8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Sergei
“Da svidaniya ,” Nadia bids us good night as the elevator doors shut behind her.
I scan the email on my phone from the electronics supplier informing me about the delay in shipping. He requested a virtual meeting to explain the situation—a meeting I knew full well was unnecessary and would turn into an unwanted sales pitch. So, I canceled it.
The private elevator stops once more, opening onto Pavel and Anton’s floor. “Until tomorrow, Shef,” Anton says as he steps over the elevator sill.
Pavel nods, his standard response to nearly every situation, before following his brother out.
The decision to have them live in the building made sense at the time when I purchased their apartments. With Pavel serving as my driver and bodyguard, and Anton handling my business affairs when he wasn’t with Alessia and Misha, having them here is convenient.
When I exit onto the penthouse floor—expecting to find the apartment still as usual—I’m greeted with loud music coming from the living room. I take off my shoes and proceed further inside, my socked feet silent on the marble floor.
Pausing at the threshold to the room, it takes me a moment to absorb everything unfolding.
The usual mausoleum atmosphere has been overthrown by joyous incandescence.
I recognize the background song as one from Bremenskie Muzykanty, a Soviet cartoon about a band of animals I used to watch as a kid.
Its cheerful tones blast from Aurora’s phone on the coffee table.
On the couch, all of Misha’s stuffed toys, having now migrated from his bedroom, are arranged by size, and perhaps even by color? Trust Aurora to turn every interaction with Misha into an educational one.
My gaze falls to the floor, where Misha is coloring on a piece of paper.
A mostly full plate of mini blueberry muffins sits beside him, surrounded by scattered crumbs, while a tipped-over juice box lies nearby.
Across from him, Aurora is propped on her elbows, her ankles intertwined behind her.
She bops her head to the beat of the song, her legs crossing and uncrossing in rhythm.
She’s wearing a yellow T-shirt, and her dark blue jeans are perfectly tight.
I hurry to avert my gaze.
“What color is this?” Aurora points to the crayon Misha is holding.
“Geen,” he says, continuing to scribble.
“Green,” she corrects him. “Mish, look at my lips.” He glances up from his paper, watching her lips as she enunciates the word. He tries again—this time doing so correctly.
It hasn’t been two weeks since Aurora began nannying for him, and I already notice subtle improvements in Misha’s communication skills.
“And, this is purple,” she says, making sure to pronounce each syllable slowly.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m watching her lips too, mouthing along with my son. I consider strengthening my Russian accent in the off chance she’d feel inclined to correct my own pronunciation.
“Papa!” Misha jolts up when he notices me. He runs toward me, and I scoop him up in a bear hug.
Aurora stands, brushing her hands over her shirt with Hundred Acre Wood characters printed on it.
She glances at the large clock on the wall.
Then, her eyes grow wide as she looks around in horror, quickly bending down to gather the toy cars and the dozens of spread-out colored papers on the floor.
“I’m so sorry. We didn’t expect you until after six. ”
I flop Misha on the couch between his lion and elephant toys, then crouch down to help Aurora gather some of the items.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Aurora mumbles. “I usually let him just go crazy before we have a cleanup party at the end.”
“That’s okay,” I reassure her as we reach for the same toy car stuck under the coffee table.
When our fingers brush, her warm touch feels preternaturally foreign to my own cold skin.
I lift my gaze to her light blue eyes. A strand of wavy blonde hair falls in front of her face, and I’m overcome with the urgency to tuck it behind her ear.
A single chime of the clock jolts me away from Aurora’s eyes, leashing my wavering control back into the tight space I carry it in every day. I let go of the toy.
“Papa!” Misha snatches a drawing from the coffee table before handing it to me.
It’s a family of stick figures—very abstract and colorful.
I can make out a tall one drawn in black, another much shorter in green.
To the side and higher on the page, a medium-sized pink one is surrounded by patchy blue clouds.
My heart pinches. The recurrent guilt resurfaces, reminding me of my failures. Even though it’s been over five months since Alessia’s death and our relationship had been rocky long before that, I still have no right to be ogling my son’s nanny.
Misha loops his arms around my leg, his golden-brown eyes staring up at me. “Put up?” He points at a blank space on one of the walls.
“Oh.” Aurora lets out a long sigh, looking awkwardly at me. “I’m sorry, I promised to hang it up. But I don’t think here is—”
“That’s fine,” I say. “The room could use some color.”
My eyes drop to the plate of muffins Aurora has just picked up, which she’s now balancing along with Misha’s empty juice box, a handful of papers, and the precarious toy car.
I reach out to take the load of mini blueberry muffins in her hands. “Are we anticipating a shortage of product?”
Her attention flicks to the pastries, a light blush appearing on her cheeks. “God, I hope not. My body might go into withdrawal given that 70 percent of my chemical makeup has to be these muffins at this point.”
A half-cocked smile breaks through the safeguards of my control.
I stare at Aurora for another moment as Misha runs in circles around us, waving his favorite dinosaur toy.
In one of his passings, he swipes his hand against Aurora’s jeans, leaving behind a noticeable stain of a mystery substance.
She appears unbothered by the left-behind goop and grins widely as her eyes follow him.
“Is this something you want?” I ask.
Surprise flashes on her face. “Children? Yes. One day.” She shrugs. “If I ever find the right person.” Finally, she tucks that loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I meant working with children,” I hurry to clarify. I’d hate for her to think of me as some creep prying into her personal life.
Aurora’s skin color changes in an instant, red donning her features as panic creeps its way in. I order my expression not to shift at her endearment.
She clears her throat. “I… I knew that.” Averting her eyes, she keeps her focus anywhere in the room but on me.
“It’s very satisfying to make an impact on children.
Last fall, I worked with a boy who had issues communicating his emotions.
He would have outbursts and act out physically.
On my last day of practicum, I saw him in a disagreement with a friend, and I could see him implementing some of the techniques we worked on all year. ”
Perhaps Aurora could share that technique with me.
“Career fulfillment is very important. Doing something one enjoys while making a difference is a privilege not many manage to accomplish, unfortunately,” I say.
The corners of her mouth tug downward. “Yes, I hope to get back into the classroom someday.”
I realize I’ve said something wrong. Nadia told me Aurora wasn’t accepted to her internship, thus ending up as Misha’s nanny, and here I am talking about career fulfillment. A low sigh escapes my lips. I’m usually more careful with my words.
“Kamen’ tochit vodu,” I quickly add, trying to sound encouraging. “I think you have something of similar meaning. Water sharpens stone?”
She gives me a thin-lined smile. My poor attempt at comforting her only made it worse.
I clear my throat. “I should get him ready for bed.”
“I’m still on the clock, if you want me to do it?” she offers.
“No seep,” Misha cuts in, drawing out his words.
“Come on, buddy,” Aurora pokes his belly. “Imagine how cozy your bed is. All your stuffed animals waiting for you. You climb under the covers, and the sheets are cold, your pillow’s soft, and you just snuggle in.”
The detailed description sends a salacious reaction through my body as I imagine Aurora doing just that. But it’s not Misha’s bed she’s in.
“I can do it, but thank you.” I scoop Misha up mid-run, looping my arm under his stomach as I carry him down the hallway.
And hopefully away from any more inappropriate thoughts.