33. Laila
33
LAILA
“This one is beautiful!” Evelyn holds a pretty pink dress up to her chest, swaying her hips back and forth to test the twirl factor. Not that I’ll be doing any dancing tonight or anytime in the near, postpartum future.
Mom wrinkles her nose. “Laila doesn’t like florals. But this one…” She fingers an off-the-shoulder midnight blue dress with a thigh-high slit. “This one would look beautiful on you, Laila.”
“Yeah, if only I didn’t look like a beached whale.”
“You look gorgeous!” Mom chides. “Besides, beached whales don’t have men sending entire dress boutiques to their bedroom for a date night, do they?”
Arsen probably made a call and flashed a credit card under the nose of some hoity-toity designer somewhere. If he picked out even one of these dresses for me himself, I’ll eat several of the straw hats inexplicably hanging from the end of the rack. Are we going to a ballroom or a beach?
I sigh, running my hand through the gauzy blue fabric. “It is pretty. Shopping just isn’t as much fun when you’re a bazillion months pregnant.”
It’s why I chose to have Arsen send the options to the house. At least this way, I don’t have to lug my gigantic ass out in public. Plus, it meant Mom and Evelyn could be here, too. Even Polina is taking a break from her housekeeping duties to help me make a decision.
“Orange is your color, sladosti .” Polina holds a dress up to me that makes me look like an overripe mandarin.
I try to look like I’m considering it, but the pained look on my face is too obvious to miss. All three women laugh and dive back into the racks.
At least someone is enjoying Arsen’s gesture.
“Where is he taking you?” Evelyn pulls out a shimmery ball gown along with a striped sundress, taking turns holding each up to my body.
“I wish I knew. He didn’t say.”
If he did, I was a little too busy lying in the middle of the floor, resolidifying after an earth-shattering orgasm, to catch the finer details.
Mom’s eyes twinkle. “I think it’s sweet that he wants to take you out.”
Would she think it was equally sweet that the invitation came after he ate me out in the middle of my physical therapy appointment?
I’m gonna guess not. Which is why I shield her from the gorier details of our little arrangement. I sit down, pretending to need a break, while Mom and Evelyn continue hunting for the perfect dress.
Polina joins me, her voice low enough for only me to hear. “You might just enjoy yourself… if you give him a chance.”
“He’s just doing this to keep up appearances. We have to look like a real married couple.”
“Which you are.”
“Legally.”
Polina gives me a coy smile. “You two make a pretty convincing married couple, if you ask me.”
“What can I say? We’re good actors.” I deserve an Oscar for my performance at the studio this morning. He probably thought I actually wanted to have sex with him— ha .
He probably thinks he has some kind of control over me. Like, he’ll snap his fingers, and I’ll come running— ha ha.
Or he’ll snap his fingers, and I’ll come… multiple times— ha ha HA.
My cheeks burn, and I nervously run my hands over my bump. “Arsen is an especially good actor.”
Polina pats me on the knee. “You’re good for him, dear. You humanize him in so many ways.”
In which ways? I’d love to know. Nothing about Arsen felt very “human” when he loaded me into his car and drove me home without so much as a word exchanged between us the entire ride. Is the date going to be more of the same?
Maybe I should come down with something sudden and violently contagious between now and then. A nice, chesty cough.
Or leprosy.
“Well, Ms. Barnes…” The boutique owner rises from the corner where she’s been chaperoning all the fancy clothes and walks over to me. “Can I have a list of your choices?”
“Erm…” I shuffle between the options: beached whale, overripe citrus, garish rose bush. “Just the blue dress, I guess.”
“Is that all?” She peers at her assistant with an arched eyebrow.
Evelyn shakes the floral dress at me again, mouthing, “This one.”
The woman waves away her own question. “That’s alright. Mr. Adamov told us to leave behind anything you showed the slightest interest in, so we have our own list.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s okay. It’s really not?—”
“Boss’s orders. Actually, he specifically told us to leave behind ‘whatever stole your attention.’ And whatever was likely to steal his, as well.”
That explains the rack of lingerie and barely-there swimsuits currently being wheeled into my closet.
“If you have any other needs, don’t hesitate to contact us,” she says.
Mom and Evelyn are making eyes at one another, both melting into puddles over Arsen’s “generosity.” I’m tempted to ask for a time machine. Going to the boutique alone might have been the better call.
The owner leaves. Mom is still all smiles. “This was so generous of him.”
I’m almost tempted to tell her about the clothing clause in our contract, just to wipe the sly look off of her face. Technically, if he hadn’t done this, I could’ve taken him to court.
“That’s Arsen,” I mumble instead. “Generous to a fault.”
One look at the restaurant Arsen pulls up to, and I know I’m going to leave here hungry. The name is some Spanish-German fusion with both a tilde and an umlaut above the golden sign, and the women streaming in are wearing dresses tight enough I know they don’t plan to eat a single morsel. One breadstick and they’d bust a seam.
