Winter's Gift Page 3

  The second argument was a little less twisted and had to do with my travel plans. I’ll be away from Moscow for over a month starting in mid-January. Earlier this year my developers built a nifty piece of software that finally opened up foreign markets for MalaSystems. The sales rep over Europe and I will be closing several deals in Germany, France, Belgium, and Switzerland. Then I pick up my baby girl in Geneva, and we’ll spend a week skiing in the Swiss Alps. After that, I’ll fly from Zurich to New Delhi, where the sales rep over Asia and I will hopefully sign our first deal in India.

  That should give me ample time to distract myself, recover my senses, and forget Anna.

  So, taking her to my parents’ dinner isn’t such a crazy idea after all. It’s just a little gift to myself—a harmless treat to enjoy and discard.

  But Anna hasn’t answered my question yet.

  “Are you considering it?” I ask.

  “No, I’m debating if you’re mad or if you just hate your parents.”

  “Neither.”

  “You’re planning to bring an escort to a family dinner—the family dinner of the year.”

  “My point precisely. They hate to see me unescorted on this occasion, year after year. So I’m giving them what they want.”

  “OK, I’m finished debating. You do hate them.”

  “Anna,” I say drily. “My feelings toward my parents are irrelevant. Are you available or not?”

  “I was planning on spending New Year’s Eve with my mother.”

  “You can celebrate the Orthodox Christmas with her the following weekend,” I decree before adding, “and I’ll double your fee to make up for the inconvenience.”

  She says yes, we hang up and I bang my head against my desk, very hard.

  When I told Mama I was bringing a date, she lost her tongue for a few moments. This has never happened to my mother before, ever. Then she began bombarding me with questions about Anna, most of which I masterfully eluded. To my relief, she was so eager to share the news with Papa that she let me off the hook much more easily than I’d expected.

  By the time Anna and I arrive in Peredelkino and knock on my parents’ door, Gary and his family are already inside. His car is parked in the backyard, and his two preteen boys are as loud and turbulent as usual. I can hear them chasing each other through the house. Gary had planned to set out early to beat the traffic, and it looks like he succeeded for once.

  Papa opens the door and gives me a hug. Then he looks Anna over and hugs her too.

  Mama rushes down the stairs. She’s wearing an apron and no lipstick. I guess curiosity about my date proved stronger than vanity. She almost pushes Papa aside so she can get a proper look at Anna.

  “I’m Elena.” She pulls Anna in, smooches her cheek, then grabs her hand with both hers, and takes a step back. “Let me take a good look at you, child!”

  “Hello, Mother,” I say emphatically as I step in and pull the door shut behind me.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” She doesn’t even look at me.

  The object of Mama’s scrutiny is doing her best to maintain a polite expression, but her eyes keep darting to me, and her ears are flaming red.

  I look at Papa who just smiles and spreads his arms. Well, what did I expect? Even when he served in the military, climbed the ladder from sergeant all the way to major and collected a few medals for bravery along the way, we all knew who was in charge in this household.

  “Can we take our coats off and get some tea by the fire?” I ask.

  “Of course! Silly me.” Mama finally lets go of Anna’s hand.

  The two of us are relieved of our coats and boots, given extra-thick woolen socks, and ushered in. I lead Anna to the family room where Gary and his wife are already seated in front of the fireplace.

  Everyone greets everyone and sinks back into cushy sofas. I can feel Gary’s gaze drilling into me, but I refuse to look at him, hoping he’ll get the message.

  “You’ve been keeping secrets,” he says.

  My communication skills clearly have room for improvement.

  “The forecast promises snowfall tonight.” I finally turn to him.

  “How come you never mentioned you’d met someone?” Gary shakes his head in reproach.

  “Your boys are suspiciously quiet. Shouldn’t you go check on them?”

  Gary’s wife Svetlana beams. “They’re playing their video games.”

