Chapter 5 Lucie
FIVE
LUCIE
“You really didn’t have to come all the way to Edinburgh, you know,” I tell Aleksei who’s seated across from me in the luxurious fucking suite he got us to travel the distance between my old life and my new one.
I thought it was only in the Orient Express that trains had lacquered wood panelling, and upholstered seats.
I was wrong. And it’s not the cheap kind either.
The fabric is soft under my hands and the details of the design masterful.
Tea burns my tongue as I take a sip, observing the broody Russian. With his scars on his eyebrow and at the corner of his mouth, and his brow constantly set in a frown, he intimidates everyone. Except, I know what a softie he is inside all that icy exterior.
He just shrugs. “Wasn’t going to let anyone else do it, Lucie.”
I narrow my eyes at him and he avoids them, looking at the window as if he’s engrossed in the landscape passing by. It’s comical. I don’t think Aleksei enjoys anything but murder and his lovers.
“Aleksei?”
“Yes?”
“You love me.” My smile stretches until it’s full blown. Because why else would my ex-husband make the trip to make sure I’m settled in my new place, that he chose for me?
He clears his throat and looks at me again, shifting ever so slightly on his seat. “Yes, Lucie. I love you. You’re like my sister.”
I giggle.
“Not… Not, like that,” he stumbles. Considering he fucks his step-sister, I would hope not. “I mean, like that but not. Not like Irina. You’re my family.”
A full body laughter makes its way through me at his scrambling for words. His cheeks brighten. I’ve never known the Bratva kingpin to blush. I roar with glee and he crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.
“Well, you’re surely annoying exactly like a sister.”
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I get up and give him a side hug, brief as he prefers them. “I love you, too, Aleksei. Thank you for coming with me. Truth is I was a little nervous, so I’m happy I don’t have to go by myself.”
The rest of the trip is silent, as we each read, him a Russian classic, and me, a heart-warming alien cowboy romance where the awkward alien finds love in his sunshine-y human bride. If only love could be that easy.
Once we reach my new flat, Aleksei introduces me to a couple, armed to the teeth. The woman is stocky, brown hair pinned in a very tight chignon at the back of her head, while the man stands two heads above her, shaved head and all dressed in tactical gear.
“This is Gemma and her husband Milosh,” he says and they incline their heads in greetings.
I smile at another Russian-Italian pairing. Dante must be ecstatic that his own marriage has become an example and his organisation, grounds for match-making.
“They’re going to live in the flat next door and have been assigned as your protection details,” Aleksei continues.
“That’s so unnecessary,” I complain.
“It’s non-negotiable.”
“Aleksei! What if I want to bring someone over?”
“What for?” he asks and his brow dips as if he truly doesn’t understand my meaning. Gemma smirks behind him.
“Do I need to remind you what happened with Magda?”
“Please don’t,” he says as he swipes a hand in front of his face. “I don’t need the reminder that I had to fire my housekeeper because she couldn’t keep her hands off of you.”
“What can I say? I’m irresistible like that.”
Magda was a nice distraction when I landed in London and was left alone until Irina took notice of me. We fucked a couple of times, but Aleksei went nuclear when he found out. As if I was going to stay celibate while he frolicked with my cousin and his wife.
“If you want to fuck, they have to be vetted beforehand.”
“Oh please. Do you really think I’m gonna vet every one-night-stand I’ll bring over here?”
Milosh clears his throat, and Aleksei gives him a nod before and he and his wife retreat into their own flat.
“Just how many one-night-stands do you intend to have?”
“None of your business,” I retort, crossing my arms. I don’t really intend to have that many, but I don’t want to feel like having to get higher approval for some release.
“The goal of me being here is not only to study, Aleksei. I want a life outside of mafia bullshit. How am I supposed to be a normal girl if I have two assassins trailing after me at all times?”
Even as I say the words, something inside me prevents me from meaning it with my whole chest and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
My ex-husband-turned-chosen-brother sighs but relents. “Fine. Gemma and Milosh will only be there as a preventive measure, one at a time. They won’t interfere with your life. Unless you start seeing someone more regularly. Then, it’s a full check, Lu.”
I thrust my hand for him to shake. “Deal.”
After another side hug, he’s out the door and I’m standing in the middle of my new place.
The round table with a Japanese-inspired design and velour chairs look cosy, though somewhat mismatched.
It’s something I’d have chosen for myself.
Irina knows me well. My heart lurches in my chest at the proof.
But it’s the fluffy green couch that calls out my name.
Maybe I should go out and explore my new neighbourhood.
Test a few of the cafes alongside the picturesque streets with basements flats.
But all I want to do is light one of the candles I brought with me and finish my book with a cup of tea in hand.
I choose that activity as my reward for putting my clothes and belongings away in the closet in the bedroom, and putting a fresh set of sheets on the Queen-sized bed. It only has two pillows, which is fucking sad so I start a list of things I want to get.
New throw pillows for the bed and the couch. More candles. Some plants.
I’ve been in this place for less than two hours and already, it feels more like me than the flat in London or my bedroom in France ever did.
I snap a picture and send it to Diane, with a commentary of the romance I just finished.
