14. Adriana
14
ADRIANA
I can't believe he left me with his family. His father, or rather his stepfather, is a scary looking man. He's powerfully built, with salt and pepper hair, more grey than dark, and stern eyes. He radiates an aura of control, which matches that of Dimitri.
Thankfully, after busying himself in the fridge, he exits the kitchen and strolls into the garden beyond. He says he's going to start grilling. He comes back a moment later and grabs a couple of beers and then steps outside again. For some reason Jacob makes me uncomfortable.
There’s something calculating and cold about the man. Dimitri's mother is a lovely woman, though. She’s strikingly beautiful and has such a warmth to her face; there's something almost beatific about her. And his stepsister, Nataliya, is arrogant and cocky, but funny as hell. She's the sort of girl that if I were a few years younger I would have given anything to be like. She's probably the sort of girl that if we'd have gone to school together, she would have bullied me, but I try not to let that get to me.
After all, I don’t want to make an enemy of her before I’ve even begun. I can’t figure out what is happening here. Dimitri blows hotter and colder than a San Francisco July.
We shared that passionate moment back on the yacht, but he’s been all business ever since. I don’t think he left me here because he wants me to get to know his family, but because he needs somewhere to park me while he goes off and does mobster things.
His mother busies herself with her baking while Nataliya seems increasingly bored by it.
“Do you want to come to my room and try some clothes on?” she asks after a while. “I could give you a makeover too.”
“She doesn't need a makeover,” Dimitri’s mother says. “She's a lovely girl.”
“Of course she is, but even lovely girls like a little bit of help sometimes. There’s lovely, and then there's hot. I think I could make you look hot,” she says with an evil grin.
Jacob returns to the room at that moment and gives his daughter a sharp glance. “No woman should try to look hot, not when she could be beautiful instead. Beautiful is eternal and classy; hot is fleeting and cheap.”
Wow, talk about the morality police. Nataliya rolls her eyes.
“Lighten up, Daddy. I'm only playing.” She runs over to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him on the cheek. His face changes in an instant. The austere facade crumbles, and as he smiles, maps of lines web the corners of his eyes, and the color of them lightens slightly and warms to a rich amber.
Jacob is absolutely wrapped around his daughter's finger. It makes him a lot less scary when I witness their interaction.
“Can we go upstairs for a while, please?” she asks.
“Of course, but don't use my makeup,” Dimitri’s mother warns.
“I would never, ” Nataliya says with a hand on her heart as if it's the most outrageous thing she's ever heard.
She takes hold of my hand and leads me out of the room. I tread the stairs after her, gawping at the absolute splendor of this house. Where Dimitri’s home was all modern sleek lines, this is opulence and sensual curves, with soft fabrics.
“Your home is absolutely gorgeous,” I say to her in awe.
She shrugs. “It's a bit fuddy-duddy and old-fashioned. I prefer the way Dimitri has his place. When I get my own place, which will probably be right next to Dimitri’s, much to his dismay, I'm going to do it out Versace style.”
I don't really know what Versace style is, but I smile at her as if I do. This is how I used to be, with the girls at school and the girls at college. Always trying to fit in. Always trying to be liked. Mostly failing. Except with Sian.
I miss my bestie with a pang of physical pain. What I wouldn’t give to be with her in her rambling home right now. Her home is an actual country estate in the UK. Barnaby, her father, is a widower and says he sees me as a second daughter. Not only do I have my own room, but my own rain boots and jacket, both at their place by the side door, next to theirs. Dimitri warned me not to call anyone, but it wouldn’t hurt to call her. Would it? She’s not even in this country, and she has no connection with my stepmother or the guys who took me.
We reach the top of the stairs and walk down a long corridor, covered in such a thick, plush carpet that I could lie on it and just rest my cheek against it. “Oh, my word,” I gasp in delight.
“What?” Nataliya looks at me as if I've lost my mind.