  Gary turns to Anna. “How long have you two been seeing each other? Must be a while, since he brought you here today.” He shakes his head again and turns back to me. “And here I thought I was your best friend.”

  “You are,” I say. “But you aren’t my shrink.”

  Gary opens his mouth to say something, but Mama comes in with a huge tray piled with at least ten different kinds of pastries. Papa is on her heels with another tray loaded with steaming cups of tea.

  Mama sits down next to Anna and grabs her hand again. “My dear, before you tell me all about yourself, there’s something important you need to know about Anton.”

  “Ma,” I interject. “She knows everything she needs to know.”

  My mother waves me off and turns back to Anna. “You should know that in spite of being an oligarch, my son is a good man.”

  Oh, God.

  Mama plows on. “He comes from a normal family. He started off as a computer programmer.”

  I clear my throat. At work this is usually enough to command everyone’s immediate silence and undivided attention.

  But not in this house.

  Gary, the SOB, grins across the coffee table and enjoys himself a little too much. His wife Svetlana seems equally amused.

  Anna’s expressive face shows a unique mix of discomfort and fun.

  “Over the years,” Mama continues, “while some of Anton’s friends mounted Ponzi schemes, got tangled up in politics and did prison time, he focused on building his IT empire.”

  “One processor at a time,” Papa chimes in, a smug smile on his face.

  “My company doesn’t build processors, Papa.”

  He shrugs. “Who cares? I like the sound of it.”

  “Me, too,” Anna says.

  I sit back and admit my total inability to control these people. Or this situation.

  “As his childhood friend, I certify he’s almost superhuman,” Gary says, looking gleeful.

  The bastard just got the opportunity of a lifetime to make a monkey of me. I brace myself for the worst.

  “In addition to his computer skills and business acumen,” Gary continues, “Anton here has high moral standards and expects similar… rectitude from everyone around him.”

  I know this is about my disapproval of his extramarital affairs.

  But Anna doesn’t know that. Her face grows pale, and she starts chewing on her lower lip.

  “And what is it that you do, my dear?” Mama asks.

  Anna’s posture becomes even tenser. “I’m a legal assistant.”

  For a brief moment I panic that she might mention her second job, but she doesn’t.

  “Good for you,” Mama says.

  “Which firm?” Gary asks.

  “Shastny and Block.”

  Gary nods and then, thankfully, launches into a long story about his recent disastrous experience with another big law firm.

  After that we move to the dining room.

  For the rest of the evening, amidst all the fun and noise and good food, I’m acutely aware that everyone around the table has bought into our story. They look at me and see exactly what I wanted them to see—a proud man introducing his lovely new girlfriend to his inner circle.

  And I envy the hell out of this man. Actually, it’s more than envy. I hate the guy’s guts because I’m miserable inside, while this lucky bastard—my doppelgänger—is openly enjoying a cozy New Year’s dinner with his family, friends, and a charming girlfriend who’s a legal assistant at Shastny and Block.

  Whom he isn’t paying to wine, dine, and fuck.

  Whom o
ther men aren’t paying for the same honor.

  Chapter 5

  Snowman

  I wake up from too much light. It takes me a few seconds to find my bearings. I’m in the spare bedroom on the second floor of my parents’ dacha. With Anna. It must be at least nine thirty, judging by the amount of sunshine seeping through my still closed eyelids.

  Wow. I never sleep this late, not even on the weekends. I stretch and grope for Anna. My aim is to cup her soft breast and feel her hard little nipple prod my palm. After that, I’ll move closer and smell the delicate skin where her neck joins her shoulder. It’s hands down the best way to start the day. I love the scent of her skin in the morning, when her floral perfume has worn off, and what’s left is just her essence—sweet, feminine, and a little bit sultry from our lovemaking.

  But Anna isn’t there. I open my eyes and grab my watch from the night table. It is, indeed, nine thirty. She must be taking a shower or in the kitchen for coffee. Anna craves coffee as soon as she wakes up.

