Zariah
We were married in a tiny chapel at the entrance to the Strip, with Yuri and Taryn as our wedding party. Vadim grumbled about being awoken in the middle of the night until he saw me dressed in white.
The lace and frill dress was more like porno attire, lacking much in extra material. It was actually cute, skimming along my chocolate thighs. The back has more of a puff to it, extending down with white shimmery feathers, comparable to a peacock. I love my dress, it’s badass.
Vassili carries me to The Sky Villa, his frame draped in a suit—a suit that power and money got him after midnight. My thumb plays with the enormous rock on my finger as he gets the Aria villa door open. I glance into the room and gasp.
“Oh Vassili…” There are a sea of white tulips along the glossy floor. Crystal vases, of every size, filled with them, posted on the baby piano, even at the large windows with Las Vegas in the backdrop. It’s the wee morning, and the sky is heavy with lilac and the lightest shade of blue. With the coming of dawn, the casino has lost its bright lights even though there are still scatters of people below.
“Yuri made sure your favorite flowers were at that chapel, I’m just using my accommodations here.”
“Yeah, you almost bite his head off about it,” I grin. “About everything. We had a lovely wedding, Vassili.”
He places me down on my feet.
“You are beautiful, Mrs. Resnov.” He nips at the smile on my lips. Then his mouth is against my forehead, whispering across my skin, “I fucking own you.”
His erection firmly pressed against my tummy. I moan as his mouth returns to mine. “You are mine forever.” Vassili’s voice is luscious, low, with his Russian accent so thick and tasty. His teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. No longer nipping, but sinking in, as if he’s going for blood to seal the deal. It hurts, I cling to him, concentrating on how his cock is digging into me.
I’m in a heady daze as Vassili steps behind me. One at a time, he unlatches the faux pearl buttons of my lace dress. His breath caressing along my shoulder blade as he moves slowly, meticulously. Then he pulls the dress down, careful to remove it from my stiletto adorned feet, one at a time. Next, he unhooks my strapless bra. My tummy flutters, craving sex with my husband.
Strong hands that have perfected the art of executing pain, glide along my tiny waistline. Vassili only moves fast as he hastily undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. I want to beg him to undress. Though it’s rare to see him in a suit, and he is so hot right now, I stop myself from imploring him to remove at least his blazer. The look in his eyes tells me he is consumed by unraveling me, his wife, for the very first time.
He is on his knees, kissing the contour of my pelvic bone while easing my panties down over my hips.
“I used to be obsessed with this ass,” Vassili’s voice breaks through the silence, such a powerful damn voice that he could turn heads, if there were people watching. “Still am. But it’s mine. All of you belongs to all of me, Zariah.”
He cups one cheek of chocolate, bulbous flesh as I stand, legs wide. His fingers skimming along my crack, he grabs a good bit of it and squeezes milking my pussy , causing trickles of sticky wetness between my thick thighs. Now his words are inaudible, stark, and tickling against the flesh of my anus. He’s declaring his ownership, again, while nudging his nose against my ass.
Immediate pressure is applied along the inside of my thigh causing my stilettos to resound against the marble, as my stance opens wider. I place my hands along an end table. The faint floral scent of perfectly tapered tulips is swiftly inhaled as a sudden surge of warmth presses against my tight hole.
“Vassili,” I speak hesitantly. His ass fetish is my biggest fear.
“I’d never hurt you.” He slithers his tongue along the smooth, constricted ridges again while pawing a cheek. When he probes, I find my lower back is arching for it. My pussy is sopping wet, lips soaked, sugar trickling even more down my thighs. He strokes the curve of my back, I swivel my hips more. Damn, I’ve never approached a climax so swiftly, no penetration. My tiny anus is no match for the stiff tip of his tongue.
“Fuck your pussy for me,” Vassili tells me.
With one hand still planted on the table, I reach down between my thighs and seek out my treasure. Vassili’s tongue slithers along my ass, twirling around the virginal apex. I press my fingers inside my body, while nudging my ass against him. A crescendo of moans sweeten my mouth and groans come from Vassili. At this exact instant, there is nothing in this world but us. I am Vassili’s pleasure, his everything. His voice is a million miles away as he encourages my orgasm.
I don’t know it until Vassili is leaning against the table beside me. Large shoulders filling out his suit perfect, Vassili pulls me up into a position that has me straddling his waist.
“My brown sugar,” he says, clutching my hip. I swear my pussy juice is drenching into his linen shirt as my curvy legs are folded around him.
