Chapter 24 Mischa
Nobody’s around when I arrive at Austen’s place. I know he’s home alone today, so I pick the lock to an empty security booth, disarm the sensors, jump the wall and run along the tree line, then dart over the lawn to the house. It’s my way of saying nothing will get in my way.
They really are hillbillies, they have a blue bottle tree. I can’t walk straight in, because some lady with dark hair is cleaning inside. Two dogs, a large Rottweiler, followed by a Doberman, see me and bolt towards the door outside. There’s ivy growing all over the brickwork. Brilliant.
I start ascending the vines that cling to the old place.
The dogs bark but they can’t get me as I climb higher.
I scare a bird and it scares me. There’s a window open at a balcony on the third floor and I climb to it and peek in.
It’s a bedroom and beyond is an open bathroom door.
Austen is in there, shaving. I watch him check his phone, and hear a pitter-patter sound loafing in from the hall.
The dogs have found me and are now going feral.
I duck down and they growl and bark at the window.
Austen calls them off and shuts them out of the room, but they are still howling.
I hear a clacking sound and he comes to the balcony with a loaded crossbow in his hands.
He sees me and puts down his weapon. He gives me a hand up, and I sit on the ledge.
“Impressive.”
He waves to the empty garden.
I look down three stories. “Who are you waving to?”
He shows me the red dot of a laser sight pointed at my chest.
“Kane.”
“Oh right.”
“You’re here for your date,” Austen says.
“Our date,” I correct him.
He runs his hands through his hair. “Well, you might as well meet the dogs before they break down the door.”
He yells at the dogs to be calm and they obey, then he lets them in and stands between us.
The two growl like they have a serious problem with me.
Austen chides them and they quieten. He lets them approach and they sniff my shoes.
They recognize my scent, look back at Austen, and chill out a little.
I kiss Austen on the lips and they growl again. The look on his face makes it worth it.
“You got reservations?” I ask. “I hope you’re not taking me to the local pizza place everyone raves about?”
He shakes his head. “I’m taking you to New York.”
My mind does not compute. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a city a few hours away; you might like it.”
“Oh man. I just drove all the way from there! It’ll take forever.”
“Helicopter,” he says, and puts a jacket on.
“Can I fly it?” I ask.
“Do you know how?”
I pull out my helicopter license. “Yeah, but I know you’ve been in a crash, and I don’t want to put you on edge.”
“That was a plane crash, not a helicopter, and I enjoyed it immensely.”
“You didn’t think you were going to die?”
Austen rolls his eyes. “That was kinda the point.”
“Okay so you should definitely not fly...”
Austen laughs. “Leave it to the pilot. It’d be embarrassing to crash on a first date.”
“You should have more faith in me.”
“Hey, what does your father do?” he asks. “My grandfather was asking the other week.”
Don’t tell him.
“Oh,” I say, feeling my toes curl. “He bought companies during the Russian collapse. It was a crazy time, but he became the last man standing, and so the company ballooned. The businesses have done well over the past couple years, especially in the mining boom.”
“Oh right,” Austen nods. “Mining. Mexico?”
“Yeah.”
He adds a few pieces of clothing to his baggage.
“That explains how they know each other.”
They know each other?
“They know each other?”
“Seems like they are business rivals,” Austen nods, folding a shirt. “Grandpa was a little prickly about it.”
The sudden realization that this could become the agent of our destruction flashes in my head.
Don’t think about it.
I don’t even know if I’ll get more than this date, and if Austen loves me even a fraction of how much I love him, he wouldn’t hold it against me.
Don’t think about it.
Besides, what can I do?
Don’t think about it.
He might never find out anyway.
Austen said his favorite food is Italian. Anything Italian.
It’s a fucking coincidence.
Sivishni was shifty about moving to Amherst. It was sudden. He wanted the two best Italian restaurants... got all the best ingredients imported from Italy, and some fancy chef... spent all that money... in this tiny town... made all his devoted children move here...
No. It doesn’t prove anything.
Our only act of rebellion was putting the wrong phone number on the flyers. Sivishni was not happy when he found out the number didn’t work. Apparently he was so angry he even scared Ivan. The shop phone has been ringing a lot lately.
No. Don’t fucking think about it.
“I was even worried your father was some sort of Russian crime boss who got offside with my grandpa or something insane like that, and you’d try kill me,” Austen giggles, as he zips up all the compartments of his luggage.
