Chapter 14 #2
“Hey, Stella,” I say. “Could you do me a big favor?”
She nods.
“I left my phone in my bedroom and I’m waiting to hear back from someone. Could you run and get it for me? It’s on my nightstand.”
She jumps up like she’s delighted to help, and the second she’s out of the room, I whisper to Sasha, “I was coming out here earlier to ask you if I could take her with me.”
His blank look makes me think he doesn’t understand.
“You know, so we could get our hair done together?”
“This is the one day I’m home all day. You could have the whole day off,” he says, “to do adult things. And you want to take Stella to get her hair done because . . .?”
His eyes are turning a darker shade of gray again, but I’m not sure why.
“Because it’ll be fun for her. Something special that she hasn’t done before.” I wait and he doesn’t say anything. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m . . . kind of speechless.”
“Because . . .?”
“I just figured you’d be dying to get out of here, to hang out with other adults. You know, have some distance.”
“Stella’s great, why would I want distance?” I say. He gives me a half smile; we’re in agreement that his niece is wonderful. “And I only have another week with her. Plenty of time for adult stuff once I’m back home.”
Just then, Stella comes bounding into the kitchen. “Here you go,” she says, handing me my phone. Then she lets out a big sigh and collapses into her chair like she’s just run a marathon.
“Thanks, sweetie.” I look at Sasha for confirmation that he’s okay with me asking her and he gives me a curt nod, then takes his napkin off his lap, crushes it in his fist, and drops it on his plate. Wait, is he upset about me taking Stella out? Maybe he wanted to spend this time with her?
As Stella picks up her fork and stabs a piece of her pancake, I pretend like I’m scratching the side of my face, so my hand blocks my mouth from her view. What’s wrong? I mouth.
His voice booms in the silent kitchen when he replies, “Don’t you have a question you want to ask Stella?” I guess he’s ignoring my question and the secrecy with which I asked it.
Her head snaps toward me, her eyes huge like she just knows something really important is going to happen. I hope she’s not expecting something more exciting.
“I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come with me this afternoon and get your hair done too?”
“Yes,” she squeals as she jumps out of her chair and climbs into my lap, wrapping her arms around me once again. And I can’t help but wonder why those small arms squeezing my neck don’t feel as claustrophobic as I always imagined they would.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Emily hisses, and I follow her gaze out the glass door. “How in the world are you living with that man and not sleeping with him?”
Outside the restaurant, Sasha stands with his hips resting against a concrete planter so large it holds a full-size tree.
He’s got one foot crossed over the other in a deceptively casual stance, his chin tilted down toward Stella as he listens to something she’s saying.
His aviators and baseball cap hide most of his face, and his hoodie hides the bulky muscles of his upper body and neck, but I can tell by the rigid lines of his shoulders that he’s not relaxed.
He’s large and imposing, and pretty recognizable even though he’s trying not to be. He seems on edge about it.
I glance around the entryway of the restaurant to make sure no one else is close enough to hear our conversation. “Emily, he’s my oldest friend. It would be like sleeping with my brother.” I wish I believed that.
She gives me the side-eye. “You’re trying to tell me you’re not attracted to him?
” she asks as she slips her arms into her lightweight jacket and grabs her sunglasses from her bag.
I glance out the window again, taking in the pale blue sky strewn with clouds.
It’s warm again today, the typical fluctuations of an East Coast spring.
I want to talk to her about our history, about how I’m feeling about him, about the sexual tension that’s so thick you could carve it with a knife and serve it up on a plate.
I want to tell her we’re actually married, on paper only, and about adopting Stella and how conflicted I am.
But I haven’t told her anything more than I’m living with them for a couple weeks and helping out with Stella—and even that I swore her to secrecy about—because talking about the rest of it would make it all too real.
“I’m saying that we’re friends, and that’s all,” I tell her.
Just then, he glances up at the restaurant doors. I can tell he sees us standing on the other side of the glass by the way he freezes, his mouth slightly open but unmoving. “Uh huh,” Emily laughs. “Sure.”
To escape this line of conversation, I push the door open and take a step out, holding it for her as she follows behind me.
Behind his sunglasses I can tell Sasha still hasn’t taken his eyes off me when we arrive in front of him and Stella, and the intensity of his focus is doing funny things to me.
