2. Lennie #2
It doesn’t help that my memory is muddled. As a kid we had free range, playing all the time over here. Now visits are few and far between and Yelena likes her renovations. With the bathroom I remember out of commission, I awkwardly turn, my tail tucked between my legs.
And make direct contact with gray eyes that shine like silver from across the room.
Elijah’s smile is more of a smirk. A reincarnation of the Cheshire Cat. He’s on the other side of the living room, guests and servers milling around him, but his gaze never wavers.
He tucks a hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of liquor. The Zimins are all disgustingly good-looking. Elijah’s brown hair is fairer than his brothers, his eyes lighter, but he’s tall and broad-shouldered like he works out a lot.
I don’t work out at all and my muscles are reminded of this when they start to shake.
Elijah does this shit all the time. He stares at people like they’re about to be his next meal. The annoying thing about it, though, is the smiling.
Who smiles before they kill someone?
A psychopath.
And I know that’s exactly how my mom and sisters would categorize Elijah.
If I was Adeline, I’d flick my hair back and make a face. Smirk or pout, not giving a damn. Nat would roll her eyes, annoyed but unbothered because she has so many more important things to do.
I, however, would like the ground to swallow me whole.
I am not meant for such places as this. Fancy parties.
I’m wearing a nice designer dress, but I can never be fucked to wear heels.
I don’t know how, much to my mom’s chagrin.
Normally, I don’t care about rocking sneakers, but now I’m noticing how short and stubby I am compared to all the gorgeous gazelles in the room.
Get the fuck out of here, Lennie.
I bolt.
Or try to.
All the hallways on this side of the living room are out of bounds. The only other hallway is on the opposite side of the room. I’ll have to cut across.
Elijah’s eyes sear into me as I try to walk by in an unbothered manner.
I’m willing to bet there’s amusement on his face as he watches. That’s who he is. Always happy to make others squirm.
And I am squirming.
At this rate, someone’s probably wondering if I’m about to shit my pants.
I hate being a nervous wreck.
It doesn’t help that I swear this place has more staff than guests. I slip through, and another one asks if I need help.
“No, no, thank you,” I cry over my shoulder.
“The party is that way,” another one says.
For fuck’s sake.
“I need the bathroom.”
“That way, ma’am.”
I blink when I open the door the staff pointed me to. “This is a fucking closet.” I swing back around but find the hall empty.
I close the door, picking another at random. Feet echo on the hardwood floor behind me so I scurry inside what is thankfully the bathroom.
Most people would sigh and say a silent prayer of thanks.
My dumb ass keeps walking. It’s a nice bathroom by all means, but if I thought I was going to escape into Narnia, I’m sorely mistaken.
But for some reason, the need to escape doesn’t leave me. Since my limbs don’t get the memo either, I tear the shower curtain open and step into the bathtub.
For one whole second, I stand there.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I ask myself, feeling the muscles in my face contract as I analyze my own stupidity.
Which only grows tenfold when the door opens—actually opens—because I didn’t lock it behind me.
I have done some awkward things in my life, but standing in the shower at a party while other guests use the toilet is a new low.
Can’t wait to tell Janis about this one.
Who am I kidding? This is too embarrassing to even tell my therapist.
The door opens again and heels stomp.
“Did my son fuck you well?”
Shit, that’s Yelena. My mouth drops open as I realize who she must be talking to.
I don’t think I could ever explain to anyone how insane Yelena sounds right now. She berates her new daughter-in-law and then there’s the unmistakable sound of a slap.
My own cheek tingles at how harshly it echoes.
“Know your place whore.” Feet stomp out the door.
My mouth remains hanging open but it doesn’t end there. Nope. The fucking shower curtain flings open.
“What the actual fuck?” Russet Smith says to me before she steps into the tub herself.
Kill me now.
We stare at one another while someone pees. Talk about instant bonding.
“What the fuck were you doing in the bathtub?” she asks when the door closes. She rushes to lock it.
I can’t keep track of the number of times I apologize as I climb out after her.
“Why were you hiding in the bathroom?” she asks.
“I freaked out! There were people. A person. And I tried to hide and I’m sorry, the door didn’t lock, and I’m so sorry.”
“Did the person chase you into the bathroom?”
I can see where she’d be mistaken. But no, I did this all on my own, weirdly.
“So you. . .”
My mother’s hatred of Yelena isn’t unfounded. Even as kids, my sisters and I tiptoed around the woman. Lev is easygoing despite his shadowy connections, his features always full of life, and his love of snacks well known to us kids.
Yelena was more of a sit quietly in the corner or mommy’s going to scream type of caregiver.
And if the three Akatov daughters were loud and caused her disdain, I can’t imagine how often the boys got on her nerves. I know for a fact Elijah went out of his way to make her life hell.
“Did it hurt?” I ask gently.
“It’s fine.” She clears her throat, her spine straightening.
Show no fear. Show no weakness. Maybe she’ll get along better with the Zimins than we think.
“That was really cruel,” I whisper, hoping she knows it’s not okay. That we're not all like that.
She stares at me strangely. “Who are you?”
“Oh, right. I’m Leonora. But everyone calls me Lennie.”
“Do you make a habit of hiding in showers?”
“Yeah, sorry. I. . .”
“You think we could get away with hiding here all night?”
I would desperately love that, but of course, someone begins to knock on the door.
We slip out of the restroom, Russet trailing after me. Frustratingly, the party’s grown in size. After grabbing fresh drinks, Max joins us.
Nat always called him a momma’s boy and I’m inclined to agree. They hover close and I search for signs of coldness. If anything it’s like her muscles relax. Shouldn’t it be the opposite if your new mother-in-law just assaulted you?
This world we live in. It’s Mom’s voice I hear, and if there’s anyone who understands how closely love and violence are intertwined in life, it’s her.
Nat catches my eye, raising a brow. I smile at Russet, knowing I’ll get nothing from the stony Maxim, and slip away to my sisters.
Adeline is by my side in an instant. “Did you talk to her?”
I make a face, telling her to lower her voice. I don’t want to spread gossip.
But even Nat is curious. “What do you think of her?”
Russet’s got to know every single person is sizing her up in some shape or fashion. We’re no better as we glance over.
Elijah’s still in the room.
I don’t ask them to protect me, but like always, my sisters edge closer.
It’s useless. Elijah will stare all night, not giving a damn about how annoying the other Akatov women find it.
Adeline and Nat continue to trade questions back and forth. I dig my phone out of my pocket. And yes, I only wore this dress because it has pockets.
I have his number, like I have all the Zimin’s numbers.
Lennie: Don’t be mean to Russet.
It takes only a minute to get a reply.
Elijah: And why would I do that, Leonora?
He’s no longer in the living room, but I swear his ghost remains as I ponder a response. How do I explain it’s probably a good idea to never leave Russet in a room alone with Yelena?
Lennie: Because somebody’s got to balance out Yelena’s hatred towards her.
And if there’s anybody who understands Yelena’s hatred, it’s Elijah.