“That.” I point ahead of me, absolutely transfixed. In front of us is a huge, mullioned window, and in front of that is a window seat with the most intricate and ornate cushions at either end. On either side of the small alcove stands a large bookcase full of books. At the top of each bookcase sits a proud Staffordshire pottery dog.
Aware that it's bad manners, but unable to stop my legs from moving, I walk away from Nataliya and head to this vision of heaven. As I approach the window, my fingers trail the bookshelves, my skin brushing along the spines of the books, most of them leatherbound. I reach the window and look down to see nothing but long, lawned perfection stretching into the distance. “This is incredible. Do you spend hours sitting here every day?”
“And doing what?” She wrinkles her nose. “It's just the window. There's nothing beyond it but the garden. It's so boring and manicured. I like wild gardens. Loads of bright, messy plants. My stepmother likes it like this. Manicured and green. I love her to bits, but her gardening taste is dire.”
“But the books,” I say, breathless. “There are so many, and lots are seemingly early editions. Look at those beautiful leather spines. And I love those dogs.”
“Those old pottery things?” She shakes her head and laughs. “Did you come from another century? This stuff is so boring. I'm going to show you something that's going to make you gasp in delight; come with me.”
We step into a bedroom, and I know it's hers the minute we step inside. It’s decorated in soft lilac with accents of dove grey, and I must admit it looks nice even though it isn’t my taste.
“Your room in stunning.”
“Thank you; I chose the colors myself. I didn't mean the room, though. I meant this.” She grabs my hand again and pulls me forward before opening a door and leading me into a huge walk-in closet. I do gasp but more in shock.
She takes my stunned silence afterword for the delight she’s searching for if her grin is anything to go by.
The walls to the left and right of me are filled with a long rail on which hang dress after dress, with jacket after jacket, and trousers after trousers. They are color coded, and it all appears to be very expensive even to my untrained eye. The back of the room consists of floor-to-ceiling shelves, the bottom half of which hold shoes, and the top half bags. There's a small ladder on wheels, the kind you see in libraries.
“Isn't it magical?” she breathes.
I prefer the bookshelves myself, but I don't tell her that. It's clear this is her pride and joy.
“It's amazing,” I say. The people pleaser in me is in full flow. “It must have taken you ages.”
“I didn't build it, of course. Daddy paid for that. But I put everything on display myself.”
She says it as if putting her own clothes away in her huge custom-built closet is something to be congratulated on. I almost gave her a sarcastic little round of applause, but then remember I'm trying to be her friend.
“When Dimitri asked me to buy you clothes because Janice was sick, I didn't know anything about you. He gave me your size, and that’s it. Anyway, I knew you were one of the poor girls kept on that boat by those horrible men, and I didn’t know what had happened to you.” Her face is serious as if this is very important to her. “I didn’t want to make you a further temptation, not when there were going to be lots of men hanging around, so I got you Upper East Side matron style clothes. Do you see?”
I'm trying hard to follow her logic here.
“You know, so that the men wouldn't think you were hot.” She laughs loudly. “I hadn't met you then, and obviously if I had I would have realized that nothing was going to stop them from thinking you were hot. It was a cunning plan, though, right?” She grins at me. “So anyway, that was my plan. Lots of grown-up, very expensive and very boring clothing. Not sexy. Then I saw the way my brother was looking at you today.”
Her words jolt me. Now I’m interested. “How was he looking at me?” I can't stop myself from asking. I want to know what she saw in his face. After all, she knows him.
She giggles. “Oh, he looked at you like it was a hot summer day and you were a huge melting ice cream. Just in case you're not aware of what I mean by that, my brother loves ice cream. That man eats nothing but protein, and he hasn't touched anything with sugar in it for years, except for ice cream. It's the one thing he can't resist. You're his ice cream.”
“I am?” I ask.
“Girl, he wants to lick you all over and go back for seconds.”
I giggle in shock at that. I'm quite surprised she's talking about her brother that way.
