The Prelude (14 page)

Selene waits on the other end. Or maybe I should say, she’s hyperventilating when I hit the green answer-call button.

“E! You’ll never believe what just happened!” she screams. I move the phone back and wonder what it is about me today that’s attracting all of this excitement from people.

“Right. So count to fifty and calm down. I won’t have any eardrums left by the time we all finish screaming today,” I say, but still feeling happy to hear my friend’s voice.

“I’m sending you a pic, right now. Check your cellie,” she gasps.

“I’m talking on my phone. I can’t check the screen. Just tell me what’s going on. Everybody’s so secretive and strange these days,” I say, thinking of the way Alek embraced me just before he whisked me off to a secluded area inside of a park. I’m still recovering from the shock of him trying to kiss me.

“I’m not going to say a thing. I’ll wait for you to check out my pic,” she says, giggling.

I release a sigh and say, “What did Christopher the Great do this time? Buy you another pair of handcuffs and chocolate flavored panties? Do me a favor and spare me the details of all that this time, please.”

A long moment of silence passes. I feel like a complete jerk. “Wow, Erin. I hate that my
love
life bores you to death. I’ll make sure to fix that in the future.”

“Selene, I’m sorry. This isn’t really an excuse, but I have so much going on. Plus, it’s almost time for the visit to see my mom,” I explain.

“It’s forgotten, okay? And I do remember the mysterious visits you never talk about.”

I haven’t forgotten though. I’ll never forget the reason my mom is hospitalized. Caught up in the hazy memory of a car sitting inside of a garage, I give Selene a brief explanation.

“Mom usually thinks it’s Jada visiting when I go see her. My Aunt Sophia is ruthless, though. She won’t let anyone near Mom except on the days she has scheduled for us all to visit. Me included.” I don’t know what makes me want to tell Selene about Mom’s dilemma for the first time in the five years I’ve known her.

Could it be the effects that a certain handsomely Maestro
is having on you? No way.

“I’m so sorry, E. I had no idea,” Selene says. “When I met you back at school in New York, I just thought you were one of the quiet ones. Somebody who doesn’t like to talk about her family all of the time. I respected that.”

I snap out of the trance and focus on my friend. “You know what? Just because I’m half-ass depressed and hiding it behind the personality of Miss Uncongeniality doesn’t mean you have to be the same way. That’s kinda why I wanted you to hear what I just said about my mom.”

“I'll be there in Milan soon enough. And we’ll do what we do best. Gossip and spend the day window shopping,” she suggests.

“Sounds great, Selene.” After I click the end button, I take a peek at the picture she sent me.

It’s just as I thought. The diamond ring on her finger almost jumps out of the screen. The thing looks that brilliant. A small touch of envy tingles inside me. I’m happy for Selene and Christopher. Besides Romeo and Juliet, my two classmates are probably the most sexually frustrated couple to ever live. They fought family, friends, and distance to get to this moment and truly deserve to be happy. I guess somebody has to believe in stuff like that. The victims might as well be a couple of people like my two friends.

* * *

Over the next week
, my living room becomes a dancer’s haven. I walk in from a particularly trying day at work. Carla’s parents gave her an ultimatum. She either gets rid of her lesbian lover, or she leaves the family no choice but to disown her. She cried off and on all day long, using me as the rock just like so many others seem to be doing these days. I love Carla. She’s a secret design weapon for me. But I’m hoping tomorrow brings a happier co-worker into the office. If not, then we might both wind up jumping from the top of the Duomo and getting life over with.

Light classical music, the kind I used to dance to when I studied ballet, fills the air as soon as I walk through the front door. Adriana jumps and spins to a tune that makes me think of Alek’s creepy, but intriguing music choices. I stand there until the final note fades in the air. She leans over on her knees, catching her breath. Glancing up, she jumps and almost tumbles over a chair after she notices me.

“Never mind me. I’m pretty much a ghost,” I say, flopping down on the couch farthest away from her. “What a crappy, crazy day.” I close my eyes and try to imagine what an ordinary life inside of an office might feel like. But then, I shake it off just as quickly. I don’t think my body contains a single normal bone anywhere in there.

A creepy sensation washes over me as I wait for the tension to ease out of my body. I open my eyes and glance across the room. Adriana sits on the couch opposite from me. She’s staring as though she wants to figure out something about me.

“What?” I ask.

“You know my brother’s hot for you, right?”

I do know, especially after the little scene that happened in the park. But I don’t want to talk about it with his sister. I gotta admit, it feels good to hear somebody confirm my hunch. “Don’t be silly, Adriana.”

“No, really, I’ve never seen him act this way about a woman before. Sending Hagar out to do his sneaky work, and even standing up to Mother about who he chooses to date. It’s amazing in a way.”

“Well, don’t get excited. This really isn’t going anywhere.”

“Not yet,” she mutters under her breath. She flops back in the loveseat and exhales. “Mother wants both of us to date wealthy people. Especially loaded Russians.”

“What about wealthy Americans? Is she cool with them?” I ask.

“Our American ancestry doesn’t matter so much to her.”

“Why is that? What difference does it make? Besides, Katerina was born in Texas.” I think she’s a hypocrite, but I’m not about to say that to Adriana.

“I don’t really understand Mother’s ways either. I do know that she’d freak out if she knew I was dating somebody who doesn’t fit her grand plan.” Her eyes widen after she says this, and she clamps a hand over her mouth.

I suck my teeth. “Take your hand down. It’s just me. You know I’m not going to judge you."

“I should be able to date whoever I like, right?”

“Sure thing.” A grin spreads across my face. It feels good to have somebody else up under the radar. “And who is this person, do tell?”

She glances at the bare spot on her arm where a watch would normally be situated. “Wow. It’s time for me to get ready to head out and meet my friends.”

