weight, my concern if he has a wandering eye, it all shreds to nothing, leaving just me and him and the euphoria of the love I have for him. And the love he consumes me with.
***
Later in the afternoon I was assigned a new case and didn’t have a chance to seek out Tyrese. He’d said his father and mine knew each other. I still have yet to make the connection, and during the Sullivan trial, when Samuel put away that crooked cop, nobody in the world existed. I saw myself in my mentor’s custom suit as a top litigator. Justice reigned that day.
Needless to say, the conversation I need to have with Mr. Nicks will have to wait. I’m on the bicycle in our Home gym when my phone rings. It’s my mom.
I place the call on speaker. “Hey, I’ve been waiting on you to check on me.”
Her voice isn’t its usual happy self. “Well, I- I had my shows to catch up on.”
We’ve been frick and frack for the last few weeks. “Aw, you miss me already? Martin is going to kill me if I trick you into moving back to Los Angeles. Why didn’t you FaceTime me, so I can make faces at the dysfunctional daytime soaps you love?”
“Humph,” my mother replies, making me almost feel like I’m carrying the conversation until she asks, “How was your first day back?”
I groan. “I’m on my treadmill now, desperately endeavoring to undo the last two weeks.”
“Who you telling? Not sure if I ate more in Brazil or during Natasha’s birthday party. So how is work?”
“Good. I just have one case going to mediation and a new assignment. Nothing too bad.”
“How’s Sammy?”
I offer the same befuddled mask that I swear Samuel didn’t notice due to Connie entering the room, gushing like a school girl, or he just chose not to bring up. At the birthday party, the two of them disappeared for a while, and now I’m truly wondering what is going on. “What’s with this ‘Sammy’ business. Vassili’s running around calling him Sam like they are from the same gang. And here you go, mom, calling Samuel, Sammy”
“Girl, how is Sammy?”
Vassili enters the gym, he nods his head to me. “Guess what, my mom is checking in on Samuel.” I mouth as Vassili tells me to hustle. How fast does he want me to peddle? I pay him no attention and address the woman who raised me. “To be honest, Mom, he’s good. You just saw the man 48 hours, or so, ago. But let me remind you, when you and dad divorced y’all split friends. Sammy was reverted back to previous ownership, meaning Dad has sole custody.”
Now I can hear her smiling through the receiver. “Zariah, don’t even. I can ask about an old friend. Sam is married every few years anyhow, so nobody is studying him.”
“Studying him,” I shake my head at her old school choice of words. “Hey, tell me about the new guy? You were gone for two weeks, Mom, which is forever for such a new love.”
“Zariah, the timer just went off. I’m making a soufflé, can’t let it over bake.”
A familiar feeling of worry tightens my shoulders. “Mom—”
The call cuts.
“What’s wrong, Zariah?” Vassili asks.
An image of my father yanking his belt from his pants flashes my mind.
He was getting ready to beat… my mother.
“I don’t know,” I mumble a response to my husband, because I don’t want to speak my doubts in existence. Jesus, don’t let it be. “I have another mile to do.”
“Don’t work too hard, girl.” His eyes shut in that sexy way that makes my regimen falter.
Vassili exits the room. The conversation I just finished with my mother reruns through my cognition again. Her tone was a bit lackluster. But what person is happy after returning from vacation?
As a child, I had my job cut out for me in getting her to laugh. When I jokingly mentioned that she and Samuel cannot be friends, she seemed to laugh about it.
She got off the phone with me way too quickly.
I started to dial my older brother, Martin, but quickly think better of it. Because, dang, it’s past ten pm there, and unlike my mother who has her TV shows and some mysterious boyfriend to keep her company, Martin and his wife are on a regimen with their children. Their sleep schedule is set for nightfall.
I head out of the gym, in search of my husband, to talk over this uneasy feeling. I need Vassili to tell me I’m imagining things or worrying too much. Our bedroom is empty so I call out for him.
“In the kitchen,” he replies.