“I’m glad,” she says passionately. “He needs to settle down. He needs to have a baby or something. Otherwise, he’s just going to get old and bitter. I mean, once he gets to forty, nobody's going to look at him. Doesn't matter how much he works out in the gym; he's just going to be an old man.”
“I don't think forty makes someone an old man, does it?”
“Absolutely it does. You become invisible. I read about it.” She shudders. “Hopefully, before I get anywhere near that point, they’ll have a drug that stops aging.”
“I'm not sure that your brother would be classed as a normal man.”
“He might let himself go and develop a dad bod,” she says.
I laugh at the very thought. From what I’ve seen of his physique, I can’t imagine it.
“Either way, he needs to find himself a wife. Plus, I really want to be an auntie.”
“I don't think he looks at me like he’d have a baby with me,” I say. My head is spinning. Nataliya is a lot!
“Not yet he doesn't. He's still at the ice cream stage. But no one else has been at that stage with him. Or, at least, none that I've ever seen. I'm sure he must have had sex or something.” She shudders. “After all, he's a man.” She rolls her eyes as if in despair. “He's never brought anybody here, though. He's never demanded that I go buy a woman a load of clothes. He's never, ever, ever left anyone with our family to have lunch. And he’s never, triple ever kissed a woman on the head like she’s precious to him.” She smirks proudly, watching me intently.
“Do you want to be his ice cream?” she asks.
“I think I like him.” I feel my face burning.
“Oh my God, your blush is the cutest thing I've ever seen.”
“Right.” She claps her hands and looks around her closet. “We need to get you looking so hot that he's going to be dragging his tongue on the kitchen floor when he comes home. Like a dog. ” She says the last bit with such emphasis it makes me laugh.
“Let me think.” She eyes me up and down. “Quite slim like me, but you have a lot more going on up here.” She mimics holding her breasts. Then she glares at my hips as if they’ve personally slighted her. “Curvier hips too. I don't think my pants are going to fit you. But my skirts and dresses might.”
She rummages through the racks of dresses. “No, not your color. Now let's see.” She stares at me critically. “You're on the cool end of the color spectrum. But I can't tell if you're a full winter or possibly a summer. I'm not enough of an expert, but you're cool. It's a little bit of a problem because I'm warm. I do have some cooler clothes, though, which will suit your complexion, I think.”
I have no idea what she's talking about right now, but as she pulls a few dresses from the rack, I stand back and let her get on with it. After all, I'm going to need an ally for my time spent in this crazy world, and maybe she could be a friend of sorts.
She holds a few dresses against my skin. She must find one that suits me because she gasps in delight.
“This is perfect. This looks beautiful against you. Right, let's get you into this dress.”
It’s a gorgeous, dusky pink, and I smile until I glance at the label. “I can't wear your Christian Dior dress. What if I spill something on it? I'm supposed to be eating lunch.” My palms get sweaty. “I can’t eat lunch in a Christian Dior dress. Do you know how clumsy I am? God, no. Sorry.”
She raises her hands in the air. “I never wear it,” she says. “I've literally never worn it. I think I bought it for a dance, but it didn't really suit me. Probably because it's a cool shade, and I'm warm, you see. You really should try and buy according to your color palette. But I only learned about that this year.”
I stand stock still in absolute fear of ruining this beautiful dress until she claps her hands. “Come on; get out of your clothes.”
Is this what growing up with unlimited wealth does for a person? Turns them into a force of nature?
I'm a little bit shy getting undressed in front of her because I don’t have a bra, so when I pull the tank off, I’ll be braless, but she's another girl, so I push it to one side and take my clothes off until I'm standing in my panties.
“Wow,” she says as she stares at me unabashedly. “You could make a hell of a lot of money on OnlyFans.”
I fight the urge to cover myself by crossing my arms over my chest. I take the dress as she hands it to me and let it fall over my head. It slides down my body, caressing me.
“Oh this feels gorgeous,” I tell her.
