35. Laila
35
LAILA
My alignment is all out of whack. Every pose I attempt feels stilted. My muscles are aching and my hip is on fire.
What kind of yoga instructor can’t even move through a basic vinyasa flow without wincing in pain? Oh, right, the nonexistent kind. Because I am so failing this test tomorrow.
I push through the discomfort and lift my leg, bringing the bottom of my foot to the side of my knee. Tree pose. Even a clumsy toddler can do Tree pose.
I close my eyes and do my best to breathe through the anxiety clenching my chest. But the second my lids close, the world goes topsy-turvy. I pinwheel my arms, trying to reclaim my balance, but it’s no use. I feel myself tipping sideways just as strong arms wrap around my waist.
Oh, thank God.
The moment of relief is short-lived as I shriek and shove away from whoever is holding me.
“Laila, it’s me.”
I twist in Arsen’s arms, squinting up at him. “Do you know what time it is? Why are you still awake?”
I left Nina asleep in her nursery and Arsen alone in bed. I would’ve gone out to the lawn to practice, but the grass was already a bit dewy, so I set up shop in the sun room instead.
“I could ask you the same thing. It’s three in the morning. You should be asleep.”
“My tests are coming up,” I explain shyly. “I wanted to get in a little extra practice.”
“You practice plenty.”
“You just caught me falling out of Tree pose, Arsen. TREE POSE. That’s, like, the first yoga position they teach you. It’s just standing on one leg, and I fell.”
“Because it’s three in the morning.”
But I’m already talking over him, assuming another position I’ll probably fall out of. “And just look at my Cobra pose. The angle of my neck is all wrong. I can feel my muscles straining. That’s not supposed to happen.”
“I’ve seen you do that pose before.”
“Yeah, back when I was young and agile?—”
“Last week?”
“Back when I had hope!” I throw my hands up. “But look at me now! I’ve been fooling myself. I’m washed up. A fraud.”
Arsen smooths his hands across my tense shoulders. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m thinking clearly!” I fire back, brushing him off. “I’m not ready for this. I should just postpone my test. Maybe I should take the course again. Or maybe I should give it up, and get a new dream. A safe dream. Like, I dunno… stamp collecting. Knitting. Underwater basket weaving.”
I’m pacing back and forth across the room when Arsen snatches me around the waist again and pins me to his chest. His green eyes are sleepy, but his grip is sure. “Don’t take this the wrong way, beautiful, but you’re nuts.”
I slap his arms away. “You’re the one who’s nuts. You thought I could do this.”
“Because you can. I’ve watched you practice for months now,” he replies calmly. “You’ve been working towards this test for years. You’re ready.”
I bite my lip, wincing as I lean to my other leg.
Arsen catches the movement. “The problem is that your hip is giving you trouble.”
“… Maybe a little bit.”
“That’s because you’re stressing out.” He palms my hip, kneading the joint. “That hip is your mood gauge. As soon as you’re stressed, it flares up. So let’s get you unstressed. Show me some positions.”
“What?”
He squeezes my butt. “You heard me. You’re way too in your head to view things clearly, so I’m going to view it for you. Get into some of your twisty positions, and I’ll tell you if they’re satisfactory.”
“You’re not trained for this.”
He nudges me towards my yoga mat. “When it comes to calming you down, I’m an expert. Go ahead.”
“I… Okay. Fine,” I sigh, turning to my mat. Giving in is easier than arguing with him sometimes. It’s like debating a brick wall. “Let me start with Warrior pose. It’s good for opening your hips.”
I stretch one leg in front of me, leaning deep into the aching joint. Though, with Arsen’s eyes raking over my body, I hardly feel the pain in my hip.
I lean into the stretch, bending to touch my toes as I straighten my legs. Then, slowly, I twist at the waist and reach one arm towards the ceiling. “This is Triangle pose.”
“It looks fantastic.” Arsen’s eyes dip to my chest. “How does it feel?”
“Not horrible,” I admit. “Better than anything else has for the last hour.”
