Ava
When I wake up the next day, Nikolai is gone and on his nightstand is a light pink shoebox. A note sits neatly on top of it, the edges crisp. My fingers move before I can stop them, reaching out and lifting the piece of paper from the box. I flick it open and stare at the words sprawled in the unfamiliar handwriting.
‘Try not to amputate your leg while I’m gone. I’d hate to come back and find my wife hopping around. -Nikola”
A smile tugs at my lips as I read the note, and once I’m through, I place it back on the nightstand and retrieve the box to my lap. With one tug at the bow, the delicate pink string that holds the box together falls onto the bed.
Inside, a pair of sleek beige pumps nestled on a bed of soft velvet stares back at me.
The pumps are gorgeous. They’re the kind of shoes that make me feel cautious while tracing my fingertips over the leather, simply because I don’t want to scratch it.
Nikolai had promised to get me a new pair last night but I hadn’t expected him to do so before he left.
How did he even know what shoe size I wore?
Setting the pumps down on the floor, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and slide my feet into them. They fit me perfectly as if they were made just for me.
The swelling around my ankle has reduced significantly and I slip them off when I’m finished testing them around the room and place them back into the box. I decide to keep them in the closet right beside where my shoes are arranged before heading into the bathroom.
When I’m finished with my shower, I decide to put on something simple for classes: a pair of high-waisted jeans and a white blouse that buttons up to the collar.
When I reach downstairs, Benjamin is already waiting for me outside, by the car. He opens the door to the back seat once he sees me approaching, his lips curving in an easy-going smile.
“Good morning, Mrs Volkov” He greets, and I frown.
“How many times do I have to tell you that Ava is just fine”
The polite smile on his face tells me he won’t be calling me anything but “Mrs. Volkov” anytime soon, but still, it’s worth the try even though I know he won’t agree to my request. Benjamin and I were only two years apart so having him address me so formally felt weird.
The city is already bustling with its usual morning chaos by the time we pull onto the road.
When we reach campus I tell Benjamin not to bother waiting for me since my classes today don’t end till later in the afternoon.
He doesn’t listen to me, of course, and I can still see him lingering outside through the hallway windows even after I’ve entered the building.
My first class today is on art history. And since Cara doesn’t have any class scheduled for today, I’m forced to slip into our usual spot at the back alone.
When the lecture begins, I find my mind drifting. Usually, I consider myself a fan of art history. I loved learning about the story behind each painting we discussed, and most times, my mind had no problem absorbing whatever newly revealed knowledge the professor thrust my way. But today, my focus was elsewhere.
Or rather on someone else.
Nikolai.
He hadn’t told me anything about the business he so desperately needed to attend to last night so my mind could only speculate on the endless possibilities of what could have dragged him away so early in the morning.
Nikolai’s work meant that his leaving and returning in one piece was a miracle.
One that wasn’t guaranteed to happen every time.
What if this time he doesn’t come back?
I shake my head, trying to expel the thought from my mind, but it clings to me, like water to the soil after a rainy day.
The bell goes off and I gather my things, my mind still miles away as I make my way to the studio for my next class.
The smell of paint and turpentine hits me the moment I step into the studio. I make my way over to my easel which stands in the corner next to the windows.
Professor Bennett, the instructor for today’s class, steps to the front of the room and assigns each of us a task he expects us to finish by the end of the two hours assigned for the lecture.
The theme is on contrast and emotion and I settle into my seat, setting up my canvas and arranging my paints. Once satisfied with my setup, I dip my brush into the paint and begin with slow, deliberate strokes on the canvas. I was the kind of person who preferred dirtying my canvas with paint before I actually got into it. My mother used to say that the easiest way to embrace mistakes in art is by starting on an imperfect canvas. That way it’ll be easier to accept the flaws that naturally come with painting and find a rhythm.
However, her advice doesn’t seem to be working today, as my rhythm is making it very clear to me that it doesn’t want to be found.
