54. SinkSwim
SINK OR SWIM
“They bite.”I stare at Polkan for a few more seconds before stating, “So do I.”
The soft snort could have come from the dog since Maksim’s expression is perfectly smooth when I straighten and face him, but I think he’s just good at schooling his emotions. Same as his brother.
“Lev has a scar on his left palm,” I add. “Ask him how he got it.”
Maksim scrutinizes me, arms crossed, seemingly assessing my sincerity. “He’s had that scar for a long time,” he finally states.
I nod in agreement. “Impulsively marrying a stranger sounds more like him.”
“So, how did you guys really meet?”
I hesitate, not sure how much I should share. Lev isn’t here for me to consult. He left for Chicago yesterday.
“I got drunk and fell into a pool. He jumped in to help me.”
Maksim finally breaks eye contact, glancing toward the garage. “That doesn’t sound like Lev. If you can’t keep up, he has no use for you. He’ll let you drown.”
“Or he’ll swim twice as fast so you can float.”
His head turns quickly, refocusing on me. This silence lasts longer before he speaks. “You’re not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“If Aleksandr married Victoria, no way that”—he says something in Russian—“wouldn’t.”
I try to repeat what he said, and a shadow of a smile flits across Maksim’s face.
“He is Igor’s favorite. Elena’s too. Lev is the perfect son.” He pulls a box of cigarettes out of the pocket of his sweatpants, the same brand that Lev smokes. “Victoria tried to marry him instead.”
Something Lev definitely did not mention when we discussed his brother’s wedding three years ago. I must not do a great job of disguising my surprise because Maksim smirks as he extracts a cigarette from the box.
“Thought you should know what you stepped into. She asked Igor alone, then told Aleksandr loudly enough for the whole church to hear at Ilya’s baptism.” He withdraws a lighter that I notice is also identical to the one Lev carries. “He’d missed the birth.”
“Can I have one?” I gesture at the box Maksim was about to slip back into his pocket.
He arches an eyebrow before shaking a second out, lighting both cigarettes before handing me one. I’m not sure if he’s trying to be nice or if he thinks I’m incapable of igniting the end myself.
“Thanks.”
Maksim watches me inhale, then exhale carefully, appearing disappointed when I don’t cough or react like an amateur.
I blow out more smoke, then say, “Maybe this will help me run faster today.”
I was about to let the dogs out and set off when Maksim showed up. I’m determined to keep up with my training while Lev is gone. I’m through the worst of the adjustment period—I hope—and I want to impress him with my improvements when he returns.
Maksim snorts. Loudly, not like the suspected soft one earlier. “Stupid Americans. These poison your lungs.”
“Then why do you smoke?”
He scoffs again. “Won’t be what kills me.”
Interesting. I wonder if that’s Lev’s reasoning as well. I’ve never asked why he smokes, just suggested he quit.
Maksim drops the butt of his cigarette in the dirt. I notice a few singed ends were already left in this spot. He must smoke by the kennel often.
“You shouldn’t litter here,” I state. “Or anywhere, but especially by the dogs. One of them might eat it and get sick.”
I’m appraised for several unsettling seconds before Maksim listens, leaning down and retrieving the trash. He tosses them into an unmarked bin I’m unsure is designated for that actual purpose, but they’re definitely out of reach of the dogs.
“Ready?” he asks, reaching out and flipping the handle of the kennel’s door.
Polkan, Burya, and Ural rush out, chasing each other in excited circles around the yard.
I smile, watching them, then recall Maksim’s question. “For what?”
“Are you not running?”
“I was. I mean, I am. I—you want to run with me?”
“Want? No. But, yes, I am going to.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I know that.”
“Uh, okay. This isn’t part of some plan to murder me in the woods while Lev is away, right?”
Maksim doesn’t sport a smile, although I attempted a joking tone. “No. He would kill me.”
“Violent Russians,” I state, recalling his jab about my intelligence.
“Yes,” Maksim agrees, then whistles for the dogs.
They come running, sitting expectantly. Clearly well trained and not appearing to be aggressive at all despite his earlier warning. Larger than they appeared in the kennel though.
I crouch down to extinguish my cigarette in the dirt, coughing a couple of times to clear my lungs. They feel heavy and noxious in my chest, probably thanks to Maksim’s comment. I can’t spot anywhere better to leave the butt, so I toss it where Maksim did.