“Do you know how much fucking restraint I have tonight?” I glance into his eyes, darker than a fallen angel’s. He wants to do bad things to my ass. I know he does.
“You can,” I murmur. “I’m yours Vassili, you can do anything you’d like.”
My feeble declaration is met by laughter, his large abdominals expanding and contracting against me. I feel myself being hugged tightly, his hard chest crushing my ability to breath. A reminder of his strength, of the pain he could bestow on me if he chose to. He gently places me onto the bed.
I can hear the faintest sound of my blood pulsating as he starts to undress. First, his blazer that slides over ropy, long arms. When he gets to his button down, I lick my lips as his plethora of tattoos come into view. My mouth is twisted into a half smile while leaning back against the pillows, watching his glorious golden muscles, as that bulging cock in his pants is finally unwrapped for me. Like a horny primitive animal, he begins to fist his swollen erection. His hungry gaze fucking me senselessly as he climbs onto bed.
Vassili grabs my ass, pulling me down below him. The head of him slides along my swollen lips before he lines himself up. His cock spreads me open, impaling me with one long swoop.
“Shit,” my back arches, and I feel his balls smack against my ass cheeks. His hands dominate my breasts and curves as his hips thrust against me. Plunging all the way in, gliding back out and hitting my clit with his slobbery head. I buck against him, clawing my hands into his shoulder muscles. The stimulation of how he’s working his cock along the lines of my pussy and slamming into me, causes a sound of wet friction. It’s music to my ears. My kegel muscles clamp his erection as I cum all over us.
A yelp had hardly exited my mouth when suddenly I’m on top.
“Taste it.” Vassili runs his finger down my cheekbone while nudging his chiseled jaw toward his awaiting cock.
On hands and knees, I move down his thick frame and my mouth goes straight to his sugar glazed cock that’s twitching in anticipation. He lets out a guttural moan as I suck him hungrily, learning the taste of us. I love how sugary my pussy makes his shaft. Kneading his balls, I concentrate on embedding this taste to memory while coaxing his hot cum into my mouth.
“Zar.” He tilts his head, and I climb back around his waist. Plunging down on him, I lean forward and kiss his lips, allowing our tongues to twirl together. My hips glide slowly and sensually around as I work his cock over with my pussy until I’m on the verge of coming. Then to my hands and knees I go again. Back and forth, tasting his cock with my mouth and pussy until the sun reflects off the hotel mirrors across from us.
Finally, I feel him stiffening in my mouth. Savoring the milky taste of my honey along his ridges, I suck for dear life. I massage his balls, as cum jets into my mouth. I hold it there, savoring it like a connoisseur of the finest wine. The white cream peeks out among my pink lips as I grin, before my head tilts back and his precious seed glides down my throat.
###
“Every instant you cum, that pussy is all the more sweet…”
The words Vassili whispered to me last night, perhaps on the third or fourth round of my grinding on his cock, so early this morning, coax me from my sleep.
I'd lick the sweet, sweet taste of our sex from his cock and ride him, again. Eyes close, mind murky from sleep and desire, I smile. For a second, I'm embarrassed at how vigorously I cleaned my cum from his cock, and then I’m happy for this gift. This beautiful gift of me loving him and him loving me.
Even half asleep, habit has my arm reaching out for Vassili. I grab for him, in a daze of comfort and slumber, addicted to the tang of his dick after sex. Yet, I’m met by soothing, woven covers, not my man. My new husband. Whimpering, I open my eyes. He isn’t on his side of the bed. My wedding ring twinkles even though the curtains are drawn.
“Vassili,” I grouse, “this bed is too comfortable.”
I start for the living room when I hear Vassili speaking on his phone. The call is on speaker, but he and the male he’s talking to are speaking Russian. Vassili’s facing away from me. He’s in a low seated chair, hand at the back of his neck. He isn’t much interested in the call, and the man on the line is carrying much of the conversation. I silently walk around him, to check on him, until I hear him say Anatoly.
I almost trip over my bare feet. He’s speaking with his father.
Vassili finally snaps. His Russian words issued with such brute force, each one punctuated slow, hard, and deadly. Seconds later, he’s pressing the phone off and tossing it toward the couch across from us.
“Good morning, baby,” I begin, not sure if I should kiss him or keep my distance. “That your dad?”
“Dah.”
“Is everything alright?” I bite my lip.
“Of course.”
“Does he know that we’ve married? Vassili, talk to me.”