My attempt to find a pace is futile, each movement feeling disjointed and more unnatural than the last and no matter how hard I try to immerse myself in the assignment, my thoughts keep drifting back to him and the weight from earlier suddenly feels a whole lot heavier.
Why was I so scared that he wouldn’t be okay? Why was I so suddenly concerned for his safety
The bell goes off again two hours later and while everyone is left with something similar to the theme, I’m left with a half-finished piece that feels as incomplete as it looks.
Great. Just great.
I pack up my supplies in silence, my movements feeling almost robotic. Normally, painting was the one thing I could count on to calm me, but today, it feels like a chore.
“Ava,” I turn at the sound of my name on my professor’s lips just as I am about to exit the studio. “A word”
I’m not exactly sure why He suddenly wants to speak to me, but given my scattered performance in class today, I can take a wild guess.
“Yes, Professor?” I ask, adjusting the strap of my bag nervously.
“I didn’t see you last week” His tone is casual but I can sense the underlying disappointment just hidden beneath the surface.
I clear my throat, suddenly feeling the weight of her gaze on my shoulders.
“My apologies, Professor. I had a… personal matter to attend to” It isn’t exactly an answer, but it’s vague enough to sound convincing.
The studio has emptied out leaving only the two of us present in the once filled space. He circles his table, his eyes briefly flickering to where my canvas stands
“I’m aware.”
My brows shoot up in surprise “You are?”
He nods once, “Your husband reached out to the university administration to explain that you would be absent last week as the two of you will be going on your honeymoon.”
My mouth falls open. Stunned does not even begin to describe how I feel. Nikolai did that for me?
“He requested that I be lenient with you when it came to your assignments, and as you know, I don’t usually give in to such requests, but given the circumstances, I had to make an exception.” His expression softens just a little. “Congratulations on your wedding, by the way; I had no idea you’d gotten married over the summer” his gaze drops briefly to the wedding band on my finger before lifting.
I shift slightly on my feet, my fingers subconsciously twirling the band on my finger, “Yes, well, my husband insisted on a small wedding.”
“Right,” he drawls.
His shoulders ease up, and he leans back against his table, “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in your personal life, and I know it’s not my place to pry, but You’ve always been one of my best students, Ava. You’re gifted”
Something tight mangles my chest, “Thank you”
“I’m not saying that as a complaint, I’m saying it as a fact. You have potential Ava, one like I’ve never seen before. It’s rare to stumble upon a talent like yours and the last thing I want is for you to lose your spark the way girls like you usually do when they become distracted by things outside of themselves.”
Girls like me?
“I’m not sure I follow ”
Professor Bennett sighs a subtle shift in his demeanour as if choosing his next words carefully. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve seen it happen to many talented students like yourself time and time again. Life, distractions, relationships… They start to take away from the very thing that makes them unique. And I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“I assure you I haven’t lost anything, Professor. My experience with art is much different from all the others you say you’ve seen”
“Good, I would hope so but you seemed distracted today, it was as if your mind was elsewhere I just felt like I had to say something as your teacher”
“I understand your concern, Professor, but I can assure you that my focus is one hundred percent here. In this room.”
Professor Bennett studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine as though trying to gauge the extent of my words. I shift under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling exposed and a tad bit uncomfortable. Finally, he nods grudgingly, as if accepting my answer but not fully satisfied with it.
“If you say so but are you aware that you’re the only person left in my class who hasn’t submitted a progress update on the final assignment?”
I freeze, realising that I was supposed to submit my progress report a few days back but forgot.
“I… I didn’t realize I missed that. I’ll be sure to submit it to you by the end of the week” I promise.
Professor Bennett nods slowly, his face unreadable. “I trust you will, Ava. You can send it to my email” He straightens, folding his arms and I take that as my cue to leave.
I head out of the building, walking through the campus as if on autopilot, my thoughts jumbled.
Nikolai had reached out to my university so that I wouldn’t fail.