“It's raw silk,” she says. “It's a little bit rougher than refined silk, but it just feels amazing, I think. And it gives such a beautiful depth to color too. It soaks more of it up, you see. I'm learning a lot about fashion. I think I'd like to be a fashion designer. Or a model. I don't know yet. Something in that industry. Or maybe a vet.”
“They’re kind of different,” I tell her.
“I know, but I'm too young to have found my full calling yet. It will come to me in time. What do you do?” she asks.
“I don't do anything at the moment, but I've been looking for work in my field.”
“What's your field?”
“Literature. English literature.”
“Ah, that explains why you went all orgasmic over the bookshelf. What kind of work does that entail? Like working in a bookshop or something?”
I smile at her. “I’d love to own my own bookshop. One of those small, nice little places, with a coffee shop inside. That would be heaven.” I sigh. “It takes money to start up, and that I don’t have. I’ve been spending a lot of time at home with my brother, but I have to get a job, and I need to earn as much as I can … for him.”
“Why for him?” she asks.
“Do you know anything about me?”
“I know you were rescued from some really bad men.” Her face tightens. “They took me once, not the same bad men, but some bastards. I know how it feels.” Before I can say anything, she carries on. “Is that why you need to earn money? To get away and hide, with your brother?”
For some reason, I don’t stop myself from telling her even though I barely know her. She’s a lot easier to talk to than Dimitri. “Sort of, but it’s not just about me. It’s my stepbrother I need to help. His name is Cade. He loves carrot sticks, and the dog park, and he’d adore a puppy of his own. He can’t say my name, so he calls me Dreenana.”
She laughs at that.
“He’s adorable, and my stepmom is a horrible, nasty woman, and I am scared for him. At best he’s neglected. At worst…” I can’t bring myself to put my fears into words.
“You want to save him,” she says softly.
“I do, yes.” I blink away the tears that fill my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of her.
Her face falls. “Is there anyone else who can help while you’re here?” She worries at her lip.
“I could call his dad’s parents. His dad died but his grandparents have been around a couple of times, and they seem to love him to bits. I think they might try to help, but I don’t want to put them in danger. Anyway, I don’t have a phone.”
She glances at the door and then back to me. “I don’t think my brother would want you to make calls in case it alerted the people who are looking for you.”
“I mean, I understand, but I’m so worried. What if I called them with you in the room? I’ll beg them not to let Hana know I spoke with them. I’ll reassure them that I’m okay, but she can’t know I have called. Then I’ll ask them to go visit. You could listen to the entire conversation.”
“I don’t know. Dimitri would have given you a phone if he wanted you to have one.”
“One call?” Now that the idea is planted in my mind, I can’t bear to let it go. “They are on the East Coast and have nothing to do with my stepmother, who is the one embroiled in all this. I really do think they’ll keep what I tell them to themselves.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Taking this risk. Dimitri is going to be livid.
“If I let you and he finds out, he’ll kill me,” she says, then quickly adds, “Not literally, but I really don’t want him to be angry at me.”
“I’ll never tell him. Please. I’m so worried about my stepbrother.”
She chews on a nail and keeps glancing at me and then down again. Then she pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to me as if it’s on fire. “Make it quick, and tell them they cannot ever let your stepmother know you spoke with them. Throw them off the scent. If they ask where you are, say out of the country. Wait.”
She taps something on the screen, and I see she’s blocked caller ID when she hands me her phone.
I dial, and when Rose answers, my knees almost sag in relief.
“Rose, it’s me, Adriana. Can you talk?”
“Yes, of course. Oh my God, Adriana.” Her voice breaks. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”
Shit, she knows?
“What do you mean?” I hedge.
“I called to speak with Cade yesterday, and he was in tears because he said you were gone. I couldn’t get much sense out of him, and when I spoke with Hana, she said you’d left. I have to say, I was upset. You seemed good for him, and we’ve been a lot less worried with you and your father in the house.”