I put both hands to the mat and switch positions, pressing my hips towards the ceiling.
“What’s this one?” Arsen growls from behind me.
“ Adho Mukha Svanasana .” If I make a little extra show of wiggling my ass in the air, I’ll never tell. “Otherwise known as ‘Downward Dog.’”
Arsen circles me slowly, moving closer with every pass. Finally, he steps behind me, his hands coming to rest lightly on my waist.
“Arsen…”
“I’m here to help, remember?” As he speaks, he pulls my ass against his crotch, grinding our bodies together slowly.
“How is this helping?”
“Just breathe, Laila . Relax. Forget I’m here.”
As if I could ever do that. I almost lose my balance in a burst of laughter. Ironically, it does relax me. “How do I look now?”
“Fucking incredible.”
With a laugh, I collapse and roll out of the position. “Just so you know, you’re not helping in the slightest.”
“I’d say I’m doing wonders. Now, what’s next?”
“I don’t think this is?—”
He points at the mat and possession roars to life in his eyes. His voice drops, his posture straightens, and it’s like he grows another six inches taller as he snarls, “Get on your hands and knees and show me what’s next, roza.”
Well, okay then. At your service.
Clamping down on the inside of my cheek to keep a fluttery little gasp from escaping into the world where it will no doubt cause all sorts of trouble, I lie down and assume Bridge pose. Shoulders and the soles of my feet to the mat while I arch my back to send my hips high toward the ceiling.
I’m shaking, not with the effort of the pose, but with a nervous anticipation as Arsen circles around me once again. I feel like a steak tossed into a lion’s cage—and to be clear, I mean that in the best way possible. The pain in my hip is long since forgotten.
Arsen kneels in front of me. One hand grips my hip as he slides between my legs. His eyes burn a path up my body, and I can feel the heat of him simmering through his clothes. He is achingly close to exactly where I want him.
Suddenly, I’m not as interested in the test as I am in the man kneeling in front of me. I start to slump out of the pose so I can reach for him, but he catches me by the ankle.
“Mrs. Adamov,” Arsen chastises, “you have a lot of practicing to do.”
“I’m looking to try a few different partner positions. I could really use your help.”
He only shakes his head. “Show me what’s next.”
I gulp. Slowly, I spin belly-down. My arms go long and lithe, reaching out in front of me, as I rock back on my heels into Child’s pose. By the time I settle in and sigh with the relief of the stretch, my ass is mere inches from his hand.
When I feel his fingers ghosting along my waistband, that sigh gets caught in my throat. But I don’t say anything; that would only break the spell.
Instead, as he slowly, slowly, sofuckingslowly peels my yoga pants down the curve of my waist, I don’t speak a single word. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I just hold the pose as he bares me.
It’s only when I can feel the cool air of the room wafting between my thighs that I lick my lips and try to say something.
“Ar—”
But I only get a single syllable out before he reaches up and clamps a hand over my mouth.
“Hush,” he growls in that same commanding voice he used to boss me back down to the mat. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Laila.” A single fingertip strokes up and down the outer boundary of my wetness. I shudder, but he plasters his weight along my spine to keep me right where I am. “I’m going to make you come. You’re going to moan into my hand and see stars, but you’re going to stay right where you are. If you’re a good girl, you get my fingers. If you’re a very good girl, you get my tongue. And when I’m finished making you gush all over me, I’m going to carry you upstairs, rinse you off, and pull you back into bed with me. And you’re going to sleep the best you’ve ever slept. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”
I nod.
And if there’s one thing you can say for certain about Arsen Adamov, it’s this:
He is a man of his word.
“We’re going to be late,” I mutter for the millionth time since we left the house half an hour ago.
“We’re not going to be late.”
Arsen eases the car along the curb, taking his time straightening the wheels and altogether being relaxed in a way I’m no longer capable of. Least of all today.
“The test starts in—” I check the clock on the dash and my chest tightens. “—two hours.”
He kills the engine and pats my knee. “And we’re fifteen minutes away. I think you have time for a pitstop.”
