9. Ofelia
Ofelia
I wake to the kind of dead silence that only happens when everyone is asleep. My phone says it’s almost midday—unsurprising, given that it was almost dawn when I heard the others come in.
I tried to stay awake. Part of me was hoping that Alexei would wait until their party faded out, then come back into my room and finish what he started. Clearly, however, the magic he wrought on my body was more than enough to send me into a coma-like sleep for the next several hours.
I hug the pillow close, my face burning at the memory of Alexei’s hands, his mouth. Going by the sudden flood of heat between my legs, all my body wants is a repeat performance.
As soon as possible.
Preferably one that involves a private room, a lot of time, and Alexei doing more than bringing me to orgasm with his hands and mouth.
Much more, if the massive weight throbbing against my leg was anything to go by.
Burying my face in the pillow, I scream into it, kicking my feet against the mattress in a weird explosion of exhilaration, bliss, and confusion.
It’s childish. And I don’t care.
I’ve imagined having Alexei’s hands on my body again a thousand times over the years. Longed for the skilled certainty of his touch, the blazing way he stared down at me.
But nothing, not the years of frustrated imagination, dreams, or my wildest fantasies, could ever have prepared me for the mind-blowing reality.
Rolling over, I stare around the room, feeling a hot rush of pleasure when I see his jacket flung over the chair in the corner, his shoes lying discarded on the floor. Just the familiarity is thrilling, a reminder that this is real, not another hopeless, limerent fantasy.
He’s still here.
Excitement and anticipation rip through me.
I throw back the covers and pad to the bathroom, standing under the steaming jets and replaying every moment of last night, from the first time I saw him in the bar to him carrying me upstairs and feeding me.
His dark, twisted smile as he looked up at me, right before his tongue and fingers drove me over the edge.
The sudden bolt of lust is so crippling I lean against the shower wall, pulsing and breathless.
Everyone is asleep, I think hazily. And they will be for some time, if I know my brother and Benny and Lourdes. Enough time for Alexei and me to go somewhere.
My flat.
Another hotel.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
Now that I know he wants this, wants me, I’m gripped by a fierce, urgent desire to be with him.
Close to him.
To have him close to me.
Inside me.
I turn the shower off, then quickly dry my hair and use the complimentary toiletries, including one of the designer perfume samples, shivering in anticipation as I dab it inside my thighs, imagining how Alexei might linger there soon.
After wrapping myself into the hotel robe, I open my door tentatively, then freeze when I recognize the man standing outside it.
“Luis?” I frown, pulling the robe tighter around me. “What’s going on?”
He isn’t the only man outside my door. Bryce is with him, grim faced and tense. And the divider between my room and the salon is closed, locking me in a private, clearly heavily guarded, space.
My heart skips a beat. Did Mickey find out what happened between Alexei and me?
“There was some trouble,” Luis says tersely. “Over now, we think, but we’re waiting for word from your father before anyone leaves the hotel.”
Trouble? What does that mean?
“My father?” My stomach twists uneasily. “Why? What happened? Is Mickey okay?”
“He’s fine.” Bryce’s eyes shift slightly, avoiding mine. “So are your friends. Lourdes is asleep in one of the bedrooms.” His mouth twitches slightly at the edges. “I believe Benny is in Lars’s.”
It doesn’t escape me that he avoids mentioning the one name I want to hear.
I wait, but neither of them volunteers.
“Alexei?” I say tentatively. “He brought me home last night. Is he okay?”
The look they exchange does nothing to relieve the uneasy feeling in my belly.
“Alexei had to leave unexpectedly.” Luis’s guarded tone, not to mention the way he and Bryce avoid my eyes, is all the confirmation I need that something is definitely not right.
Oh, God. Please don’t let it be that Papa found out what happened between us.
“Bryce. Luis.” I fold my arms and glare at them both. “Don’t bullshit me, please. Just tell me what is going on.”
They look at each other, then back at me. Seeing my expression, Bryce grimaces, then nods at Luis. “You might as well. She’ll know soon enough anyway.”
Luis turns to me. “Alexei is gone,” he says quietly.
“And before you ask, no, we don’t know where.
Nobody does. All we know is that trouble came for him this morning.
By the time our people got to it, he was already gone.
Your father is trying to find out what is going on, and he doesn’t want anyone going in or out of the suite until he has answers.
