Watch Me

"Does my brother usually call his clients beautiful?"

"What?" I jerked my head back in Elena's direction. She smiled gently and then said a word in Russian. "It means beautiful," she said. She nodded in the direction of Nikolai and their mother. "My mother thinks you are very handsome. But my brother says that word is not enough to describe you."

As Elena got distracted by something her daughter was saying to her, I found myself no longer tasting any of the food in my mouth. I snuck another glance at Nikolai and saw him watching me even as his mother spoke to him. My body reacted as it always did. Shivers of anticipation shot through me just like they had when I'd awoken on top of Nikolai's broad chest. Between his delicious scent and the softness of his chest hair against my own skin, I’d been a goner long before I'd been fully awake. I hadn't even really realized that I'd taken advantage of Nikolai's half-asleep state until after the rush from the orgasm had started to wane.

I forced myself to finish eating the food on my plate but all the pleasure I'd been feeling when I’d first started eating was gone. The need to escape was greater than ever.

As Nikolai's mother and sister stood, I fully expected to help them clear the table but to my surprise, Nikolai's mother came around to my side of the table and said something to me in Russian and then motioned to the kitchen. I glanced worriedly at Nikolai.

There was something soft in his eyes that made my stomach do all sorts of weird things.

"You come with me," Nikolai's mother said to me, her English weighed down by her accent. "You come with me," she repeated with a smile as she motioned in the direction of the kitchen and then took my hand in hers.

I followed Anna to the kitchen. I couldn't imagine why she'd singled me out. It wasn’t like we were going to be able to have any deep, meaningful conversations. Once we reached the kitchen, the sweet scent of something baking in the oven hit me. Anna released my hand long enough to go to the oven and pull out a round cake.

Anna worked quickly to remove the cake from its pan and place it on a plate. She pulled the serving knife from a drawer and then pointed at a stack of plates. "You cut, yes?" she said.

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pastry bag. I fully expected her to spread the contents of the bag onto the cake, but before I knew it, she was handing me the bag. "You do," she said as she pointed to the cake and the bag.

"No, I don't know how," I said as a streak of nerves overtook me.

Anna once again pointed to the cake and the pastry bag.

"No, I'll mess it up," I tried to explain. My voice sounded unnaturally high and I knew why. I was a terrible helper in the kitchen. Many of the foster families I'd lived with had assigned me chores like clearing the table and doing the dishes, but it hadn’t taken long for them to discover that I broke more dishes than I cleaned.

I tried again to point to the cake and explain nonverbally that I was the last person she should trust with her beautiful cake, but the older woman merely shook her head and then she was stepping up next to me. She grabbed the pastry bag and put it in my hands and then wrapped her fingers around mine. She said something in Russian as she applied pressure to my fingers, which, in turn, forced some of the glaze out of the pastry bag and onto the cake.

I did my best to pay attention as she showed me how to ice the cake and the pattern she wanted, but my brain wasn't cooperating. "Really, Mrs. Falkov, I can't—" I began, but she cut me off with a shake of her head. Then she was smiling widely and saying something in Russian that I had no hope of understanding. She pointed at the cake and then the pastry bag and made the motion she’d just taught me. Then she turned on her back on me and moved to the refrigerator to get a pitcher full of some kind of red juice.

I drew in a deep breath and did my best to focus all of my attention on glazing the cake. But try as I might, the glaze still ended up scattered all over the cake and the plate just like the thoughts that were scattered in my head.

I fully expected Anna to be horrified when she returned to my side, but she surprised me again when she said, "Very good," and patted me on the back. She took the pastry bag from me and placed it on the counter and then handed me the plate with the cake on it.