Sonia
I have no say about the engagement party, nor where it will be held, nor who will be invited. My God, I don’t even have a choice in the groom.
Shaking, I bite off the bit of thread where I’ve sewn that damn thumb drive into the seam of my silk dress. The form fitting bodice with the handkerchief hem resembles the costume where I won silver. No public appearance can be made without reminding people of my achievements. There’s too much advertising money at stake.
The hotel phone rings and I answer, shuddering at my father’s tone. “Hurry up. The car leaves in fifteen minutes.”
I pray to my Mongolian ancestors to help me to be brave. As bad as it’s been living under my father’s rule, Leonid will be far worse and tonight may be my last chance to escape.
Before I go, I glance one more time in the mirror to make sure I’m perfect. My hair is coiffed, the almond shape of my eyes enhanced, and my cheekbones pronounced. I had to add extra coverup to the purple hue on my chin.
Then, ignoring my cell phone’s bleeps, I step out into the hall. This time it’ll be Leonid threatening to come get me if I’m not downstairs immediately. Is it no wonder I drag my feet?
I called the Russian consulate who said my wedding is a personal matter. And, according to the Americans, they can’t intervene until a crime has been committed.
Seriously? A man is about to marry me against my will and they do nothing?
Pasting on an icy smile, I exit the elevator and put the mandatory kisses on my father’s cheeks. Leonid, face full of fury, clamps onto my upper arm and pulls me out of the lobby and into the limo while overhead, the sky grows green. After thunder booms, deafening rain pounds upon the car’s roof, making me morose.
About now, a normal woman about to celebrate her twenty-first birthday would be offered a drink. Instead, my father and Leonid share an expensive brandy.
“She’ll win the next gold, yes?” My father’s eyes bore a hole into Leonid’s face.
Better him under scrutiny than me.
Leonid glances my way. “I told you. I’ll break her stubbornness. You’re too soft.”
I snort through my nose, causing them both to stop and glare at me.
. “You have something to add, Sonia?” My father’s eyebrows are raised, fingers tight around the glass tumbler.
I shake my head, no.
“You see what I mean, Sergey? She needs to learn obedience. When that happens, she’ll win the top prize, not until.”
Trembling, I look away and out the window, thinking of the drive sewn into my dress. Surely the FBI will send someone more competent tonight.
The limo pulls to the curb in Times Square, the driver pulls out an umbrella and I’m ushered under the marquee of ‘The Russian Samovar’. Inside, we walk through a gilded lobby, up steep stairs, and into a huge dining room. There, an exquisite ice sculpture of a skater begins to melt over a half-empty bar of caviar and crackers. The music is loud, the crowd noisy, and the drinks flow freely.
Leonid hands me off to one of his goons. “See that she stays out of trouble.”
“Wait. Please, can I have one glass of wine?” I do my best to look subservient, and not ready to kill him.
“Fine. However, if tomorrow’s practice is lacking, it will be your last. Do you understand?” He turns to the big bodyguard, Bluto. “Get her a glass of Chard.”
I say loud enough for many people to hear, “For goodness sakes, Leonid. I can surely walk over to the bar by myself and get a drink. I’m not your prisoner, dearest. Am I?”
His eyes narrow and he nods in a way that I’ll know there’s punishment in my near future.
Out of Leonid’s control, I glide over to the smiling bartender.
“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have a Long Island Iced Tea.” For a moment, I let myself pretend I’m any young woman in New York.
His brows crease and I fear he’ll not make it for me but then he grins and mixes a concoction I’ve only read about. “Slowly? Okay?”
Nodding, I smile. I need this fortification for what I’m about to do.
“Well, well, well. Hello, princess.” The familiar low voice sounds behind me and I groan. What the hell is he doing here? Surely the FBI would not again send this potato-head.
“Go away. Please.” I sit down on the bar stool, trying to look cool and collected. I will not let Kit Tufek ruin my only chance at freedom, at happiness.
The handsome God stands behind me, orders a beer and says, “You have something for me?”
This cannot be happening. Are all Canadians this stupid? I need a field agent, not a hockey player. Everyone at this party is a friend of my father. How the hell did he even get in?
