You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

They’d see a waterfall.

They’d see that the rocks and the stones have been composed to look like water cascading through shrubbery. Sometimes I watch Akio working, meticulously and lovingly raking his plot of small white stones as if he is combing his lover’s hair. The teeth marks left by his rake are faultlessly straight. There is never a moment when he falters, hesitates or dithers.

His dedication to detail is impressive. He is bent over with age, but even the smallest stone rolling away does not escape his beady eyes. It is picked up and returned to its exact place.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

I take a few more puffs and grind out my cigarette. Fuck it. She’s just a stone that has rolled away from its proper place. I need to get her back to where she belongs.

She’s just a bit of pussy. Nothing more. The hunger will pass and the sooner I get that through my thick head the better.

Fourteen

Dahlia Fury

Back in my room I clean up, don a baggy T-shirt, and notice that Stella has left a text message.

U won’t believe. Crazy Richmond bitch finally came through with her rich and famous contacts. Got me an appt. with Andre Rieu next week!!!! :) xxxxxx

I have no idea who Andre Rieu is and quickly Google him. Turns out he is a famous Dutch violinist and conductor. I call her immediately.

‘Congratulations, babe,’ I shriek. ‘You’ve arrived. I’m so impressed. Your dainty fingers will soon be dancing over the A-List!’

‘Nobody is more impressed than me,’ she says bashfully.

‘Soon all kinds of celebrities will be flying you all over the world as part of their entourage,’ I tease.

‘If they know what’s good for them,’ she jokes.

I laugh and sit on the bed. ‘So what are you up to today?’

‘Nothing much. I’ve a dance class in an hour and three sessions this evening. What about you? How’s sexual domination working out for you?’

‘It’s …’

‘Actually don’t tell me. I’m not ready to hear.’ There is an awkward pause. ‘How’s Noah?’

‘He’s fine. I don’t think—’

At that moment I hear a sharp buzzing sound. ‘What the hell? Hang on a minute. Can you hear that noise? Do you know where it’s coming from?’

‘It sounds like the intercom system. Go pick up the phone by the door.’

I look towards the door and notice a wall phone next to it. ‘Don’t go away. I haven’t finished talking to you yet,’ I tell Stella and pick up the phone.

Noah says, ‘Lunch will be served at 1 p.m. and your appointment with your personal shopper is at 2 p.m. Her name is Molly Street. Wait for her in the living room. The one with the big painting of fish.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘See you later,’ he says and rings off.

I return the receiver to the wall and put my mobile back to my ear.

‘What’s going on?’ Stella asks.

‘I’ve got a woman coming at 2 o’clock to help me revamp my wardrobe. Apparently Zane doesn’t think much of my fashion choices,’ I explain sourly.

She giggles. ‘Did you wear your striped blouse and grey skirt?’

‘Yes,’ I admit reluctantly.

‘They’re truly awful. I warned you not to take them,’ she scolds.

‘I know, but they are so comfortable.’ Well the blouse was until Zane tore it.

‘You get to keep the new wardrobe, right?’

‘I don’t know, but I guess so.’

‘Get some sexy stuff and get something in my size too.’

I laugh. Then she has to go because the postman is at the door, so I end the call and work until lunchtime. Lunch is roast duck with apples, vegetables, roast potatoes, and some kind of creamy salad. I eat alone. I leave the door open so I can hear the staff in the kitchen eating and talking animatedly, but I don’t attempt to join them. They’re all talking in Russian, and if I go in there they will be forced to start speaking in English, when it’s clear they are more comfortable speaking in their mother tongue. Besides, I’m just a temporary installation. No point in getting too close.

After lunch I go into the living room with the painting of the fish and wait for Molly Street. There’s a glossy racing magazine on the coffee table and I flip through it without any real interest.

I don’t hear the doorbell, but the living room door opens and Noah shows in a pretty lady with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a cute button nose. She is dressed in jeans, a pink sweater and a darling pair of pointy, two-inch high ankle boots in black suede.

‘Thanks Noah,’ she says.

He nods and closes the door. She turns towards me and smiles broadly. ‘Hello. So you’re Dahlia Fury. Sensational name,’ she says chattily.

I smile back. ‘I think your name’s rather special too.’

‘Well, it’s not really my name. I made it up,’ she confesses with a wide grin.