The long planes of his shoulders rise. “Dah, Zar, he knows.”
“So what was all of this about? Do I honestly have to fish for answers from my husband?” I place a hand on my hip, wishing I had the height advantage of looking down on him. Something to intimidate him, because there is no emotion on his face. Vassili has always been virtually difficult to read. Uneducated on the Russian language, I have no leads.
“Come, come.” Vassili points to his lap. I sink down onto him. “We aren’t even man and wife, for twenty-four hours, Zariah. No pouts, no worrying and none of that bullshit about happy tears. No tears.”
He clasps my throat and plants his lips onto mine. “You are the only good thing I have in this world, Zariah.”
“Mmmm…” I moan in response.
“That mudak is aware we’re married. Half the world does. Taryn posted photos everywhere. Now, the only thing you need to know about that mudak is he does not need to meet you, so he won’t. You have my word.” Vassili massages my neck with his thumb.
###
Vassili and I honeymooned for an extra week in Vegas before heading to Atlanta. We ventured to Madame Tussaud’s where we were almost kicked out of the museum by pretending to be props. Vassili tried to weasel me into skydiving. I agreed only if he would go with me to see Thunder From Down Under. We settled on the Michael Jackson holographic, followed by sky lining at an old casino off the strip. There were middle school kids in the line, so I couldn’t chicken out.
###
The instant I set eyes on my mom, as Vassili pulls the rental into the driveway of Martin’s stone and black-shutter home, I’ve unbuckled and have toes on the concrete before he can brake.
“My baby!” My mom’s hands flap, and we jump while hugging each other. “Oh Lawd,” she screeches. “You’re married. My baby girl is married.”
“Hi, Momma.” I squeeze her tighter.
She pulls away, tears streaming down her face. “You said you have a video.”
“Yes, we have a video of the ceremony. Oh, Momma, we can do it all over again for my favorite woman in the world.”
She rubs at her cheeks. “No, I’m fine. I’m actually more surprised and so, so very happy. Zariah, you are a very hard thinker, like your father.” I start to ask her not to compare me to my dad, but she happily chuckles. “So, either Vassili is the best man in the world, or he has brainwashed you.”
Vassili doesn’t take offense as he comes around the car. “Momma!”
“Child, I’m kidding.” She hugs my husband saying, “My daughter never was one for the banana in the tailpipe. You’ll make sure she takes the bar exam this July. I remember the moment you called me after filing the application.”
“Dah,” he promises.
“Mom, it’s only two months away. There’s no stopping me now.”
“Yesss, I love this confidence. All right, I cannot stop saying how happy I am for the two of you.” Mom backs up, watching the two of us stand together. “Alright, we have to watch the video.”
“Ma, you and Zariah go start that video while I have a chat with the man,” my brother says, coming around our mom from the doorway.
“Martin,” I sigh.
He nudges his chin to the house, then his navy blue framed glasses land on Vassili. My husband kisses my forehead. “Go in.”
“Okay…” I follow my mom up as Martin stuffs his hands into his pockets. I mouth, “What the heck did you tell him?”
“The truth,” she whispers as we meander inside of the foyer, headed to the kitchen, where I’ll be less anxious since there’s a chicken enchilada in a casserole pan oozing with cheese and toppings.
I start to turn around, “Let me see what they’re talking about.”
“No, you don’t.” My mom plants her tiny frame at the exit. “I made deviled eggs, your favorite.”
I cock my head. “Just about every food is my favorite.”
She starts to retort but we both turn around when hearing the front door close. Both men are holding a conversation at a respectable level while headed to the den. Sucking my teeth, I pivot on my heels, and head to the granite island. The deviled eggs are perfectly dusted with paprika. I shovel one into my mouth while picking up the tray.
“Do you think Martin is in the living room quizzing your husband?”
“Humph, now you wanna know. Martin better not be,” I reply.
“Uhn-uhn, if Martin has something to say, you let that boy say it. I had a good first impression of your husband despite his tattoos—and I suppose, now, despite how muscular he is in the flesh…”
I grumble under my breath as her imagination runs rampant.
“buuut,” my mom accentuates the word, while picking up the tray with a pitcher of ice tea and glasses. “Vassili needs to know that you have me and Martin to back you up.”
“Only you and Martin?” I smirk, not daring to eat another one of these creamy delicious eggs.
We head into the living room where Martin and Vassili are talking. Both men arise from the leather couches and the conversation shuts down.