When I step outside, I’m greeted by the sight of Benjamin leaning against the car. His expression is one of discomfort as a girl I’ve never met before tries to strike up a conversation with him.
“Mrs. Volkov,” he says with a slight look of relief as I approach. The girl shoots me a look before stepping out of the way for him to open the backseat for me.
The ride back to the estate is silent with only the hum of the engine filling the air. It isn’t long before my mind soon refills with thoughts of my husband.
He’d reached out on my behalf and ensured that I wouldn’t face any academic repercussions while we were away. But why wouldn’t he have told me that himself?
I glance down at my cellphone and I physically feel my heart sink when I find it bare. No text messages, no voicemails, no missed calls. Nothing.
My husband had left me with a new pair of shoes to replace the ones I wore yesterday and talked to my professors so that I wouldn’t get into trouble while we were in Russia and in doing all that, he’d confused my heart.
I hate that he’s suddenly doing all these nice things and confusing me but most of all, I hate that I’m starting to feel something for him-something other than the loathing I used to feel. This new emotion feels deeper, newer somehow and I realize as we pull into the estate that I don’t entirely hate it.
When we pull up to the house, I dash upstairs to my bedroom. Tossing my bag on the bed, I strip out of my clothes and opt for a more comfortable option.
My quest for comfort leads me to Nikolai’s section of the walk-in closet, and I snatch one of his casual-looking Tees off the hanger.
It’s soft and smells vaguely of cinnamon, spice and everything him. I hesitate for a moment, my grip tightening then releasing around the fabric clutched in my hands before slipping it over my head.
The shirt hangs loosely on me, brushing my mid-thigh.
Back in my room, I flop onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows as exhaustion tugs at my limbs.
From the corner of my eye, I can make out my phone. Maybe he doesn’t know if I want him to contact me. Maybe he wants me to contact him first.
My fingers hover over the screen as uncertainty claws at my throat. What would I even say to him? Thank you for the shoes or Thank you for speaking to my professors?
I shake my head, gripping the phone tighter as frustration once again threatens to spill over..
Unlocking the device, my fingers scroll through my contact list eventually landing on the name that’s consumed me the entire the day.
Me: Thank you for the shoes. They’re beautiful
I don’t expect his reply to come as quickly as it does.
Nikolai: You’re welcome. Did they fit you? I wasn’t exactly sure if I’d gotten the right size since you cover your legs when you sleep.
A small smile touches my mouth but I’m quick to curve the corners downwards as I type up a response.
Me: You measured my feet in my sleep?
Nikolai: I had to. What would it say about me that I let my wife wander the streets of Chicago with death traps as shoes.
I snort.
Me: It’ll probably say you were a terrible husband.
Nikolai: Exactly.
Nikolai: How was your day?
For a second I contemplate telling him about my inability to focus or the way my professor noticed my distraction. But then I stop myself.
Me: It was fine. You?
Nikolai: It would’ve been better if you were here
My heart squeezes in my chest as I type another response.
Me: Then you should’ve taken me with you
it’s only half a joke and his response comes immediately.
Nikolai: I wish I could have but unfortunately where I am is much too dangerous for you
Where are you? I start to type but stop at the letter Y before deleting the entire sense.
Nikolai: I miss you
Those three little words staring at me from the screen makes my heart flutter and summersault in my chest in a way that would’ve sent a normal person into cardiac arrest.
Me: You can’t say things like that
Nikolai: Why not?
Me: Because…..
Because it’s wrong. Because it confuses me. Because I think I might miss you too and it’s only been a few hours.
Me: I have to go. I have classes tomorrow.
Nikolai: No you don’t.
Me: You’re right but I am tired. Goodnight Nikolai.
Nikolai: Goodnight, Solnyshko.
Me: One more thing
Nikolai: What does my wife want?
I release a shaky breath as my fingers tap the screen, constructing the words that only hold a morale of what I want to say.
Me: Please come back safely
A beat passes and just when I think he isn’t going to reply, his name flashes on the screen.
Nikolai: I will.