Then we start running.
It’s awkward. My endurance might have improved, but I still find running to be a miserable experience.
I miss swimming. Gliding through the water is so much more elegant and peaceful than listening to sneakers collide with the ground and your own heavy breathing.
I can hear Maksim’s breathing, too, so I can’t forget he’s beside me.
Lev wouldn’t have left if he didn’t believe I was safe here. I don’t truly think Maksim has some evil plan to off me while his brother is out of the country. Which begs the obvious question—why is he running with me when he could be doing literally anything else?
I’ve lived here for a month. I’ve run this path every single day except the first one, when we left to get married.
But I notice something new every time. The peonies are gone, but the carpet of chamomile is in full bloom.
They’re the national flower, Lev told me last week, after I asked why there was so much of it around.
I clear my throat. Then break the uncomfortable silence and ask, “You grew up here?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s boring.”
I could see that, I suppose. It’s even more remote than my father’s villa.
There are no neighbors, no town to walk or bike to.
No playground, and I can’t picture any parents sending their kids to this compound for a sleepover.
It would have been an isolated childhood, and having met Igor Sokolov, I imagine that was intentional.
“You grew up in Italy?”
I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. No one has asked me any personal questions, but they know I’m Salvatore Caruso’s daughter. I have no idea what else they might know or what I shouldn’t share. But I don’t want to offend what might be friendliness.
“Chicago.”
“That’s where you met Lev?”
“Yes.”
“In a pool?”
“Correct.”
“And you actually bit him?”
“He didn’t, like, announce he was trying to help,” I say defensively. “I couldn’t swim, so he grabbed me, and I freaked out a little.”
“You can’t swim?”
“I couldn’t swim. I love to now. I was the star of my college’s intramural swim team, and people who say intramural sports aren’t—”
“How old are you?” Maksim interrupts.
I answer, “Twenty-eight,” automatically, a figurative—and literal—step behind.
I’ve never seen Maksim exercise before, but he’s in better shape than I am despite my training.
And now he knows. “That is a long time.”
I say nothing. It’s getting harder to focus on our conversation, the farther we run.
My muscles are screaming at me to stop, and my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen.
I’ve successfully completed this before.
I know I can do it. But it’s unpleasant every single time, and I don’t even have sex to look forward to later.
I watch the dogs race ahead, admiring their energy and attempting to soak it in by osmosis.
“What did he tell you about me?” Maksim asks suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
He scoffs lightly. “You knew my name in Madrid. The only way you could have known that was if Lev had mentioned me. So, what did he say?”
“That you like football. That you party too much. That he tried to give you more time to be a kid.”
Maksim is silent for the rest of the run, which gives me plenty of time to panic that I said too much or not enough. I know Lev’s relationships with his brothers are complicated. I’m worried I just made one of them worse.
After we herd the hounds back into their kennel, Maksim glances at me. “Same time tomorrow?”
“I—sure,” I reply, ridiculously relieved by the closest to approval I’ve felt from any member of Lev’s family.
He nods, then heads for the garage. I continue inside, skipping the gym today. I can do the routine of crunches and lunges and sit-ups in my room, and the only person aside from Lev I’ve sparred with is Misha, who went with Lev. Maybe, if tomorrow’s run goes well, I’ll ask Maksim to join me.
Upstairs, I turn into the hallway of Lev’s wing and halt.
I’m certain I closed the door when I left this morning, and it’s open now.
This place is secure—Lev said so—and I’ve seen the gates and the guards and the cameras myself.
But there are people inside here—like Igor and Aleksandr—who might want to harm me.
I approach cautiously, wishing I’d taken my gun earlier even though running with it makes me almost as nervous as not having it.
“Hello?” I call, reaching the doorway.
A woman walks out of the bathroom a few seconds later, a white towel in her left hand. Her long hair is pulled back in a neat braid, and she’s wearing an outfit I instantly recognize as identical to the dress I got married in. Her expression suggests I’m the one who is somewhere I shouldn’t be.
“Hi,” I say.
No response. Her demeanor reminds me of Victoria’s—silent disdain wafting my way.
“Do you speak English?”
She’s silent for a beat, then rattles off rapid Russian. I don’t recognize a word of it.
She walks back into the bathroom, emerging with a second larger towel. She points at the bed, where a neat stack of fresh towels sits. Then passes me and heads into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
At least the maid knows her place.