“I have terrible luck, so I’m paranoid, and imagine anything could happen sometimes. ”
I don’t want to hear this.
Don’t tell him. Austen’s fragile, don’t even entertain the idea.
It’s not likely... but not impossible.
IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.
There are some weird things. Like how Sofie and Natasha have to come in to work on the weekends. Sivishni pays for them to get their hair styled before they arrive. All my brothers have to show their sexy faces at the fights in Springfield every month. It’s mandatory. Defying a king is treason.
Just stop thinking.
Who invited me to the charity auction?
Stop.
My brothers and sisters. All good-looking.
By design. Chosen for their charm, intelligence, and beauty.
Then the dentists, dermatologists, even a little cosmetic surgery for anyone that needed it.
Bought and paid for. Is the only reason we are here in this life, in this country, in this family even, is just to be bait for Austen and William?
Stop, just stop.
Just the way he kept smiling at me the other day...
It’s true. I can feel it.
Russians don’t smile.
He’s your father. He’s your hero. Your king. Your savior. He’s your fucking God.
Even if it’s true. What would even Sivishni want them for? Why, WHY, WHY would...
FUCKING STOP STOP STOP!
I may have pledged myself to that man for life, but he doesn’t know that I swore eternity to Austen, in every lifetime. For a hundred generations, across space and time, I have always kept my promise.
“You’re overthinking,” I clear my throat. “Are we ready?”
???
I’ve always been good at separating myself from the difficult parts of my life.
The helicopter ride makes me completely forget the metaphorical curveball that just smashed me in the fucking face.
Even if I die tomorrow, I’ll have this time with Austen, forever.
That’s all I’m going to think about tonight. I’ll figure out everything else later.
We arrive at a fancy hotel restaurant in uptown Manhattan. There’s starchy white tablecloths and fine bone china. It’s more uptight than I was hoping for, but Austen pushes through the door to the kitchen like he owns the place. Which may be the case, now I think of it.
“We’re eating at the chef’s table,” he explains.
He takes my hand. I feel victorious. The cooks slaving away on the line greet Austen like an old friend. We pass the prep and storage area. A short, older man in a beautiful white chef’s uniform is retrieving a second uniform from a locker.
“Mon petit chou!” he says to Austen. French for my little cabbage.
They kiss on both cheeks and chatter in French. He introduces me and the man is delighted.
“This is Philippe; my papa.”
I know this man is not Austen’s father, or related at all, but I’m not bothered. He’s lovely, and the fondness between them is obvious.
“Bonsoir,” I greet him.
“You speak a little French?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “I went to the Lycee in Moscow.”
“Then you probably speak better than me!” Philippe laughs. He hands Austen a chef’s uniform and he puts it on. “Tonight you do us the honor of eating a meal we prepare for you.”
“I might be a little rusty,” Austen warns Philippe.
“No,” he smiles. “You are an artist, I know it.”
Philippe seats me at a table in the back of the restaurant kitchen, where I watch them cook. Austen is all, “Oui, Chef! Non, Chef!” They are in perfect synchronicity, and fast. Philippe plates and Austen decorates.
“Such a pity your brother is not here,” Philippe tells Austen.
“Next time,” Austen says.
“He’s coming Wednesday for his own date.”
“Auction date?”
Philippe’s mouth curls at the edges into a smile. “Perhaps.”
Austen brings the caviar over, and offers it to me.
I put a dollop on the back of my hand and hold it back out to him.
It’s almost a dare. He licks it off my skin and his cheeks turn pink.
Then he brings the first dish over, a savory pastry.
It’s delicious, but watching them work is fascinating.
Austen is so happy. I’m falling in love with him all over again, just when I thought the pain might ease.
I’m entranced watching his beautiful body move.
He shoots glances back at me. When he catches me watching, it makes him laugh, and I’m transfixed.
It makes him light up from within, and everything in my imaginings tells me again that he’s looking at me the way I look at him.
After the third incredible dish I beg him to eat with me.
“You have to eat too,” I tell him.
He reluctantly sits while Philippe makes the main course, and feeds me from the fork.
“I don’t understand how broccoli and mashed potatoes can taste this good,” I say. “Like seriously, what the fuck?”
A couple of the chefs who know Austen come over to say hello and present dishes. Austen introduces all of them to me. There’s a lot of warmth. They all touch him, and he touches them, and he’s totally unbothered.