My legs feel shaky even as my thighs clench with longing, my stomach feels like it’s dissolved into a million pieces that are floating off into space, and my heart is beating erratically.
After all this time and everything that’s happened, how does he still have this effect on me?
“Good lunch?” he asks when I fail to greet him.
I blink, pulling myself out of my stupor. “Great lunch. Emily, this is Aleksandr. Aleksandr, my friend Emily.” There’s no question they each know who the other is.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Emily says as she extends her hand to shake his. “I feel like I’ve heard a lot about you.”
With his free hand, he takes his sunglasses off and casually tucks them into the neck of his hoodie. “All good things, I hope.”
“Depends on who’s talking about you,” Emily teases with a knowing smile. “But yes, only good things from Petra.”
“That’s all that matters, then,” he says. His gaze flicks to mine, and I swear my insides melt. They’re a big pile of goo trying to find their way out of my body. This man. Half the time I’m not sure if I love him or hate him, but there’s no question he still does things to me that no one else can.
“And who is this cutie?” Emily asks as she glances down at Stella.
“I’m Stella,” she says at the same time I say, “This is Aleksandr’s niece.”
“Well, it is very nice to meet you, Stella,” Emily says. “Are you going to get your hair done too?” She asks like she doesn’t already know they’re here because I’m taking Stella with me.
“Yes! I’m going to get straight hair today!” Her excitement is rolling off her in waves.
“You know,” she says, “my hair is curly too. But more wavy than curly, and I’d love to have your beautiful, perfect curls.”
Stella eyes Emily’s straight hair. “Your hair isn’t always straight?”
Emily pulls her phone out. “Nope. Here, let me show you a picture.” She opens her social media and scrolls back to a picture I remember her posting this past winter when she was on a yacht in the Caribbean with some friends.
I remember her makeup-free, curly haired look and how carefree and happy she seemed in the pictures.
Emily squats down next to Stella to show her the pictures.
“See, this is what my hair looks like when I don’t do anything to it. ”
“It’s beautiful,” Stella says.
“Yep, because curly hair is awesome. And if I had your perfect curls, I don’t think I’d straighten my hair very often. Don’t forget that!” she says as she stands back up.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I hug her goodbye.
I love how she instinctively knows we need to empower the next generation to love themselves, to not listen to all the bullshit about how you need to look a certain way in order to be loved, accepted, or desired.
And I love that her modeling priorities these days reflect that, how she’s working to change that industry from the inside out.
We walk half a block to the car, and Sasha holds the door open for Stella to climb in first. When I move to step in behind her, he stretches his arm out and rests his hand on the roof of the car, blocking the door. “Is everything okay?”
I look up at him, the confusion likely evident on my face. “Yeah, why?”
He dips his head toward mine and my heart speeds up. “You just called me Aleksandr several times.”
“That’s your name.”
“You only use that name when you’re mad at me.”
I pause, then let out a small and silent laugh. “Maybe you’re right. But apparently I’m the only one who calls you Sasha. To everyone else, you’re Alex. That just sounds wrong to me, so I will probably always call you Aleksandr in front of other people.”
“Okay.” His nod is curt.
“Do I really call you Aleksandr when I’m mad?”
“So far as I’ve noticed.” He moves his arm out of the way and gestures me into the car, then closes the door and goes around to the other side to sit behind the driver.
When he gets in the car, I glance at him over Stella’s head, and the desire that runs through my veins is reminiscent of being sixteen again.
“How soon after our hair appointment am I going to Harper’s?” Stella asks as the driver pulls away from the curb. “I can’t wait for her to see me with straight hair!”
Sasha and I share a look. I think we’ve both just realized that we’ll be alone together tonight. My body visibly shudders as a wave of longing moves through me. This is so very dangerous.
“What are you crazy kids going to do with your night off?” Sofia jokes as Stella and Harper take off at a run into the depths of the apartment.
“Probably sleep,” Sasha responds with a shrug, his voice sounding like he’s bored just thinking about not having Stella around for the night.
I shrug too. “I probably should have made plans or something, but this has been a busy week,” I say. “Just having time to relax sounds great.”