22 #2
Rashel looks at me with that I-know-you look and grins with her whole mouth. She thinks for a second before answering.
"Something like that."
I lean toward her. I glance inside: Alaska is cracking up at something Ivan says; she smacks his arm, her nose wrinkles, she tucks her head into his shoulder. Not helping.
"You want the truth? With Alaska, by the end it was just playacting." I meet her eyes and hold the look. "I had to work so hard to keep it up and not get all mushy."
I lean back against the glass. The cold wakes me up. A laugh slips out, too loud; I bite my tongue to stop it.
"Playacting, Nat?" She doesn't buy it.
"Yeah, Rash. But look at her now. Princess Popova. You think I'm going to dare spank her now that I know who she is? Put her on her knees? I can't do that bit anymore. I'd hear myself and cringe."
She taps my arm—a warning to stop before I start oversharing. "You're shameless."
"Shameless, sure—just upgraded," I lower my voice, my throat tight.
"With Alaska I can't do the whole command-and-control thing anymore.
I've lost my grip, girl. Even if she asked, I'd say no.
I'd offer her a blanket, decent food, a hot shower, and cuddles.
No games. Something good. Real. You hear me saying this and I get the look on your face.
I'm two clicks away from getting her an apartment and a wiener dog.
I want to slap myself. And still, taking care of her just happens. I can't not."
Rashel watches me for a while. She skips the easy joke. She gives me space. I hitch the blanket higher on my shoulders and lock my eyes on a point so I don't blink too much.
"So you're serious."
"I'm telling you." I grip the blanket until my nails dig in.
"I'd make real changes for her. Delete numbers.
Put the toys away. Close the chats. Call my therapist and sit in the chair without throwing a fit.
Whatever it takes. Whatever she asks. It's just…
fuck, she's got me. I'm a goner. Everything's off-kilter.
And it scares me to say it out loud, but here I am. "
Her smile is small, not pushy. "You're a goner, Natasha Velikanova."
I don't argue. My mouth goes dry in a snap and I bite my lip until it stings.
"I'm scared."
She doesn't even blink. She leaves me the space.
"Of what?"
"That Alaska won't wait, Rash. That she'll delete me from her phone and her life. That she'll find someone else and shut the door on me. That I'll lose her without ever really having her. And that I'll be stuck with all this inside and nowhere to put it. Yeah, I'm dramatic. It's my turn today."
She exhales calmly, without judgment. She moves in a little, tucks the blanket up at my nape, and stays there, not pushing me toward anything.
"Focus. Think about the whole picture, Nat. If Irina blew up over the Sabina thing, imagine her reaction when she finds out you were leaving her newly found sister's ass red."
A laugh bursts out of me and I cover my mouth with the blanket. "Fuck, Rashel. Put like that, I feel like a criminal."
"Put like that is the version she's going to see. Think about it."
I shake my head, indignant, a professional whiner.
"I've never understood why she made such a fuss about the whole Sabina thing.
She's married to Amaia. She's with Julia.
Why the hell does she care what I did with Sabina?
It pisses me off. It pisses me off that she sticks her nose in my shit, judges me, puts limits on me.
But of course, she's Irina. And I'm me. What a great system. "
Rashel gives me a "Nat, please" look and laughs in spite of herself.
"Because Sabina is Sabina. And with her, nothing's a straight line, you know that."
Not good enough. Something snaps.
" So what? That explains exactly nothing."
"There's a history there. A lot lived. Several phases. They all know it. They love each other, they get pissed, they protect each other. It's not just any friendship. What they feel hasn't gone out."
"Are you kidding me? Seriously? Are they still hooking up? Spit it all out, girl, I'm begging you. And Julia doesn't care? That doesn't add up."
"I don't know if they're hooking up or not. That's their business. But whatever happens, Julia knows. Amaia knows. We all know. And now you, more or less, do too. Welcome to the club of information you didn't ask for."
I'm speechless for a second. She said a lot and dodged half the map at the same time—very her.
My head boils and I laugh on the inside at how absurd all of this is.
But whatever. Let them play their own games.
I'm looking at Alaska. She's leaning on the table, flirting with Ivan, bangs all wrong and that shirt that gives me ideas I shouldn't be having right now.
The blanket is too much and not enough at the same time.
I see her there, so oblivious to all this family drama surrounding us.
And I get a stab in the chest, the kind that actually hurts.
"So… I don't have a shot, do I?" My voice breaks at the end and I get mad at myself for being soft.
"Of course you do," Rashel says without hesitation. "But not today. Not now. You'll have to play it smart, honey. And, most of all, you'll have to learn to wait."
I nod without a sound. I tuck my pride under the blanket and swear I won't screw anything up for five days straight. Personal record, if I make it.
"Yeah, Rashel. Yeah."
