You Don't Own Me 2 (The Russian Don 2)

We walk in through the front door and from the corner of my eyes I can see Noah holding back.

‘I’m so sleepy today,’ I say, affecting a huge yawn.

‘It’s 10.30,’ Zane says.

‘Maybe one drink,’ I say, and start walking towards the living room where everyone is hiding. I open the door and suddenly Zane grabs me by my upper arm and jerks me back so I tumble against his body. A yelp of shock exits my mouth. What the hell? With lightning speed Zane closes the door and with his hand still gripping my arm turns towards Noah.

‘Why are there no lights in that room?’ Zane asks urgently. His face is wary, and his voice is low and tense.

I look at Noah and very nearly laugh. For a second his face is a classic picture of shit-what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now? But I have to hand it to these Russians. They really are closed books, by closed what I mean is super-glued shut.

With a totally straight face Noah says, ‘It’s my fault. We had a short circuit earlier, the electrics tripped, and I forgot to switch the lights back on.’

‘I’ll go and turn them back on,’ he offers.

Zane visibly relaxes. His hand uncurls around my arm. ‘No, it’s OK. You can leave now. Thanks.’

Even though he has been reassured, he does not let me go in first. ‘Wait here,’ he says and opens the door. He goes in, switches on the light, and in a flash all his staff jump out from the hiding places and scream ‘Happy Birthday.’

Zane freezes, frowns, shakes his head as if in disbelief, then looks at me with a confused expression. ‘You did this?’

‘S-DYNOM va-RYEN’-ya!’ I yell. Olga taught it to me: Happy birthday in playful Russian. Russian is apparently not like English. There is also the serious version. I hope I pronounced it right.

Zane lips curve with amusement, which means I obviously didn’t.

Then Olga brings the cake with all the candles towards us. It has intricate black candy melt mesh and is decorated with lots of fresh strawberries on top. Music starts and everybody sings the Russian birthday song. It has the kind of beat that I associate with Zorba the Greek. Zane just stares at everybody with a slightly dazed expression. I can see that he is totally floored at being ambushed in this way. The song stops and everybody claps.

‘Za-ga-DAT-zhi-LA-nee-ya,’ Olga says. I know she is telling him to make a wish.

His eyes dart towards me. I smile widely at him. He takes a deep breath and blows out the candles in one puff. Everybody cheers and claps. Glasses of vodka are produced and passed around. One quickly finds its way into my hand.

Noah shouts out a strange thing, ‘Ah, the cake is bitter.’

I look at him in surprise. What the hell is he talking about? The cake has not even been cut. Zane turns to look at me.

‘What?’ I ask looking around because everybody is looking at me with a teasing expression.

‘It’s an ancient Russian custom. Your guests are asking you to make it sweeter with a long sweet kiss.’

I pass my glass to Nico, the boy who feeds the birds, and smile cheekily at him. ‘I’m game if you are.’

Zane sweeps me into his arms in a grand and dramatic gesture dips me back over his arm. ‘Don’t drop me,’ I laugh.

Then he starts kissing me. I imagined it would be a quick peck or a little comedy kiss to entertain the crowd, but our lips lock, and to my surprise everybody starts counting the seconds off.

One, Two, Three …

After the count of five I stop hearing their voices. My mouth opens. The kiss becomes magical, like a kiss from a fantasy. I’ve never been kissed so passionately in front of so many people. There is so much emotion in the kiss, the world around me becomes an indistinct blur and finally ceases to exist all together. There is no one else but Zane and I.

I could have remained in that beautiful fantasyland forever, but Zane lifts his head and rights me. Everybody stops counting and raises their glasses in a toast. For a few seconds Zane’s eyes are dark with passion then he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, and straightening me, turns to face everybody. My knees feel like jelly. Oh, God, please don’t let that kiss and that look be only a stolen moment.

‘Osvezhit,’ Noah says.

‘That means refresh,’ Zane translates for me.

Our glasses are quickly refilled.

The next toast is by Yuri and literally translates as no long breaks between the first and second toasts.

‘Because we Russians don’t allow long breaks between toasts,’ Zane explains and everyone downs the second lot of alcohol.

More vodka is poured. Olga is already starting to look red-cheeked.

‘Nu, poneslis,’ everyone yells, and down the hatch the vodka goes.