She gestured to the empty bottle of vodka. “That one was mine.”
Banner and Ambrose star
ed at her in shock.
Konstantin barked another laugh. “Russian girls,” he said, shaking his head.
She looked up at him, puzzled. In Russian again, she said, “Are American men pussies about drinking too?”
“Shh.” He grinned, then took her hand and pulled her off the couch. “You’ll hurt their poor egos.”
Nodding, she let him tuck her under his arm. When he kissed her on the forehead, she felt a little dizzy but she couldn’t tell if that was from the buzz or a wave of affection. The two weren’t so different.
* * *
The cabinet door in the kitchen had fallen off the hinge two days ago. It’d been driving Varushka crazy but Konstantin had been too busy to fix it. Although he suggested she call a handyman if it was bothering her, the idea of calling a stranger to come into the house to fix something so simple was an affront to her frugal nature.
Determined to be useful, she dug around in the basement and located a toolbox. When she found the right-sized screwdriver, she headed back to the kitchen.
As soon as she set foot in the kitchen, her phone rang. The delay was annoying, so she checked the number to see if it was important. It was her parents’ number.
“Hello!” she said, smiling. She hadn’t spoken to anyone back home in weeks. It was expensive and though Konstantin offered to pay the bill, her father was too proud to allow it. Plus, the time difference made it hard to sync up.
“Myshka!” her father said.
The warmth in his voice made her eyes water. She hadn’t realized how much she missed him. His smell, his hugs, his plump face full of smiles.
She started to cry.
“What’s the matter?” his tone changed in an instant. “Are you hurt? In trouble? Is he treating you poorly?”
“No, no!” She half laughed, half cried. “I just miss you. I’m happy. Really.”
“And you like America?”
“Yes!” After she wiped her silly tears away, she squeezed the phone between her cheek and shoulder and set to work on the cabinet. “It’s different. But I’m getting used to it.”
She thought of the grocery store Konstantin had taken her to the other day. Usually, his maid did the shopping, but Varushka had insisted she needed to shop for specific ingredients to cook something from home. “You wouldn’t believe where they buy their food,” she told him. “All in one place! Shelves and shelves of it. I nearly cried!” The rows of sweets and cakes and ice cream made her want to buy one of everything so she could try them all. Konstantin had trailed behind her with the wheeled cart, chuckling at her wonder and acting like his only reason for going was to watch her. He’d even kissed her in the row that held cereal, right in front of strangers, just because she’d begged for the kind with the rainbow marshmallows.
“Very good,” he said. “And Konstantin is treating you well?”
“Of course. He’s like you said. A respectable gentleman.” She hoped her father wouldn’t hear what she wasn’t saying—about how hot they were for each other and how he kissed her neck and grabbed her ass while she cooked. Stubbornly, she pushed all of her dirtier remembrances aside, like how she still had a hickey that throbbed on the inside of her thigh from last night.
He was quiet a moment and she grunted as she pushed the screw into the wood.
“How is Mama?”
“Good.”
“And the boys?”
“All good.”
Well this was turning out to be an interesting conversation. Why did he call if he was just going to grunt answers at her?
“Konstantin says we can come visit in a few months,” she said, excited by the prospect and hoping the news would cheer her father up. Maybe Konstantin would officially be her fiancé by then. But where would they stay? Her parents would probably insist they sleep under separate roofs.
It was hard enough sleeping apart under the same roof. At this point it was a technicality—they’d do all sorts of things together in his bed. Then she’d sneak down the hall to her own bed, as though someone would come to check in the middle of the night.