Chapter 37
Iremember the time I was just seventeen and stood outside the Dean’s office at Stanford. There I was, a kid whose driver’s license still practically smelled of freshly-minted plastic since my father wasn’t willing to sign the parental authorization form until he realized if I could go to college, I’d be out of his hair.
I’d worn my best shirt and tie, feeling like a fool and wondering how I was going to tell a man three times my age that I deserved to get a full-ride scholarship when my father was economically well off. I was so nervous, I had to go into the men’s room and splash cold water on my face before going in. But I’d done it, and I’d gotten the scholarship.
Then there was the time I had to go for my first major investor pitch. This was after I’d sunk everything I had made in four years of online investing into getting Goldstone Inc. off the ground and had even hit up Dennis for ten thousand in exchange for his shares, and I was ready for the majors. This was my first ‘big’ meeting, and again I was a nervous wreck. But I’d done that too and had gotten the money.
But standing on the sidewalk outside Vladimir Karakov’s—in Russian, he’s Karakov and she’s Karakova—shop and apartment, I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been in my adult life. My palms are sweating, my throat feels tight, and despite not having drunk anything in hours, I swear I need to pee. Because as much as that scholarship and investment changed my life, this meeting and Vladimir’s blessing will make or break my future.
The sun’s going down. Mia made me promise to let her go in first to smooth the introductions and to let me handle a little bit of corporate business.
Maybe that’s why I’m here. I’ve spent the past three days thinking almost exclusively about Mia. Anything I said about corporate responsibility or public trust in the press conference? That was put in by Irene. My apology to the workers inside the Goldstone Building? Okay, I did want to do that, but the rest of my thoughts have been about Mia.
But she wants me to take care of myself, of the company.
On our way out of the diner, she’d even made me promise to go work hard, to try and clean up some more of the mess before coming over.
So I did, and now... here I am.
I turn, my stomach clenching, but maybe it’s that I haven’t eaten anything since that ‘power smoothie’ Kerry got me before the press conference.
I hear the door to the shop open behind me, and I turn around to see a stern-faced man, his cardigan vest and white shirt looking somehow old-fashioned for someone who Mia told me is a tailor.
“Mr. Karakov?”
With a grunt, he jerks his head inside, and I follow him in. I see Mia behind the door inside the shop, and she gives me a supportive thumbs-up.
“Papa, I’ll keep things going down here. You said Mr. Smith was going to stop by to pick up his shirts?”
The man turns to his daughter, his icy demeanor immediately thawing as he gives Mia a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, darling.”
He turns back to me, Siberian winter once again gripping his eyes. “Upstairs.”
I follow him, and as we start up, I swear I hear Mia chuckling under her breath as we mount the narrow staircase in the back of the shop. The space is made even narrower with boxes of what look like sewing supplies stacked along the right side of the stairs, and I find my left shoulder rubbing against the wall the whole way up.
He heads into his apartment, and I follow, stopping in the entryway. He turns, eyeing me left to right, top to bottom. With a sound of annoyance and some muttered Russian, he approaches me, his hand reaching out toward my face.
To my shame, I flinch, and his eyes soften as he brushes some lint off my jacket. It must’ve brushed onto me as I touched the stairwell wall. Feeling more comfortable that he’s not about to kill me where I stand, I let him do his thing.
He touches the seam at my shoulder. “Custom-made. Worsted wool, handmade buttonhole.” He flips open the lapel, examining the inner lining with a hum. As if speaking to himself, he murmurs, “I can learn much about a man by his suit, what he values, what he fancies, where he will cut corners, and where he will indulge.”
Feeling like a dog at the dog show, I stand straight and tall. “And what does my suit tell you about me?” I venture.
He grunts, stalking away from me on heavy feet. He heads into the kitchen, and I follow uncertainly, not sure if he’s actually inviting me further inside. He takes two tumblers out of a glass-fronted cabinet and pours a healthy measure of a clear liquid in each one. The bottle is completely unlabeled.
Could be water, could be vodka, could be poison, for all I know, I think as Izzy’s words run through my head. He hands me one.
“Drink.”
It isn’t a question, and as I lift the glass to my mouth, the smell hits me. Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure I could power a rocket to space on it. But there’s no question about just sipping at it, and instead, I toss it back, praying that I’ve got enough ‘power smoothie’ left in my stomach and bloodstream so as to not make me piss-drunk in about two minutes. It burns hotly down my throat, but I force the gasp down.