  I remember last night. We had to be quieter than usual, with my parents’ bedroom just across the hallway. So, we got creative. We explored the last unchartered spots on each other’s body and tried new things. Anna came up with a few tricks and positions I particularly enjoyed. A few others I refused to even consider, knowing they would set off my sense of the ridiculous before they had a chance to trigger a sexual response.

  She didn’t reject any of my suggestions, which pleased me to no end… but also bugged me.

  “I want you to know that you don’t have to agree to everything,” I told her at some point. “I really don’t mind if you say no to something you don’t enjoy.”

  She gave me a funny look then smiled. “I’m not afraid to go further with you than I do with others.”

  “Why?”

  “I know you’ll never hurt me physically.”

  “How can you know that?”

  Her eyes grew darker. “You’re right. I can’t know that, of course. But I trust you.” She stopped smiling. “I have faith that if I ask, you’ll stop any act straight away. Even if you’re wild about it.”

  I cupped her cheeks. “As a man who despises irrational sentiments I feel compelled to warn you not to trust me. You should never trust someone you’ve known for only a couple of weeks.”

  A light frown creased her brow, and I kissed it away before adding, “But your hunch is correct. I’ll never hurt you.”

  I’m not sure why I didn’t confine my statement to the “physical” aspect as she had done.

  I pull my pajama pants on, walk over to the window, and open the curtains. The front garden is buried under a thick layer of immaculate snow. The gravel paths, lawns, and flowerbeds are completely hidden from sight. The tree branches are white too, sparkling in sunlight and turning the garden into a magical place.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the kitchen where Mama is brewing coffee.

  “Want a cup before everyone comes down to breakfast?” she asks.

  “Yes, please.”

  She chuckles, handing me my favorite mug.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The look on your face. Let me end your misery, son. Anna is out back, playing with Gary’s boys.”

  I raise the mug to my lips in a futile attempt to hide my relief from Mama.

  Five minutes later, I pull on my sweater and race down the stairs to the back door. I open it to take a peep, and forget to close it, letting the frosty air invade the foyer. If someone asked me right now what century we were in, I’m not sure I’d be able to come up with the answer.

  Anna is just a couple of meters from me, whistling happily as she fixes a carrot to the face of a snowman. The boys are making branch arms for it. Anna’s wool hat is covered in snow, her eyes are bright, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose are pink. She’s scrumptious.

  “He needs eyes. I’ll go look for something suitable.” Gleb, the elder of the brothers, heads toward the orchard.

  “Me too!” The little one drops everything and follows in Gleb’s steps.

  A second later a snowball hits the back of Anna’s head. The kids giggle and run to the farthest end of the garden.

  Anna narrows her eyes and hollers, “I’m coming after you little monsters, and when I catch you, expect no mercy!”

  I watch her chase them.

  “Here, put this on,” Mama says.

  I turn around, take my coat from her, and put it on. The moment I turn back, a big snowball hits me between my eyes, exploding all over my face. I wipe it off and look around for the perpetrator. The kids are too far away, but Anna is just a few meters to my left, feigning interest in the fluffy clouds above her.

  OK. If she thinks I won’t retaliate, she doesn’t know me well enough.

  I flash a maniacal smile. “Anna. You. Will. Regret. This.”

  I pull on Papa’s rubber boots over my wool socks and gather enough snow from the porch to form a large ball. The snow burns my gloveless hands, but I don’t care. I pack the ball a little more, keeping very calm, and then dash down the steps.

  Anna lets out a squeal and starts running. But I’m faster. I catch up with her, grab her from behind, and smear the snowball on her forehead, cheeks, and mouth. She wriggles and shakes her head. I wrap my arms tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides so she can’t clean the snow from her face.

  “Beg for mercy,” I command.

  “Please, Anton the Terrible,” she says in a comical voice. “Take pity on a weak, helpless woman!”

