Chapter 19
My anxiety is a physical thing. It’s stupid to wear tracks in the carpet as I pace the room, but I’ve got to move. Walking, even if it’s in tight squares around the desk and in front of the bookshelves lining the walls, is a welcome change from sitting in the chair and trying not to crawl out of my skin.
I’ll give Vadim credit. If this is his office, it’s a cut above most of the nightclub back rooms I’ve been in over the years, which are usually a symphony of plywood and chipboard, with torn and faded posters on the walls.
Books in Cyrillic script line the bookshelves. Tracing my fingers over the curves of the letters, I make out Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Pelevin. Names, stories, histories that I only half grasp.
I taught myself to read the Russian alphabet after I had Nadia, and I read a lot in translation when I was pregnant with her, but I don’t spot my favorite novel on the shelves. Of course, Anna Karenina was a silly woman in love with the wrong man, so it’s no wonder the book spoke to me. I don’t suppose Russian gangsters spend a lot of time worrying about lost love.
I kick the table leg, but all I achieve is a stubbed toe. I hop up and down on one leg, sucking in my breath for a minute before collapsing in a heap in the chair opposite the bookshelf. I’m bent over my sore toe with one boot off and my head bowed—consoling myself that at least I didn’t throw myself under a train with a broken heart like poor Anna—when the door opens.
The air changes as Vadim steps into the room. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, regarding me warily. His eyes are drawn to where I’m cradling my foot, and I keep rubbing circles on my toe. I’d rather stare at a hole in my sock like it holds the secrets of the universe than look up at him again. One quick glance was enough to see that he’s not delighted to see me.
“Zolotaya, time has treated you kindly, I see.”
He still uses the pet name he gave me the weekend I met him. Zolotaya. Golden one.
“You remembered what you used to call me, then?” I ask, squeezing the offending toe to get the blood flow back to my aching foot. I hope it will draw some of the heat away from my cheeks, which I can tell are flushing with something. Lust? Shame? Could be any number of a tangle of emotions Vadim pulls from me.
“I couldn’t forget. Not with all the songs on the radio.”
I look up at him, and the hope must be written in my eyes so clearly that he shakes his head as he looks down at me.
Great. Now I know it’s humiliation coloring my face.
“I heard you tell Stevie that you knew who he was,” I say, “so I’m guessing that you’ve been in America a while.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here almost ten years.”
Guts twisting, the question I’ve been bottling up for a decade tumbles from my lips.
“So, you knew I had a daughter?” I slowly let the air out and watch his carved features for a trace of one of his rare smiles, but there’s no hint of emotion.
God, did I know him at all?
He shrugs like it’s no big deal as I sit straighter and steel my spine. There will be plenty of time for crying later. For now, I’ll pretend it’s as cut and dried as the former “love of my life” seems to think it is.
“I see.”
My eyes roam the spines of the books behind the desk so that I don’t have to look at him. Teeth digging into my lip, I suck cool air into my nostrils before I pull back my shoulders and meet those pale wolf eyes with the bravest stare I can muster. I do it for Nadia if not for me.
“Well, if the songs on my album didn’t make it clear...” I pull out my stage persona and smile at him brightly. “She’s yours. Our daughter. I’d be happy to take a DNA test if you have any doubt, but I think it will be pretty clear when you meet her. She looks just like you.”
“There’s no need.”
My shoulders drop half an inch. He believes me. That’s a small comfort, but it’s something that he doesn’t doubt my honor.
With his next words, he takes my heart—which is already a bloody mess on the floor at his feet—and grinds it under the heel of his expensive Italian shoes. “You don’t have to take the test. I won’t ever want to meet her.”
I have no idea how I keep looking at him. Where I find the strength not to crumble. But I nod slowly. “You’ve made yourself very clear. Thank you. I can’t imagine that we have any more to say, but you asked me to wait for you back here, or you...” I wave my hand vaguely to indicate the way he described me, not as a woman, but as a situation.
He walks over to the desk, sits down, leans his chin on his steepled hands, and watches me. The minute feels like an hour as the silence stretches between us.
“It’s very unfortunate. But I’m going to need you to disappear.” He lifts his shoulders as if he’s apologizing for being a bit late for dinner, and not like he’s just said he wants me to vanish.
“What?” I’m staring at him like he’s got a second head. “Disappear? What are you talking about? I can’t just disappear. I’ve got a daughter in school, a court case to fight, and a career,” I splutter.
Vadim raises an eyebrow. It’s a perfect parabola, questioning my sanity. Obviously, it’s an everyday request in his world.
“A child in the mix is all I need. I’m not sure who saw you here, and I don’t know who I can trust right now, so you’ll have to lie low. The only blessing is you didn’t mention that the child is mine in front of anyone.”
He stands, picks up a bottle of cognac, then pulls out the stopper and pours two fingers into a glass. He hands it to me over the table and leans back in his chair before pouring another glass for himself.
“Na zdorovye.” He lifts his glass at me, eyes like frost as they regard me over the rim. “Your health, Kesera. Let’s drink to you both staying alive.”
A gulp of brandy goes down the wrong way and burns as it trickles into my nose. I put the glass down and bend double, coughing into my knees and allowing my hair to fall around me in a cloak.
I’m still in the brace position, waiting for the impact of his next statement, when I feel him move around the desk and come to lean against it next to me. I can see his long legs and the shiny black leather of his shoes and the way his suit pants cling to his wide, muscular thighs.
I wrap my arms around my legs and fold in on myself, gulping in breaths of air. He doesn’t reach out to touch or comfort me, and his next words scrape at my skin like sandpaper.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way. It would have been better if you hadn’t found me.”
He walks to the bookshelf and pulls out a leather-bound copy of War and Peace. Inside the book are a handful of old Nokia handsets, and he throws one across the room at me. I’m not quick enough to leap for it, so it falls with a soft thud into the carpet at my feet.
“Burner phone. You’ll need one to keep in touch.” He takes out another one and tosses it at me. This time I reach out to catch it. I turn the narrow rectangle of plastic round and round in my fingers as if the keys can tap out a text message telling me what’s going on here.
“What’s happening? I don’t understand.”
Vadim leans on the bookshelf, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle as he lounges against the books and regards me with some amusement.
“I think you do.”
I shake my head at him, but he carries on.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t find me, but fate always catches up with you, I suppose.” He shrugs as if he’s not talking about blowing up my life. Our daughter’s life.
“I’d stopped looking.” I’ve had enough pity for one evening, so I look down at my feet. I’m wearing boots. Just like the night that I met him.
“I know you did. I let my guard down. I used to make sure I was out of the picture if you were playing a gig in one of our clubs. Sasha used to think it was funny. He even booked a few to mess with me.” He smiles at me, like this is a joke I might enjoy. “Still, it can’t be helped. I’ve got the money and the logistics for you to go on the run. I’ll be in touch. You keep the burner phone on you. Give one to the kid too.”
“If you’re not planning on talking to her, that won’t be necessary,” I bite out.
He shrugs, strides toward the door, and looks back over his shoulder, folding his lips together in a rueful grimace.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He shakes his head. “For your safety, the less you know, the better. I’m sorry, Kesera. I told you I wasn’t a good man when we met.”
The door opens and Stevie’s shouts echo from the corridor. I catch my name and Vadim’s and some expletives, and then Vadim steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him, blocking out the noise. I’m left with nothing but an old Nokia handset and a head full of questions.