Worst is, how my body responds to his nearness. Like this morning, I find myself wanting to touch his hand, his cheek, taste those plump lips. Kiss that smirk off his face.
I give him a honey-sweet smile and say loud enough for the approaching Bluto to hear, “Mr. Tufek. I had no idea you were invited.”
“Don’t you remember? He holds up an engraved card. You gave me one this morning. I wish I could have brought a companion but it was late notice. It was so kind of you to invite me. Would you make some introductions? My agent wants to make sure I have some good press.”
Bluto’s hand comes out of his jacket, where I’m sure there was a weapon. He gives a slight nod to Leonid, which means Mr. Olympic-Gold is not getting kicked out. So, this is the FBI’s idea of a good plan? Maybe I should have sent them instructions on how to stage a handoff. Certainly, I’ve witnessed my father do enough of them. In fact, I’ve done many for him in foreign countries. No one expects espionage from a small ice princess. This fiasco, on a scale of one to ten, registers nine point five.
“We have to ask Leonid, first.” My whole future lays in the hands of a sexy, self-centered, hockey player.
Kit gives me a look with a raised eyebrow. I know what he means, yet cannot give him an explanation.
Instead, I wave my hand at Bluto. “Shoo. Shoo. Go ask Leonid or my father if I’m allowed to introduce Mr. Tufek to some of the press.” I already know they will agree for it will add some credibility to this farce of an engagement party.
I sip on the strong drink, not liking it in the least but determined to drink it down. Who knows if I’ll ever order another, once I’ve moved in with Leonid.
“Do you have to ask permission for everything?” Apparently, Mr. Stud Muffin is more perceptive than I imagined.
I nod and whisper, “Not so loud, please, Mr. Tufek.”
“Kit. It’s just Kit.”
“Very well, Kit.” I point across the room to the exit doors covered in white crepe paper. “See there? Bluto has nodded at Popeye. That means I can escort you to several bloggers with cameras and pose with you. Be prepared. Things will move fast after that.”
He starts to open his mouth and I put my fingertip to his lips. That was a huge mistake because I begin to tremble when his eyes go dark. There’s no time for what my body craves from him.
I look away and hand him his beer. “Just follow my lead.”
When he takes my sore arm, I jump and he lets go.
Then he notices the four purple bruises from Leonid’s fingertips, and his face softens. This look is something so unfamiliar that it brings tears to my eyes. Dammit. This is no time for sentimentality. If I don’t hand over the data tonight, I may never get asylum and forever be Leonid’s prisoner. Already, there’s a joint bank account for any of my future earnings.
I always thought, when I hit twenty-one, I’d be free to leave my father’s wickedness but see where this is just the beginning. Once Leonid is at my side, I’ll be lucky to see anyone. I bet he’ll even insist on waiting outside the door whenever I need to pee.
Taking a deep breath, I take Kit’s arm and push over my drink, causing it to splash over my designer dress.
“Oh shit. Look what you did!” My eyes plead with him to follow along.
He steps back with excellent reflexes, grabs a napkin and begins to dap at the blue fabric. With that I tear at the hem, and press the disc into his palm.
Understanding pours into Kits face as my father, Popeye and Bluto run towards me, murder in their eyes.
Suddenly Kit stands in front of me and pushes me behind his huge body. I resist the need to cling onto his waist, wanting so much for him to take me out of my nightmare of a life.
His voice, thank God, for once is polite. “It’s my fault. I’ll of course, pay for her dry cleaning, or the dress.”
When my father tries to grab my arm, Kit dances as if on skates and I’m the puck pushed behind and under his control. “Let me buy her another drink. Please.”
“Obviously she’s had enough. Leonid, perhaps you should take her back to her room. She’s exhausted.”
“No. I’m staying.” Did that just come out of my mouth?
Kit winks my way, making me braver, and continues to stand like a human barrier between my father, Leonid, and me. Bluto and Popeye like well-trained Dobermans, stand close, waiting for someone to signal them to attack.
I clear my throat and climb onto a tabletop. When that doesn’t work, I clink a spoon on one of the crystal goblets “Excuse me? Attention.”
With all eyes on me, I deliver what may be my eulogy. “I have decided to call off the engagement to Leonid. I’m in love with this man, Kit Tufek.”