As paranoid as my mom is, her gaze ping-pongs between the two, before she finally asks, “Where’s my grandbaby?”
“Rachel went to feed him,” Martin answers.
“Hmmm, we need more grandbabies. This house isn’t loud enough, yet,” she chortles and I breathe freely as my brother finally offers a smile that tells me everything will be okay. Of course, I know it will. I love Vassili, but having him meet their approval is important to me, too.
“Leave it to our mom,” Martin shakes his head, “every question segues into babies.”
“Well, I have a handsome son and lovely daughter, and your mates are just as attractive, so bring on the children. When can I expect my next one?” she questions, glancing around at all of us.
“I gave you two granddaughters and your first grandson. This conversation can't include me.” Martin shrugs.
“Very soon,” Vassili speaks up.
My cheeks burn. “Seriously?”
As we all have a seat, Mom claps her hands. “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”
“Mr. Resnov,” Martin speaks up, his tone enough to sober up any drunk man. He asks, “What are your thoughts of a man who hits a woman?”
And here we are, back in left field! Damn! “Martin!” I hiss.
“It’s okay, baby.” Vassili pats my leg.
“No, that’s not an appropriate question to ask anyone. It’s like accusing and expectancy all wrapped in one shitty-ass bow,” I argue. “Damn, you never were the overbearing type when I was a teen.”
Martin continues with a steady gaze on my husband, not offering me so much as a glance.
“First, I don’t believe a real man will hit a woman,” Vassili says. “Secondly, only a mudak who is offended by this question would be the sort to hit women. I am not.”
Martin blinks before nodding his head.
Vassili reaches between us to grab my hand.
Later on, I corner my brother in the nursery. He places a stiff finger against his lips. “I just got the baby down.”
My mouth is gritted as I whisper, “I should wake up Junior since you had the audacity to interrogate my husband earlier? You’re in HR, damn, you aren’t an asshole, it’s not your M.O.”
He grabs my arm and yanks me out of the room. “Wrong. Checking on my baby sister wasn't my thing when I was home, and I can't apologize enough for leaving you and mom with that bastard throughout the years. Our dad hit mom from day one. I grew up with a goddamn tick every time Maxwell’s voice rose. I played every sport in the book to get outta that house and have a normal life. Then I’d had enough.” Martin mentions the one time he tried to go upside my dad’s head. My face mirrors his sadness as he recalls the day he lost our father’s respect and became our mom’s hero.
“Vassili wouldn't…” I say, sadness on my face.
“I went hard on him with the questions, like he was interviewing for his dream job, but he didn't back down. You did good.” My brother hugs me. He apologizes, again, to me for not being my protector. I smile telling him I have all the protection I need.
###
After another week visiting my mother’s side of the family in Georgia, Vassili learns the shuffle after a few family gatherings, and we return as newlyweds to Los Angeles. Our first stop is my father’s house. Law terms are on my mind since Vassili helped me study with flashcards on the plane. And him. My brain is consumed with Vassili. Damn, was I wrong about love? My only claim to real romance in the past were music and books. He's even better than my favorite male character or a multi-platinum R&B song.
He is everything. Through good times and bad. He makes for an awesome ear to hear my issues. My study buddy. I smile, walking up the slate steps in front of my home, while Vassili carries a few large empty containers in his hands for some of my clothing. As I unlock the frosted glass door, I say, “Um, I'll search out my father while you drop those off in my room.”
I've got to run interference and have a quick chat with my dad. Vassili nods and heads upstairs.
I huff, meandering down the sconce studded hallway. Maxwell was vague during our conversation about my marriage, and I want to ensure him that he hasn't lost his only daughter, which is exactly what he said. His tone was melancholic while he congratulated me.
“Dad,” I call out passing the formal sitting room and kitchen.
“In my office,” he says.
I place a smile on my face, a respectable one, not the megawatt one I've had since Vassili and I jumped the broom.
When I step inside of the room, my dad is relaxing, head to the chandelier, mouth dragging ever so softly on a cigar.
“Hey, Dad,” I attempt to gather his attention. He knows full well that I'm not a fan of smoking.
“This was to be my celebratory cigar for winning the election.” His gaze never meets mine; O’s continue to ascend.
“I'm sure you have an entire box of Cuban’s.”
“I do. I also had intentions of purchasing a box solely for your wedding. To smoke with the groom and his groomsmen.” He sits straight, smashing out the cigar with a frown. I feel Vassili approaching as I lean against the doorframe. I place up a subtle hand to my husband, while offering all my attention to my father.