“Rose, you cannot, under any circumstances let Hana know you spoke with me. Hana put me in a bad situation, and now I believe Cade may be in danger.”
Nataliya’s eyes are huge, and she’s making all sorts of hand gestures at me to shut up, but I carry on.
“I’m begging you and Harry to please get on a plane and go visit. Surely you can say you’re going to cheer Cade up, if he’s been so upset?” My heart breaks at the thought of him thinking I just left. Is he eating? Has that bitch even been making sure he gets fed?
“What do you mean he might be in danger? In what way?”
“Hana seems … distracted. Her and my dad are drinking a lot. The cocktail parties are more regular, and they’re both seemingly circling downward to me. Cade is forgotten about at times, but it’s… Rose I can’t explain right now.”
Nataliya makes a wrap it up motion with her finger.
“I have to go, but swear to me, you won’t tell Hana we spoke? Cade’s wellbeing depends on her not knowing. I’ll explain as soon as I can. Please go visit the way you do sometimes. It’s not out of the usual for you guys to see Cade. Stay in a hotel, and don’t tell her you’re coming. Just go to the house and make sure he’s okay.” My voice breaks. “I love him; I would never leave him like that.”
“Honey, what has happened? Please let us help.”
“Swear it that you won’t tell Hana.” My voice is firm. “That’s how to help. Or even … even my father.”
“Yes, of course I swear, Adriana. I won’t tell her, and we’ll be out there by tomorrow, but honey, you have to?—”
Nataliya snatches the phone from me, hangs up, and then deletes the call history on her phone. She’s breathing fast. “Shit,” she says. “Shit, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You might have helped save a little boy from a lot of hurt, so you did a good thing. Thank you. I think they’ll do as I asked, but if this backfires, I’ll never tell Dimitri it was you.”
She nods. “Shit, I can’t deal with this. Let’s get back to making you look nice and forget this ever happened, all right?”
I nod, but then I pull her in for a quick hug and whisper thank you into her hair.
She hugs me back and then pulls away. Her face is paler than it was before, and I feel bad I put her in this position. But then, she brightens and shakes herself a little as if literally shaking it off. “Right,” she says brightly. “Shoes.”
She grabs a pair of shoes and shoves them on my feet and then gestures for me to follow her out of the walk-in closet.
I totter after her, almost falling over as my heels sink into the thick carpet once we reach her bedroom. She sits me down on a small stool in front of a dressing table and pulls a huge box out from underneath. It looks like a toolbox, but when she opens it there’s nothing but makeup.
She’s much quieter now; all her sass from earlier seems to have deserted her. I feel bad I pressured her, but also I don’t because I had to try to help Cade, and that’s what matters the most.
Silently, she sets to work on me, using various brushes and sometimes her fingers to dab and paint me in an array of muted colors. After she’s finished painting my face, she takes a hot brush and does complex things to my hair. It's kind of nice being pampered like this. She slowly thaws again and starts to chat while she works. She keeps the conversation light, and frankly, with the state my life is in, it's a pleasant distraction. I find myself lulled, and for the first time in days I relax.
She stands back and looks at me and narrows her eyes, lips pursed, before giving a satisfied nod. “You’re finished. Do you want to see?”
“I'd love to.”
She leads me to a mirror. I stare at my reflection. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Holy cow, is that even me? I turn to Nataliya who’s watching me with wide, expectant eyes.
“Nataliya, I say this in all seriousness. You need to be a makeup artist because this”—I point to my face— “is astonishing.”
She smiles, and her cheeks pink a little under her tan. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.”
“Come on. Let’s go eat.” She pauses and gives me a cheeky grin, some of her confidence of earlier returning. “And wait for my stepbrother to see you and fall in love.”
She clutches at her heart and falls dramatically backward onto her bed, laughing.
I make a tiny wish that he’ll at least fall into infatuation. Then he will be my protector. My person .
Everybody needs a person. Maybe I can somehow make Dimitri mine.