She squeezes my arm before she stands.
"Come on, use your head a little, not just your gut." She smiles at me like I'm a kid. "And don't smoke, it doesn't agree with you."
She heads inside without hurrying, the door swallows her, and I'm left in the yard with an unlit cigarette, my teeth clenched and my mind racing. I toss it in the trash can and run my hands over my face.
Here I am. Ms. Control, the one who makes lists for everything, who fixes other people's schedules with one raised eyebrow, and now I feel like an idiot.
An idiot and a coward. I've fallen. I've got it bad, and I don't say it.
I don't say it to Alaska. I don't tell her she's gotten under my skin so deep there's no getting her out.
I don't tell her I'm going to fight for her either.
First Irina. First close that out quietly.
I'd rather Alaska think what we had is over, let her settle into her place, cling to her new family, and understand her life changed.
And when I talk to Irina, calm and without scenes, with Rashel next to me to help if I come up short, then yes. Then I'll go after Alaska.
All right, boss. Hell of a plan.
I open my phone, pull up her chat, type "hey" and delete it. I type "how are you holding up?" and delete it. Very mature, yeah. I laugh without a sound and my stomach knots up.
I like her. A lot. Big mouth, fair skin, those eyes that don’t blink when she plants herself.
She looks at me and clocks everything in a second.
If I lie, she catches it. If I get all high and mighty, she shuts me down in two lines.
She’s small; she fits entirely in my arms. I want to take care of her, even though I know she hates having her life managed.
I keep it to myself. The dumb little caretaking slips out anyway: the glass of water where she always leaves it, her jacket folded, an alarm so she won’t skip a meal. And me, keeping my mouth shut.
But it’s not just the physical pull. The best part is how she thinks and what comes out of her mouth.
She’s quick. She links ideas at high speed.
She answers without a filter, with that acidic edge that cracks me up.
She looks at me and already knows where I’m headed.
She’s got my tells down and she kind of enjoys my boss act.
Me, straight posture, serious face, barking orders, and inside I’m swallowing a laugh at some ridiculous shit she says.
She’s hilarious. For real. Funnier than anyone I’ve met in this house, in this shitty life.
My head won’t stop. No idea how she feels about me. I don’t know if she’s going to wait. Maybe I’ve already lost her, and here I am, building plans that won’t matter. I pat my cheeks twice, lightly. You spiral later, Nat. Not now. Patience, breathe, and get on with it.
I go back to the living room and heat rushes to my face.
It smells like wine and candles, soft music plays, there are laughs, clinking glasses, plates coming and going, armchairs occupied.
People talk around me in little huddles, but I barely hear them.
I feel a little out of place, a little on another planet, but I pull myself together. I have to.
And suddenly, the front door flies open.
And not with some normal shove, either. Martina barrels in.
She doesn’t walk; she flat-out runs. And Martina never runs.
She’s all steady pace, no rush, everything under control.
I’ve seen her in action a thousand times: I was on her security detail for a while, though she had no idea.
I was always around, in the background, clocking everything, handling the small messes before they turned into avalanches.
I know her from watching her more than talking to her, and I know how her inner gears turn.
So seeing her like this gives me goosebumps.
She looks a lot like Julia, her mother: the same dark skin, those amber eyes that catch everything, the sharp features.
But her gaze is different—deeper, turned inward, more focused.
She’s odd, yeah, but the cool kind. She does her own thing, needs her own timing, doesn’t always play along.
I like that about her. And even so, she’s got good judgment and a brain that runs like a dream.
I watch her come in, breathing hard, cheeks bright red, hair a mess, keys in her hand making a noise that drills into my eardrums. I step forward without thinking, my body already in work mode.
"What happened?"
She looks at me and has trouble focusing.
She freezes for two seconds, sorting things out.
That’s how she works: first she processes what she feels, digests it, and then drops the line.
Those seconds feel endless to me; they eat me alive.
I wonder what the hell is big enough to knock her off balance like this.
In the back, Julia stands up at once, eyes locked on her daughter. Irina turns her head, serious, and the whole house goes quiet.
Martina brushes aside a strand of hair that’s bugging her and says, "Would someone care to explain why no one’s answering my calls? I suppose I should assume you’re completely unaware of what’s happening, right?"
Everyone in the living room whips out their phones, faces glued to the screen, waiting for someone to say something, for someone to give them the key to what’s happening.
But Martina just stands there, breathing hard in the middle of the room.
I don’t move, with the feeling that the complicated part of the night starts right now and I have no idea what to do with my hands, or my head, or my heart.
Silence splits in two when Irina steps forward, her face blank. And all at once it’s clear that whatever Martina is about to say could change the whole night. And my life. And Alaska’s. And everyone’s. A shiver runs through me that’s not from the cold. It’s from knowing shit’s about to go down.