15. Laila
15
LAILA
“Why can’t I just stay home?” I twist and turn in the mirror, trying to get used to myself in the sight of something without an elastic waistband, as I talk to Kira on the phone. “This is stupid.”
“This is tradition. Also, you haven’t been out in months. This could be fun.” I let Kira’s words hang unanswered until she sighs. “It might not be awful, at the very least.”
“Wrong,” I insist. “It will be torture. It’s supposed to be torture. Torture is what Arsen Adamov does best.”
As soon as Arsen knocked on my bedroom door last night, I knew there was trouble. Not only was he breaking the cardinal rule of my demand for space by coming to my room himself instead of using a middleman, but when he asked me to accompany him to this dinner, he actually said, “Please.”
“I don’t think tonight is about you, Laila,” says Kira, the sound of her washing machine humming in the background of our call. “I mean, Arsen asked you to come with him… nicely. ”
“Yeah, but the manners were a trick.” I keep squinting in the mirror. “If I’d refused, he would’ve ripped my door off the hinges and carried me to dinner anyway. I have no control.”
No control over where I live, what I do, or who I can see. Arsen has the world on a string, and I’m just another one of his puppets.
“It still seems like a step in the right direction,” she argues. “Don’t kill the messenger, but he is doing this for you. This alliance is to keep you safe. A few months ago, the Italians wanted to kill you. Now, you’re going to dinner with them. That seems like a move in the right direction.”
“Except the direction I want to be moving is away from Arsen. He gets to send me away and bring me back and control every detail of my life, and I just have to go along with it. It’s not fair. Also, I don’t have anything to wear.” I strip my blouse off and toss it into the pile of every other item of clothing I own that doesn’t work for tonight. “Can I make a lasting alliance in sweatpants?”
Suddenly, Kira gasps. I know she’s in her house next door, but that doesn’t stop me from spinning around and looking over my own shoulder anyway. “What? What’s happening? What was that sound for?”
“That was the sound of me having a brilliant idea.”
“Oh, great. It sounded a lot like your there’s-a-murderer-behind-you sound, so I got confused.”
She ignores me and continues. “I think you’ve been playing this all wrong, babe. You don’t want to avoid Arsen.”
“Um, actually, yes, I do. That’s all I want. You haven’t been listening.”
“No, I mean— You’ve been away for months. He hasn’t seen you in months . Arsen is well-versed in what it’s like to be without you,” she explains. “If you really want to make him suffer… show him what he lost.”
I don’t know that I want to make Arsen suffer. Then again, it would make the night more interesting. Why should I be the only one having a miserable time?
“What did you have in mind?”
Kira’s plan has some pros and cons.
Pro: The only thing better than avoiding Arsen is watching him almost swallow his tongue admiring what he can’t have.
As soon as I appear at the top of the stairs, sliding my hands down the corset top of the little black dress I dug out of the closet, Arsen’s eyes are locked on me. This is the first time Arsen has seen me in a dress when I’m not ginormously pregnant, and this dress is really highlighting the goods.
Con: Arsen also came to play.
He looks edible in a dark gray suit over a fitted black sweater. Over the months we were together, I built up a tolerance to the effortless way Arsen could wear a trash bag and still make my heart race. But after being sent away, I’m an Arsen Adamov lightweight.
I’m so struck tracing the broad sweep of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist in his jacket that I stumble on the last step down to the car.
He grabs my hand, catching me before I twist an ankle in the heels Kira insisted I wear.
Another con: If I don’t end the night in a full leg cast, it’ll be a miracle.
His hand is warm and steady, and I squeeze his fingers before the logical part of my brain can scream at me to stop.
Arsen exhales. “Laila, you look?—”
I snatch my hand away and turn to the line of cars idling behind Arsen’s in the drive. “What’s with all the security?”
It seems to take actual effort for him to drag his eyes away from me. Take that, I think bitterly. “Just an added precaution for the night.”
“I thought this was about making an alliance.”
“It is.” He pulls open the door, and the meaning is clear: Be quiet. Get in.
He holds out a hand to help me into the passenger seat, but I brush past it and get in on my own.
Because tonight, he may be able to claim my time, but he can’t have me .
Even still, I feel his eyes on me as we drive. His attention flits between the road and me the entire way to the restaurant, but he never says a word. No compliments. No idle chit-chat. While the silence stacks around us, my revenge plot starts to feel juvenile.
I buried my mother six weeks ago, and now, I’m pulling a She’s All That on my own husband?
If I’m smart—which this tight-ass corset is telling me I’m anything but—I’ll keep my head down and get through this dinner without any extra drama.
That’s the decision I’ve come to as I’m striding towards the bronzed double doors with my best everything-is-fine-and-normal face on.