Karakov smirks as he drinks his own vodka easily, then sets the bottle aside. “You hurt my Mia.”
I nod, clearing my throat before I can speak. “I did, sir.”
“My only daughter, who is more precious than the world to me,” Karakov continues. “A young woman for whom I’d burn the world down.”
“I did. And I’m sorry, sir,” I reply honestly. “But I want to be clear that I never raised a hand to her, would never.”
Karakov hums and stares at me from across the kitchen counter. “My daughter... she says the video was not the total truth?”
“No, sir. Though I did lose my temper, even in my rage, she was not in danger. But in her fear, she bumped into the door herself. I feel awful that happened, even if it was not my direct doing. It was still my fault for scaring her.”
“I see. And she says you love her?”
I nod, blinking as the alcohol starts to hit. Jesus, what was that stuff, a hundred and fifty proof? “I do, sir. I know that I’m an asshole. But I’m working on being better for her. I’m not worthy of Mia’s love yet. She is a pure and beautiful heart. And maybe that... maybe that’s why I love her so much.”
“Why?”
“Because if there’s any hope for me,” I reply, the words coming easier, probably due to the vodka, “any chance that I can be a good man and not the beast that I’ve become, it’s her. When I’m with her, I see an end to the pain. I see a future. I see happiness.”
“And if you’re wrong? If you can’t change?”
“I know I can. I won’t fail. Because a single smile from her is all the strength I need to overcome anything.”
Mr. Karakov nods, his eyes still icy cold. “When Mia’s mother left us, I promised myself that I would give her the love of two parents. From what she has told me, when your mother left you, the exact opposite may have happened. You haven’t been shown how to love properly.”
“You might be right, sir. But with Mia, it feels natural. I don’t think I need to be taught. And if I do, rest assured that the woman you’ve raised will set me straight.”
He grins, pouring another two fingers of vodka into our glasses and raising his toward me. “It won’t be easy. You’ll make mistakes. Every man does, because a woman is a mystery that time, wisdom, and all the efforts of men to decipher have utterly failed at throughout history. But I believe you will still try, because that is what love is. And you will love my daughter with all your heart, or you will walk away now.”
It’s a threat wrapped up in an expectation. Something I’m familiar with, but something tells me Vladimir’s follow-through would be different from my father’s.
I agree, nodding gravely. “Yes, sir.”
Karakov smiles. “Then you have my blessing. You’re a lucky man, Thomas Goldstone. Mother Russia may be harsh, but Papas... we are harsher when it comes to our daughters. Now drink!”
I pick up my glass, sniffing before setting it down. “Forgive me, no disrespect, but I’m pretty sure this is rocket fuel, and I haven’t eaten much the past three days. This is probably not the best idea and I’m trying to make smarter choices.”
“Oh, but that’s when the vodka is best,” Karakova says with a soft laugh. “But I understand. Stay for dinner then?”
I nod, grateful as Karakov, I guess I need to start thinking about him as Vladimir, leads me over to the couch. “It’ll be nice to have a dinner guest,” he confides softly as I sit down and he comes over with a packet of Ritz crackers. It’s simple, but right now, they taste delicious on my suddenly ravenous tongue.
Vladimir smiles. “For three days now, the only thing I’ve been able to get Mia to talk about are her animations and her two girlfriends. That and her data... always data with her. Though I understand none of it. But you sit, eat the crackers, and stay for dinner.”
The moon’salready passed its zenith when I leave via the back door of Vladimir’s home, adjusting my tie as I do. Thankfully, he didn’t insist on any more of that rocket fuel vodka of his, and the world is no longer spinning.
More importantly, though, Mia’s with me, and inhaling her scent as I hug her next to my car is all the reassurance that eventually, things will be right between us.
“Thank you,” Mia says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “For everything you’re doing.”
“And thank you for everything you’re doing.”
It’s poignant, both of us having made mistakes, big, ugly ones, but able to still find our way out of the darkness by holding hands and taking it step by step. Together.
“I’d like very much to sweep you off your feet right now, carry you back to my place, and make love to you,” I tell her, holding her tight, “but I feel like we need to work our way back to that. Like I need to earn you back.”
Mia smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You already have my love. As for my body... you’re right. We both need to work back to that, earn each other. And we’ll both be rewarded. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“It’s a date,” I say with a wink, feeling better than I have in days.