“I just want to get there early. Just in case…”
“In case the parking lot opens up and swallows you whole on your way inside?” Arsen bites back a smirk. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll carry you inside myself if that will make you feel better.”
I almost regret telling him about my nightmare last night.
It was midday—sunny and bright—and I was crossing the asphalt parking lot to walk through the doors and take my certification test, but the building kept moving farther and farther away. I ran, but it was like my feet were encased in cement. I was practically crawling on all fours to make it, but I hadn’t even reached the doors before my classmates were pouring out with their test results in their hands, cheering and celebrating their success.
Then the parking lot opened up and swallowed me whole.
“It was very realistic,” I mumble.
Arsen ignores me, walking around the car to open my door. I try to pretend like I’ll resist and stay in my seat, but the moment he holds a hand out to me, I can’t stop myself from taking it.
He pulls me onto the sidewalk of a narrow street lined with small businesses. There’s a tailor, a used bookstore, a coffee shop, and a deli.
“Are we here for lunch?”
“Are you hungry?” He arches a brow as he looks down at me.
My stomach churns nervously. “No. Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t think so. Which is why I have something better in mind. Consider it motivation.”
I snort. “I have plenty of that. The threat of being a failure, disappointing my mother from beyond the grave, and having no future prospects is all pretty motivating.”
He squeezes my hand tighter. “Okay, then, consider this motivation that isn’t a massive bummer.”
So I might be a bit doomsday-ish about the yoga certification. It’s only because I’ve been training for months, and I spent countless hours away from Nina. If it was all for nothing, I’ll be embarrassed to show my face at home. Also, I’ll feel the need to pay my own husband back for the wasted investment.
Those are the thoughts swirling around my head as Arsen stops in front of a blank storefront.
The windows are papered over and a “For Lease” sign is hanging in the glass.
Before I can ask what we’re doing here or request again that we get back in the car so I can pace outside the academy for the next two hours, anxiously awaiting the start of the test, Arsen pulls out a key and unlocks the front door.
“What is this?”
“I already told you: motivation.” Arsen ushers me into the dark space.
I’m a few steps into the room when the lights flicker on. There’s a low hum coming from the fluorescents.
“I’m thinking we replace those with something softer,” he says, tipping his chin towards the lights. “Calming. Zen . Isn’t that what you yogis say?”
I pace across the shiny, hardwood floors. The walls are a dusty beige, torn remnants of wallpaper left behind. A few broken shelves are piled in one corner, along with what might be a rat trap, but I do my best to not think about that.
“What are you gonna do with it?” Between his sleek office at Adamov Industries, his office at the house, and now, Pobeda, I can’t imagine what this place would be used for.
“Me? Nothing.” He shrugs. “Giving it to you was my only plan.”
I spin towards him, my shoe squeaking on the hardwood. “What?”
“I figure once you pass your test, you’ll need a place to set up shop. This studio is on the smaller side, but I have eyes on a few other spaces in the city once you’re ready to expand.”
I see his mouth moving. I hear the words coming out. But all I can do is shake my head.
“What?” I breathe again.
Arsen closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around my waist. “This is going to be your yoga studio, Laila.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I don’t even have my certification yet.”
He winks at me. “You’ll get it.”
“And if I fail?”
“Like I said, you’ll get it. If you fail, you’ll try again. I’m not worried about it.”
That makes one of us.
“Arsen, you can’t—” I wipe tears from my cheeks. “How much did this place cost?”
He waves me off. “Once your yoga empire is up and running, I’ll make my money back and then some. Consider this my second formal investment in the Laila Adamov business.”
I try to argue with him, but as I look around the room… I can see it.
A little paint, some softer lighting, a water feature in the corner—this could work.
This could be mine.
I don’t realize I’m openly weeping until Arsen pulls me against his chest and pats my back. “Come on now. You have a test to get to still. We should probably get going if you want to get there insanely early and check the parking lot for sinkholes.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. I turn in his arms, my head resting back against his chest. He wraps his arms around me, holding me in the center of the room.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “I want to stay here with you for a few more minutes.”