  Before I open my mouth to say I’m feeling magnanimous but don’t try to attack me again, she sticks her foot out in some clever way and trips me.

  As I fall, I drag her with me to the ground. Five seconds later, she’s on her back and I’m on top of her. With my right hand I shackle her wrists above her head, and with my left I clean the snow from her laughing face.

  It’s at that precise moment that I become fully aware of the extent and the variety of trouble that I’m in. It’s huge. And it isn’t the kind that goes away by throwing enough energy or money on it.

  I’m neck-deep in a sticky, debilitating kind of trouble.

  The kind that could shatter the foundations of my world—the world I’ve painstakingly built over the years. The kind that could bring everything crumbling down and incapacitate me with pain and rage as Stacia’s infidelity did eleven years ago.

  Only this time round, I’m older and less resilient. I may no longer find it in me to rebuild my life.

  This time round, it may destroy me.

  Part II

  Anna

  Chapter 6

  Piroshki

  Just an hour ago, the elegant gray-haired gentleman opening the door of his BMW to let me out was handcuffed to the bedposts, confessing he’d been a bad boy, and begging his Mistress to punish him. I’m still surprised I managed to keep a poker face while slapping and spanking him. Even more astounding was my composure as I wielded the flogger and repeated, “You’ve been very bad, indeed, Leonid. And bad boys must be disciplined.”

  I grin.

  Shit.

  So much for the poker face.

  Leonid smiles back brightly and blows a light kiss on my knuckles. “I’m so glad we see eye to eye, Anna.”

  Thank God people can’t read each other’s minds. “Good-bye, Leonid.”

  “Until next month.”

  I nod regally. “Until next month.”

  He releases my hand and walks back to the driver’s seat.

  I rush down the street. I have exactly one hour to shower, change, and arrive at Mom’s on time. She’s making piroshki. Over tea, I’ll announce the big news.

  In the shower, I tell myself that Leonid is my ideal client. My only challenge with him is remaining serious during his favorite role-play. Other than that, our transactions have been swift (not counting the copious dinners), painless (excepting the slight burn of my palm), and dependable. Two Friday evenings each month and a few emails between.<
br />
  Another great thing about Leonid is that I react to him in the same way I do to an oyster. He causes mild revulsion that I can easily hide, and beyond that—nothing but total and blissful indifference.

  I wish I could say that about Anton. I wish he were more of an oyster. But the man is too good to look at and too much fun to talk to. I may have fallen for him a few years ago, before Stan changed me.

  But today, Anton is a nuisance.

  It’s annoying that I can’t stop ogling his V-shaped back and the exquisite slant of his shoulders. It’s frustrating and infuriating that I nearly drool at the sight of his bulging biceps when he removes his suit jacket. As for the thing my heart does on those precious occasions when Anton smiles his soft, lopsided smile, it’s simply unacceptable.

  And that’s just scratching the surface.

  I resent that he books me so often, always for a full evening and a night. He doesn’t fuck me—he makes love to me. I suspect that from his distorted, self-confident perspective, he isn’t paying to use my body. He’s paying to clear my schedule.

  Besides, he isn’t even trying to hide me. I met his parents, for Christ’s sake. Admittedly, the idea was to silence them on the subject of his relationship phobia for a while. What I fail to see is why he needed a whole weekend for that?

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  As streams of delightfully warm water caress my breasts, abdomen and thighs, I remember that night at his parent’s dacha in Peredelkino. I didn’t tell him then and I doubt I ever will, but that night I came for the first time in my life. I don’t think he noticed the difference from the previous orgasms that I had faked. I’m good at faking orgasms.

  The funny thing is, I started doing it long before I became an escort. I started with Stan to please him, to make him believe that his prowess had transformed me from an uptight virgin going on spinster into a lusty sex kitten. Isn’t it ironic how I stroked the ego of the man who had set out to destroy me?