“I'm sorry you weren't invited to the wedding, Dad.”
Maybe he doesn't hear me, but Maxwell continues with his story regarding cigars and the groom. “I’d pat the man’s back, congratulate him on the fortune of engaging such a sophisticated young lady. But you gave yourself to that Russian scum, a Resnov.”
The sneering makes me cringe. My husband’s blood is boiling. He stands just outside of Maxwell’s line of vision. I hurry to find my voice. “Dad, do me a favor and get to know Vassili.”
“Get to know him?” Maxwell arches an eyebrow, grunting while rising. “No, thank you, Zariah. You’re the one who isn’t well versed on the fucking bratva—brotherhood. Hijacking weapons, extortion, drugs, and human trafficking. Sleeping in the bed of the Mexican cartel. I suppose the billion dollars a year from loan sharking might be clouding your mind, or you haven’t even done your homework. They’re a secretive family, but this is all common knowledge. Oh, but perhaps he’s only introduced you to the Resnovs in banking or who run state companies in Russia. Now, the two of you must go. I'll have movers gather the rest of your things. The security system has a new pass code and word to the wise, the locksmith will be here by evening.”
“Are you serious?!”
“I love you, Zariah. It's disconcerting what you've done. I need time for it to really penetrate that my daughter has ruined herself for a piece of shit!”
My lips are hardly set for a comeback when Vassili stands in front of me.
“Take your time, Mr. Washington,” Vassili speaks, tone lethally low. “Evaluate yourself as well. Why exactly did Zariah choose to marry me without so much as calling you first?” he concludes before storming away.
“Baby!” I call back to him. I turn to my father. “We are in love. It was spur of the moment. But, dad, don’t ever talk negatively about my husband again. There will be no more warnings. Go ahead and change all the locks you'd like. I no longer live here.”
Maxwell stares straight through me.
Outside I hear Vassili talking. Who is he speaking with? When angry, he is either mute or beating someone to within an inch of their life.
Not talking.
“Phil was surprised, too,” Maxwell mumbles, returning to his desk.
Damn, I almost slip on the marble, arms out to steady myself in the foyer as I hurry to the door.
“So you're the man fortunate enough to marry Zariah?” Phil’s facing me, slimy smile slapped on his mouth. Vassili’s back is to me. Muscles stacked purposefully.
“Get the fuck out my face!” Vassili saunters down the curved pathway. His words were literal, Phil almost falls in the grass while moving out of the way.. My husband doesn't stop while heading for the Mercedes, not so much as waiting for a response.
“So you refuse to address me? I’m Phillip Everly the fifth!” Phil scoffs. Then he steps toward me as I start down the pathway.
“Stop!” I push away from Phil.
“I’m the man who had her first.” Phil’s arm is heavy around my shoulders as Vassili comes back up the steps. “Actually, I only had those lips. What? Now, you're interested in a conversation. I just tried to shake your hand.” Phil removes his arm. “All I strove for was to shake the hand of the man who fucked her first. Or did you sleep with this thug before leaving for college?” he asks, looking at me. Or was she spoiled already?” he sneers, turning back to Vassili.
Vassili makes a fist.
“You can't fight him,” I argue with Vassili. He picks me up and sets me aside.
“Hit me, you animal,” Phil’s voice rises, as I again beg Vassili not to hit him.
Finally, my husband utters his first words in response, low, Russian accent thick, “Bitch, if I hit you, your fucking spine dislocates.”
His fist raises. I tried to grab hold of his forearm, my fingers not connecting, I didn’t have a good grip at all. I’m almost lifted by the sheer strength of his arm. I don’t even believe that Vassili notices me. I try to talk to him, but he’s in some sort of zone. My right heel slips from the slanted steps, and wedges into the rolling grass. Losing my grip of his bicep, I start to fall.
“He hit her!” Phil shouts.
The cloud covering Vassili’s face wanes, instantly, as if he hadn’t even noticed I was here before. He catches me. “Zariah,” he mumbles, as Phil continues to shout about him hitting me.
“No, he didn't!” I screech. There's a look of hurt on Vassili’s face that I haven't seen since our first night together. Man, how I had I ever misjudged him.
Something is off about my husband’s demeanor. Vassili picks me up oddly. Even with all my curves he's always picked me up with ease; this time, it's like he's afraid to hurt me. Almost too careful, as one would be with a newborn.
