Aurora
“Damn it, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I’d turned on my heel, intent on putting some distance between us, and now, I whirled around. “You didn’t mean it like that? Then how did you mean it? You were spot on, remember? I have no friends. Slavik is probably out there now with other women, enjoying himself. I’m nothing. I’m no one, but tell me this, Sergei, if you’re such a good friend and you want to be there for me. Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me.”
I didn’t like to curse.
I was normally in control of my emotions, but today, I was all over the place. The ink around my wrist, the attack, the accurate words thrown my way, it was all too much, and there was only so much I could take.
This time, rather than create more distance between us, I advanced toward him. “Tell me, Sergei. Tell me all the great advice about why all my life, people hated me. How I’ve never matched up. How I’ve always been second best in everything. Tell me.”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he said.
Now this made me laugh.
“Wrong.”
With that, I spun on my heel and I left him alone.
A friend would be so fucking welcome, but Sergei wasn’t my friend.
I went straight to the bathroom, stripping naked, and stepped beneath the spray of the water.
Men in our world had mistresses all the time. I had no doubt some of the women enjoyed a lover or two.
I didn’t know where I stood with Slavik.
In the week since the attack, he hadn’t been around. I didn’t know where he was. Some nights he didn’t even come home.
I turned off the shower, wrapping a towel around me, I stepped out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, and gasped.
Slavik stood in the bedroom.
“Wear this. We’re going out to dinner.”
“You scared me.”
“I don’t have all day. Reservations are in thirty minutes.”
“I didn’t know we were going out,” I said.
“Now you do.”
I hadn’t even heard him come home. For several seconds, I just stood there in the bedroom, dressed in a towel. The last place I wanted to go was with him or out in the world. The cuts on my back had mostly healed. Some of the larger wounds had scabbed over, and the pain was no more. I didn’t want to go out, but there was no room for argument.
Drying my body, then my hair, I set about styling it, adding in a few curls, allowing it to fall naturally.
The dress was beautiful, modest. Black with a low front bodice, which would show off my chest, and it fell to the floor, but had slits up either side, giving a hint of thigh.
The arms were also exposed.
I was surprised by how snug the dress fit. I left the bedroom and found Slavik waiting. He held a pair of heels in one hand as he typed on his phone with his other. He didn’t even look up. Not that I should expect him to.
Sergei took the heels and knelt at my feet. After the conversation we’d had, this felt so wrong.
I kept glancing at Slavik, expecting him to explode and kill us both. Sergei wasn’t attracted to me, but I didn’t even know if I was allowed friends. With the heels on, I was ready to face whatever I had to.
Slavik put his cell phone away and stared at me.
No compliments.
He held out his hand, which I had no choice but to take. After Sergei’s confrontation, I felt acutely aware of everything I did with Slavik. This was … wrong. I had no interest in Sergei. He was my guard. A friend would have been nice. Seeing as I spent all day with him, I started to wonder if it would be at all possible to see him as a friend. To enjoy lunches together. To go out shopping.
It was a lame idea.
Neither me nor Slavik talked as we rode the elevator down to the underground parking.
He sat beside me in the car, and Sergei drove us to whatever restaurant we were scheduled to appear. Normally, I could go through these motions, but today, everything felt too tender, too tight. I felt the spiraling sickness in my gut.
Did Slavik know?
“How are you?” Slavik asked, causing me to jump.
“I’m fine. You?” Did I answer too quickly?
“Good.”
The tension in the car mounted.
I wanted to ask about the attack, but I knew it wasn’t my place. A woman’s place in this world was to be seen when he wanted you to be seen. Or in my place, to stay hidden for as long as possible.
I felt … sick.
“Er, how was your day?” I asked.
“Productive.”
This time, I chanced a glance at him. His gaze was on me, and I quickly averted mine. This man was my husband, and the truth was he was a stranger to me.
“That’s good,” I said.
“You?”
“I … went to the pool.” I didn’t dare look toward Sergei.
Nothing happened. I had to get that through my thick skull. All Sergei did was offer me friendship. There was no crime in that, even if it did feel wrong. Why did it make me nervous? Was I so used to not having friends, I pushed people away?