“Oh, I get it. You can 50-question me, but I don’t get the same opportunity?” I lightly scold.

“No worries,
Jaybird
. I’ll tell you, eventually. While you’re waiting, you can keep on doing the kissy thing with my brother.” She pokes her lips out like a fish as she teases me about the nickname Alek gave me a couple weeks ago. I toss a pillow at her. We both calm down, and now a serious look crosses her face.

Holy Hell. Adriana is the type who never goes serious on you unless it’s truly something grim. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t hurt him, okay? He’s come a long way since we left Moscow. Lots of bad things crossed his path. He sacrificed a lot to get Mother and me and even Nikolai out of Russia.” Now we’re back to talking about what I believe is the real reason she came to stay with me for a while. The Dostovs have a secret, a huge one, a dangerous one too, I suspect.

There’s something I’ve noticed about Alek, and the way he always glances around when we’re together. And now his sister is crashing with me because she
claims
she doesn’t want to live by herself. “I know he seems like a womanizer, but he really is a good guy. I’m only saying all of this because, well, I know you have your issues too. He’s reaching out to you, Erin.”

“I know he’s a good guy,” I assure her.

“Give him a chance. Maybe the two of you can help to fight each other’s demons.” A long, awkward moment passes while I consider her statement. The tick tock from my grandmother’s clock sitting across the room fills the silence between us. “Are you ready for Black Butterfly’s big showing Saturday night?” she asks.

We go from one mood crasher to the next. “Hell no! I don’t have the logo prepared, and the show is only three nights away,” I answer and pull my legs up, hugging them to me.

I’ve skipped several sessions with Petre over the past couple of weeks. The anxiety rolling inside my chest reminds me of my neglect every day. I just don’t have the guts to tell him how badly I’ve failed at following his advice.

“What’s holding you back?” Adriana asks.

“Everything. What designer doesn’t have something cool to represent her new line? I mean, I do have one; but I just need to add color to the design,” I explain.

“Then, paint it. That’ll really make your design stand out,” Adriana suggests.

“I sketch, sew, and a lot of other things. But painting, I don’t do so well.”

A devious grin crosses her girlish face. “Alek paints. Mother taught us a long time ago. Me, I’m not so good. But Alek’s creations are fantastic. Let him color the logo for you. I’ll call him.” She pulls out her phone and positions her finger for making the call.

“Wait! No. Don’t do that,” I almost yell. “He’s already done enough for me.”

“What did we just talk about? You could tell him to swim from Milan to Venice, and he’d find a way to make it happen.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” I say, scoffing. The truth is I’m not ready to face Alek after what happened between us at his mother’s house and especially at the park the other day. I feel exposed and weak and with a man like Alek Dostov those are the last things you want to be feeling.

“Fine. I’m heading to my room. I need to get ready. I’ll let you sit in here and meditate, Jaybird.” She blows mock kisses at me, and I toss another pillow at her.

I can sit here and try to fool myself all I want. The logo sits on the canvas in all of its black and white glory because I can’t keep my mind out of the clouds. Memories of Alek keep popping in and out of my head. An uncontrollable desire, something heated and indescribable rushes through me every time I think of Mr. Maestro with the gorgeous soulful eyes and mystery tattoo hidden underneath his clothing.

That’s not all you think of, hot mama
.
The man has everything you could ever want, and then some. He’s panty-drop gorgeous, and there you sit on the couch acting like a loser dud.

I change out of my work clothing and head back to the living room. Adriana still avoids me by hiding in her new bedroom. I attach my music player to the surround sound system and pick a tune by one of my favorite groups to listen to after work, Enigma. Flopping down on the couch, I lose myself in the relaxing combination of Gregorian chants paired with rhythmic beats.

Eventually, I doze off. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping when the doorbell rings. I open my eyes and stand up. I take a moment to turn down the music I put on repeat.

Opening the door, I’m prepared to curse the delivery man who keeps bringing strange packages to my apartment. But there’s no errand boy standing out there.

Instead, Alek lingers in the doorway. My mouth falls open. This moment reeks of a devious little ballerina and her slippery tricks. He smiles and holds up a bottle of wine and two glasses. At once, I think of those old black and white movies, the kind where the men used to get creative when trying to win a woman’s heart. “I hear you need a painter.”

“Maybe,” I say, feeling aware of my casual clothing, a skort and white tee shirt that dips too low for my generous chest. I did not expect company this evening.

“I’m available, if you’ll have me.” He doesn’t wait to be invited inside. I check my watch. Almost two hours have passed since Adriana slinked away to her room. Either she’s fast asleep or she snuck out on me; and I have no doubt she worked with her brother to set up this little convenient moment.

“Do come in, Mr. Maestro,” I joke after he walks through the doorway. Dressed in light colored cargo pants and a casual tee that fits his perfect physique, he actually does kinda remind me of a painter. All we need now is one of those little painter's hats for him and some Italian music to set the mood and we’ll be good to go.

Stepping into my living room, he takes in my surroundings. Since I’m not prepared for his arrival, I feel super self conscious. I wonder what someone who’s used to living inside a fancy uptown loft will think of my dinky apartment made specifically for students and newbies to Milan.

“Nice. The artwork fits you,” he says turning to face me after inspecting my walls filled with abstract paintings. “Did you create these yourself?”

I shrug. “No. I found most of them at an art store in Florence. Nothing beats discovering cheap artwork inside of an Italian market.”

“Speaking of artwork, I hear you have a masterpiece of mine that’s giving you trouble,” he says as he walks into the kitchen, pops open the wine bottle, and pours a glass of Riesling for the two of us.

My kitchen opens into the living room. I think all Italian housing plans have easy access to the kitchen. Cooking and eating is a religion in all of Italy.