Maxwell is at the door and Phil is telling him that Vassili hit me. For all my dad’s wishes to become a white man, he is acting like the ghetto folks he always has something to say about. These two are trifling punks, and I'm too embarrassed to cuss them out.
“Place my daughter down!”
My husband turns to glare at him before carrying me to the car.
“Zariah, you are my daughter!” Maxwell starts down the stairs, but I ignore him.
“I'm sorry.” I tell my husband as he places on my seatbelt. “I'm sorry.” I know that my father invited Phil over to start something.
All Vassili will say is, “I'll take you home.”
My body is alight with fear at the thought of him not talking to me.
###
The drive to Vassili’s beachfront home is one met with infinite silence. In the past three months, he has more than become my everything. I've delighted in his happiness. His handsome carved features softening, and his smiles. Genuine, good smiles, all for me.
Now, we should be completing our honeymoon with him carrying me over the threshold. I expect him to walk away, to leave me in the garage alone. But Vassili gets out and then he comes around to open the passenger door. I hold my breath, praying we can return to our raw goodness. We’re still on our honeymoon!
He massages the back of his neck. “Why'd you stop me from bashing that man’s face in, Zariah?”
“What?” My eyebrows furrow. His words were so out of the blue that I hadn’t anticipated them. I’m still cognizant of how unapproachable Vassili was while Phil taunted him. He seemed a billion miles away from me.
He keeps his distance, not offering a hand as I get out. He asks, “Why'd you stop me from bashing that piz’da’s face in?”
“Vassili,” I scoff, searching my husband’s eyes for some form of sentiment. “What? Do you think I have feelings for him? Was it the bullshit he mentioned about me giving him…”
His thumb nudges against my chin so I’m unable to glance away from him. My mind is muddled with thoughts, and I need to think. But our eyes lock. Vassili argues, “Nyet! This is about him not respecting my wife. I don't give a fuck what you two have ever done, as long as it was consensual. You could never one up me in that regard, sweetheart. But I'm your husband. You stopped me from handling it. You made me look like I…”
There's an imaginary vice grip over my throat. “You're angry with me?”
My tone is so low that I'm not aware he heard me until Vassili slams a hand down onto the roof of the car.
“Nyet!” His shout vibrates through my chest. And then he steps back from me. “I apologize, Zariah.” The fighter’s voice lowers to its usual tantalizing accent. “I didn't hear half the words that mudak said. I just saw him touching you. You pulling me away when I should've handled the situation.”
“Aww, baby.” I reach out for him, yet there's a fence between us that was never there before. Whether it’s that he subconsciously stops me or I feel like I can't reach the fighter standing less than two feet away from me, it’s still there.
“I apologize, Zar. But where I'm from, a man touches your wife or looks at her oddly he is handled.”
“I think my dad brought Phil over. They expected you to overreact. Your hands are registered, so you can't fight civilians. Why play into their trap? Vassili… Vassili…”
“I did nothing.” He hikes his leg over his Harley. “I'll be back.”
“Please, don't let a dumb-ass—” the engine drowns my words out.
“I love you,” Vassili says, before he places the helmet over his head. With that, he pulls out of the garage.
Tears sting my eyes, I reach over for the keys to the Mercedes. “Damn!” I frown, Vassili has them. I pick up my purse, head to the garage door leading into the house, and open it. Quickly I turn off the alarm and then sink down onto the accent chaise in the den.
I dial my father. It goes straight to voicemail. “Dad. Grow. Up. I am not your little girl anymore. What did you expect?” I argue. “I swear if you ever try to do anything to ruin my relationship with Vassili again, I will never talk to you. And FYI: I married a good man because he is not like my father!”
My hands shake as I hang up. He better listen to this entire voicemail, too!
Since I deleted Phil’s number, I dial it from memory. Mid-first ring he answers, “Well, hello, beautiful. Have you returned to your senses so soon?”
“What was the meaning of that?”
“To save your life, Zariah. I'm sure by now you've only seen the finer things that a Resnov can offer.”
“What?”
“Obviously, I ruined things with us long ago. I swear I had no idea you perceived me so—”
“Cut the bull, Phillip!”
“Okay, this isn’t about us. I was merely assisting a friend. Who better to show your husband—yuck, I actually just vomited in my mouth—that fuckers true colors than myself.”
“You are such a bitch. A simple-ass bitch!” I hang up, cackling. Why do I imagine myself in the court of law, backed against the corner with no intelligent rebuttal?