That’s it,” he says, when I stare at him dumbly. “That’s all we know.”
I stand there in silence for a long moment, my heart thudding slowly. I have a weird sense of relief, while feeling wired and horribly afraid at the same time.
Beneath it all is the awareness that I can’t show any emotion that will make this moment worse. Or, more to the point, give my family any reason to think I need even more security than I already have.
“When did all of this happen?” I do my best to keep my tone even. “I fell asleep almost as soon as I came back to the hotel.”
“Yeah.” Bryce nods. “That’s what Mickey said. It all happened early this morning, just before dawn.”
Right after Alexei left my room.
Was there really trouble? Or did he just need an excuse to leave?
A horrible, corrosive doubt steals into my belly, taking away the delicious, bubbly feeling of only moments ago.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I say abruptly. “Excuse me.”
Thankfully, neither man does anything other than nod. I go back into my room and sit on my bed, my pulse racing, staring at Alexei’s jacket and shoes.
Nobody can find them in here.
The thought creeps in alongside the doubts, but oddly, it also brings with it a certain kind of hope. Surely Alexei wouldn’t have left his belongings in my room if he hadn’t planned to come back?
I remember the way he glanced at me from the door this morning, just before Lars and the others came home.
Hungrily, like he wanted to taste all the parts of me he hadn’t already.
There was nothing in his face that hinted he might leave and never return.
I fell asleep certain that when I woke again it would be to the sound of his voice, if not to his physical presence in my bed.
The only time I sensed any hesitation in him was when he had his fingers inside me and felt the physical evidence of my virginity.
I only realize I’ve put my head in my hands when I hear myself actually groan aloud.
I wish I could have seen his eyes clearly in that moment. I don’t know how to interpret his hesitation, if that’s what it was. Was it shock, horror, or just surprise? Maybe it was none of those things, and Alexei didn’t even notice.
And maybe, I think miserably, that stupid internal barrier was the reason he made up an excuse to run.
I lift my head and look around the room. My eyes settle on the door by the TV stand. It looks like I’m in the kind of adjoining room my siblings and I always had in hotels when we were kids. I imagine Mickey is asleep on the other side of it, knowing him.
I go and turn the handle quietly, more out of curiosity than any real desire to know what’s on the other side.
But instead of the drawn curtains and snoring brother I’m expecting, I find the room flooded in light and the bed made up.
It takes only a brief look at the monogrammed leather carry bag to realize who was supposed to be staying in this room.
Alexei was right next door.
The thought quite literally takes my breath away.
I can smell him in here, a tantalizing hint of smoky Russian leather clinging to his bag and the clothes hanging in the closet, bringing with it a bolt of longing so deep it’s almost painful.
He left his bag. I walk to the closet. And most of his clothes.
I glance at the bedside table. His laptop is still here.
I stare at it, my heart twisting with a mixture of happiness and fear. It looks like Alexei really did leave unexpectedly.
But if so—where is he now? Is he in danger?
I turn on the spot, unsure whether to run for Lars’s room and answers, call my father and ask for the same, or barge into my brother’s room and demand to know what is going on.
But I also know that doing any of those things will result in questions I’m not equipped to answer. Create problems on top of whatever crisis is already in play.
So in the end, I do nothing except what I’ve always done when it comes to Alexei Petrovsky: try to keep our secrets.
I go into my room and silently pick up his jacket and shoes, then take them through to his room and put them neatly in his closet, as if they’ve always been there.
As if he was never in my room at all.
Then I close my door, get dressed, and wait.
As the morning gives way to midday and the rooms around me begin to stir, the night we spent together fades further into the past, as if it, too, never happened at all.
It’s early afternoon when my father finally calls to give the all clear. He doesn’t call me, of course. I'm just given the message via my brother.
Benny and Lourdes are still fast asleep.
Neither Mickey or Lars, bleary faced and downing coffee, discuss the night’s events with me other than the briefest remarks.
I don’t even bother asking questions of Darya, who arrived at my hotel with Masha an hour ago.
Even if she does know what is going on, she’d never betray my father’s confidences.
Normally, this suits me just fine. If I’ve learned anything growing up amid my family’s blood and chaos, it’s to not ask questions. My life delivers enough drama without inviting more into it.