“Aaand… action,” I whisper under my breath, tugging at the empire waistband of the dress I chose.
“What?”
It’s the first thing Arsen has said to me since he told me I looked lovely back at the house. I might have believed him—I mean, the flowing white dress with gold stitching does make me feel less like a beached marine creature and more like a fertility goddess.
The problem is, Arsen looks like… Arsen.
He’s wearing a crisp button-down and fitted slacks, which is par for the course, but just the opportunity to look at him feels like a gift. Like this glimpse of gorgeous man is an apology for all the bad that exists in the world.
Expensive dress or not, I can’t compete.
“Nothing,” I sigh, looking through the window at the people waiting to get into the restaurant—my audience for tonight’s encore performance. “Let’s go.”
Arsen ushers me inside without a word, offering cursory nods to a few people, but the only person who gets his undivided attention is me.
His hand remains on my lower back as we’re shown to a table in the very center of the restaurant. Heads swivel in our direction; words are exchanged in hushed whispers. The table of women next to ours don’t even bother whispering.
“Are you seeing him?” one of them purrs.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” another cackles.
I think they lost volume control somewhere between chardonnays two and three, if the empty glasses on their table are any indication, but Arsen shows no sign of hearing them.
He slides my chair into the table and opens my menu for me, earning a chorus of awww s from our onlookers. “What are you in the mood for?”
“A private room, to start.” He raises his eyebrows and I wave him off. “I know, I know. That would defeat the purpose of this whole farce.”
“Bad day? Feel free to vent.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me.”
He reaches out suddenly, brushing his fingers against my cheek. I have to swallow down the nerves lodged in my throat. “What are you doing?”
“Playing my part.” There’s a bite in his voice despite the adoration glowing in his eyes. “Parading around as a happily married couple only works if you aren’t looking at me like you want to eviscerate me with the butter knife.”
“Hm. Didn’t think I was being that obvious about my fantasies.”
He leans in, catching my attention with his green eyes. “Is that all you fantasize about?”
“No. The fork often plays a role as well.” I grimace and reach for the menu. “Let’s just order and get this over with, okay?”
He grabs my hand, rubbing my wrist with his thumb. “Come now, wife. I can’t make all of your fantasies come true if you don’t tell me.”
“Is having sex with me part of the fa?ade?” I demand, ripping my hand away from his. “Unless you’re planning to release a sex tape, sleeping with me in private doesn’t really serve a purpose.”
“Oh, but it does, roza .”
“Yeah?” I snap. “What purpose is that?”
His mouth curves into a smile that promises way more than I’d ever dare ask for. “Making you come is all the reason I need.”
I turn away from him, trying to hide the heat crawling up my neck. The table of women next to us don’t even seem to notice I’m looking at them. They’re ignoring me in favor of keeping their eyes pinned on my husband.
“If the sex is blurring the lines for you, we can stop,” he adds as an afterthought, as though giving it up would cost him nothing.
With my luck, that just might be the truth. I see his offer for the trap it is. If I tell him I want to stop, I’m admitting something to him I can’t even admit to myself yet.
But if we don’t stop, this hole I’m stuck in is only going to get deeper.
“I’m fine. Nothing is blurred.”
He strokes a finger along my jaw, turning my face back to his. His eyes reflect the candle flickering in the middle of our table. “Are you sure? I don’t want to confuse you. If you’re starting to feel?—”
“I’m not starting to feel anything,” I interrupt. “I’m just annoyed that you hijacked my P.T. appointment. And I’m frustrated that I can’t be transparent with my mother. And I’m—” I glance over at the women still ogling Arsen, and the next words are tossed rather loudly at them. “— pissed off that people can’t seem to concentrate on their own tables !”
Finally experiencing something bordering on shame, the women look away, tittering about being caught.
I massage my fingers into my temples, trying to clear my head, even though there hasn’t been a single clear thought up there since the moment I walked into Arsen Adamov’s office eight months ago.
“Why does this place have such shitty chairs?” I mutter. “My back hurts.”
Suddenly, his knees are intertwined with mine under the table. Arsen drags my chair closer and leans me against his chest, hugging me like we aren’t in the middle of this restaurant. He works firm, soothing circles along the aching muscles of my lower back, and I moan. “What are you doing?”
“You’re eight months pregnant,” he says, as if I need reminding. “I’m taking care of you.”
It feels so good that, for the first time since we arrived at the restaurant, I don’t care who is watching.
I rest my head against his shoulder, getting a glimpse down the slightly open collar of his shirt. Tattoos slip over his skin, mingling with the scars.
I just revealed far too much about what’s going on in my head, which might be why I whisper, “You’ve never told me how you got your scars.”
Arsen’s hands freeze on my lower back, but before he can say anything, another voice cuts through the moment.
“Laila?”
I glance up, remembering all at once that we aren’t here alone, and find a man half-smiling at me over Arsen’s shoulder.
“Oh my God—Kevin?”