The night is slowly setting in when my stomach growls for food. Since I didn’t get any groceries, I decide to try my luck and put on a bright pink faux-fur jacket over the summer dress I’m wearing and opt for my platform derbies with frilly socks.
I hesitate in front of Gemma and Milosh’s door but decides against asking them to accompany me.
My heart flutters with excitement as I open the door and step down the three stairs between my building and the street.
I’ve never been a rule-breaker. I always knew the dangers of being in this life, but now, it sends a thrill through me.
Cool night air greets me. It smells like freedom. Here, no one knows me. No one can ask who my dad is, who my family is and what I can do for them. I’m just a student, getting cheap fish and chips at the corner shop.
As I stroll down the street and marvel at the architecture and the glow of the lamp posts, a familiar sensation settles on my shoulders. I stop. Turn around. Only a man in a suit looking at his phone passes me by, not even raising his eyes. I continue on and the sensation persists.
Maybe Gemma or Milosh followed me after all. They’re very stealthy, I’ll give them that.
“Hi sweetheart, what can I get ya?” the man behind the counter asks with a thick Scottish accent.
When he hands me the portion of fish and chips, I turn around and bump into a massive frame with a yelp.
Strong hands steady me and I’m so glad for them because it would have been a tragedy if my first ever fish and chips had met an untimely end on the dirty floor.
My eyes travel up to… Milosh. Looking pissed.
So he did in fact follow me. I wasn’t crazy.
“Hi, Milosh.”
He only grunts in way of response and I blush with embarrassment.
“You alright, lass?” the man who served me asks with concern.
I put on my bravest smile and tell him that everything’s fine. The shake of his head indicates he might not believe me but doesn’t give enough of a shit.
“You should have called Gemma or I, Miss Ventura,” Milosh says in a clipped tone.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I scoff. “I’m just getting some food. And please, call me Lucie.”
I gulp. His facial expression remains stoic, his eyes assessing the street around us.
So much for escaping my upbringing.
Like I always do, I plaster a grin on my face and pretend I’m fine with someone hovering over me.
Sitting on the stairs in front, a massive man next to me looking like he might kill anyone who walks by, I devour my meal.
My fingers are greasy and salt sticks to them.
It’s a very simple pleasure but something I haven’t felt in…
I think ever. I wish I were alone to enjoy it.
Or not alone, but with someone other than a bodyguard.
Someone who would love this simple pleasure, too, and wouldn’t mind the complete anonymity.
I wish I could share it with someone for whom I’d matter most.
When I’m done, I lick my fingers, throw away the container, then stride back to my flat. Milosh walks besides me, scanning the street like a guard dog.
The sensation from earlier remains. I glance over my shoulder, and I know Milosh follows my gaze.
He doesn’t slow his pace. If someone as trained as him isn’t on high alert, I’m being paranoid.
The street remains empty, the shadows unmoving.
I feel like I’m going crazy, waiting for a threat to come out. No one does.
When my bodyguard opens the front door to our building, I stay a few feet behind, straining to listen to anything strange. After a few seconds, my throat clogs and something falls at the pit of my stomach. A shiver runs up my spine, strangely pleasant, like a soft caress on my nape.
“Miss Ventura?” Milosh calls out for me and I shake myself out of the weird trance I just got in, but not before one last look at the street.
A beautiful red motorcycle is parked further away from the entrance.
I cant my head to the side and resist the urge to stalk towards it, to glide my fingers against it.
A clearing of a throat makes me jump and I walk inside, unsettled and with hairs rising on my arms.
Back into my flat, I lock myself up, turning the pink lock Irina got for me. With a hand on my hammering heart, I breathe in and out through my nose, trying to calm myself down.
I shake my head at my enthusiastic imagination.
This new environment is truly doing something to my head.
After my evening routine consisting of the coldest shower, moisturiser, and my essential oil diffuser with lavender-camomile blend, I switch off the lights and get in bed.
The light post is right in front of my window and shines bright light into my eyes.
I get up again and find the switch to lower down the electric blinds.
They only go down a few inches before they stop.
I try again, raising them up, then pressing the button. They don’t fall down, stopping at the same spot they did before.
“For Christ’s sake. Of course something’s already broken. It was too good to be true.”
Going back to my bed, I shift and turn around to avoid the light.
Sleep doesn’t come straight away. My hands glide against my upper thighs.
The raised skin there is a reminder. A mental place I never want to be in again.
I’ve felt alone after my parents died. And guilty.
And alone again in crowds of people I called friends.
Yet, there is a safety in this self-imposed loneliness I chose for myself.
In the darkness, I don’t have to hide the grief and the tears that fall to my pillow, or pretend like I don’t need nor want someone to take care of me like I wish my parents had taken care of me.
I text my family goodnight in our group chat and they all answer immediately, helping me breathe easier. Unfortunately, the text to Diane remains unread. Maybe she’s busy. Probably with her husband all over her, as he usually is.
From my place on the bed, I can see clearly the dish plate I used for keys. I don’t know what compels me to get up and remove my keys from the keychain before I bring it into bed with me, toying with the grooves in the wood of the helmet, the wine glass and the wheel.
I fall asleep with it clasped in my hand.