Then Arsen grabs my elbow and pulls me to a stop. “This dinner is important, Laila.”
“It better be. You broke our arrangement to drag me here.”
His eyes dip down to my cleavage before he can haul them back to my face. “This alliance is— It’s imperative that the outside world doesn’t become aware of our situation.”
I scowl, my thin facade slipping fast. “The situation where you abandoned me and our daughter, but now want me to pretend to play house with you? Is that the ‘situation’ you’re referring to? Or is there something else I should know?”
Something I can’t read flashes across his face. It’s gone as quick as it arrives, and Arsen just looks tired. “I know you hate my guts right now, but— Fuck. For tonight, I need you to pretend that you don’t.”
“These people wanted to kill me a few months ago. I don’t see why I should care what they think of our marriage.”
Again, something flickers across his face. Then he takes a step closer, swallowing me in his heat and the woodsy smell of him. “Laila. Please.”
I really am a lightweight now. My heart is thundering in my chest, but I ignore it.
With a forced sigh, I grudgingly turn into his side and drag his arm around my waist. Arsen’s hand tightens on my hip, igniting a zing of something I refuse to name. “If you even think about touching me under the table, I’ll stab a fork into your hand.”
Enzo and his wife are already at our table when we arrive. Guilia jumps up when she sees us. She rushes forward to greet me with a hug, ripping Arsen’s hand away and stealing me for herself. Her red dress covers all of her bits and bobs like Enzo is campaigning to be a senator. Meanwhile, I look like a senator’s mistress.
“It’s so lovely to see you again, sweetheart!” She kisses each of my cheeks. “You look wonderful. An absolute vision. You have to tell me where you got that dress.”
I mumble my thanks and compliment her, too, but we’ve only been here sixty seconds, and I’m already running on fumes. I thought I could play pretend for one night, but how am I supposed to match Guilia’s energy?
“I’m so excited to get to know you better.” She clasps both of my hands in hers. “This is going to be the first of many dinners, I’m sure. I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.”
Many dinners to come.
A lifetime of standing next to Arsen and hiding my true feelings. Of disappearing behind the mask of this person I never wanted to be.
The weight of it is crushing, squeezing my chest even more than the corset. I’m so distracted by it that I barely notice when Guilia drops my hands and turns to look at my husband.
“And you…” Instead of a hug, he gets a sharp fingernail to the chest. “You are a complete ass!”
I blink out of my doom-and-gloom spiral, suddenly entranced by the scowl pulling at the corners of Guilia’s red lips.
“I cannot believe you are forcing this dinner on your wife mere weeks after she buried her mother,” she snaps. “It’s ridiculous! Honestly, the things you men expect of us simply because you have a deal to close: repulsive.”
My jaw drops. Arsen just raises his brows and turns to Enzo.
“Guilia, darling…” Enzo clears his throat awkwardly. “Forgive me, Arsen. My wife has a mind of her own, and I have very little luck reining her in. I’ve found it’s best to conserve my energy.”
Guilia rolls her eyes as she turns to me. “Yes, Laila, never forget: the men need lots of energy to smoke cigars and toast to themselves and their many successes.”
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I smile.
Enzo takes Guilia’s hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “She’s fiery, and that’s why I love her.”
Arsen slaps a thin smile on his face. I feel his eyes shift towards me as he says, “I’m intimately familiar with her type—as beautiful as they are hot-headed.”
Guilia lowers herself into the chair next to her husband. “You can rain down compliments all you want, Arsen Adamov. Flattery won’t work on me.”
Just like that, there’s a break in the clouds hanging over my head. Guilia speaks her mind with her husband. Maybe I won’t have to pretend around them. Maybe I won’t have to paper over all the cracks in my marriage to keep them from putting another bounty on my head.
“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Arsen chuckles. “Enzo, I like your wife.”
Enzo sighs as he droops an arm around Guilia’s shoulders. “Me, too. So much in fact, I’ve decided to hold off a little longer on wife number two.”
She smacks his arm, but he just presses a kiss to her cheek.
Within minutes, it becomes apparent that Guilia isn’t just open about her thoughts—she’s also open about her feelings. And she loves her husband.
Enzo and Guilia are perfectly in sync. It’s not just the way they play off one another conversationally—it’s the way they move around each other, finding excuses to touch and play and share the same air. If there’s a break in the conversation for even a moment, they kiss, their eyes locking as though they’re the only two people in the room.
I thought I wanted honesty. To not have to hide how I really feel.
I thought I wanted to sit next to Arsen, never touching more than is required, only speaking when spoken to.
But as I watch Enzo and Guilia, I find I want what they have.
And I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt to know it can never be mine again.