The last time I saw my old neighbor, he was scrawny with dyed-black bangs and an eyebrow piercing. He looks better now—healthier, with broad shoulders and a neatly pressed pinstripe shirt.
I jump up for a hug, but Kevin recoils back like I’m wielding a machete. “You’re pregnant!”
I laugh and pat my stomach. “A little bit.”
He keeps a safe amount of distance between us as he pulls me into a stiff side hug. I return it happily, flashing back to twelve years ago when we used to ride our bikes down to Lennox Street to buy ice pops every summer.
The loud and very distinct clearing of a throat has us springing apart. Kevin notices Arsen for the first time. “Hey there.”
Arsen doesn’t so much as crack a smile as his cold gaze slides back to me. “You should sit, Laila. I don’t want you on your feet for too long.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kevin apologizes. “You should definitely sit. Don’t stand on my account.”
I fix Arsen with a warning glare before turning it into a smile for Kevin. “Not at all. I’m happy to stand for you.”
I think I hear Arsen actually growl behind me, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“You should pull up a chair, Kev. It’s been too long.”
His eyes skid to Arsen. “I could… for a few minutes… but only if I’m not interrupting.”
“Actually—” Arsen starts.
I kick him under the table. “You’re not!”
Arsen’s eyes darken, but he signals to a waiter. Within seconds, a chair appears for Kevin. When I take my seat, Arsen drags it closer to his.
“So, Arsen,” I say, trying to build space between our bodies. I can feel heat radiating off of him, and it’s not the good kind. “This is Kevin O’Neal. We lived on the same street as kids. Kevin, this is Arsen Adamov.”
I stop the introduction there, but Arsen extends his hand to Kevin with a smile I have every reason not to trust and tacks on, “Laila’s husband.”
Kevin gapes. “Wow, I didn’t know you got married. When?”
“Recently,” I admit, blushing scarlet. “Very recent. It happened fast.”
“Whirlwind romance, huh?” Kevin asks, obviously not picking up on the tension in the air.
“It was definitely a whirlwind.” Arsen drapes a hand over my shoulders until my body is flush against his.
“Well, double congratulations are in order then! I’m so happy for you, Lai. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you.”
“Thanks, Kev. I appreciate that.”
He whistles low and reclines back in his seat. “I just can’t get over it. It’s been… gee, how many years since we last saw each other?”
“Seven?” I guess. “Maybe eight?”
Kevin’s gaze turns to Arsen, trying to include him because he is just that kind of guy. “I went off to college, did some traveling, and, by the time I came back home, Laila and Marie had left the neighborhood.” He turns back to me. “How is Marie? She was always such a doll.”
My smile falters, but I do my best to pick it up again. “She was diagnosed with cancer about a year ago.”
Kevin’s face scrunches. “Fuck. Laila, I’m so sorry.”
I swallow the ever-present sob in my throat. Arsen’s hand tightens around my shoulders. His fingers brush the side of my arm—up and down, up and down—in a steady rhythm that soothes the tightness in my chest.
“Yeah. It’s been a hard year.”
“I can only imagine. Mom and Dad still live on Peachtree. They always meant to get in touch. It’s weird passing that house and knowing you guys don’t live there anymore.”
“Well, Mom still owns it. We started renting it out a few years ago.”
“I heard that.” Kevin nods, his jaw tightening. “Have you heard from Charles recently?” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze slipping from me to Arsen. “I only bring him up because… well, I’ve heard some things about him since moving back to the neighborhood.”
Arsen’s breath tickles the back of my ear, but I keep my concentration on Kevin. “What have you heard?”
“That he’s sniffing around that house, for starters.”
I snort. “I’m aware. He thinks he can convince Mom to leave the house to him in her will, but I’m not letting him near it.”
“After the way the bastard left you and Marie? After everything he put her through with the divorce?” Kevin clicks his tongue angrily. “What an asshole.”
“You don’t have to worry, Kevin,” Arsen interjects. “Charles isn’t getting anywhere close to Marie, Laila, or that house. I’m taking care of it.”
Kevin’s gaze sweeps over Arsen. “No one I know has anything good to say about Charles, so it’s nice to know she’s in safe hands.”
Arsen drops a kiss on my cheek. “That she is.”
There’s a flutter in my chest that I can’t quite still. Arsen offers Kevin a sleek black business card. “If you hear anything about him—anything at all—don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Kevin slips the card into his pocket. “I’ll do that. But I’ve taken up enough of your time. Laila—” He bends down for a logistically awkward hug since Arsen refuses to remove his arm from my waist. “—it was great to see you. Congrats again, you two.”
The moment Kevin is gone, I whip around. “What was that?”
“Which part?” he asks, pushing his chair back to its original location, far away from mine.
The arm around my waist. The kiss on the cheek. The performance that never, even for a second, felt like a performance.
“Giving Kevin your card,” I say instead. “My father is not your problem.”
“Laila,” he says, locking eyes with me even though there’s no one around to witness it, “anything that affects you is my problem.”