CHAPTER Five
Alek
The limo eases to a stop in front of Giacomos, one of my favorite restaurants in all of Italy. With sweaty palms stuffed in my pockets, I wait for Hagar to get out and open Erin’s door. My mother’s trusted driver passes a smug grin toward me as he walks over to Erin’s side.
Watching Erin Angelo step out of the car stops all of my bodily functions, except for one. I see nothing and notice no one else but the woman wearing a sunny colored dress. She could easily have stepped straight out of a fairy tale.
I inhale deeply. The dress she wears hugs her curves and highlights her dark hair swept up in the characteristic bun. I’ve always considered gold to be the color that’s most like a musical note: grand, regal, a knockout. Not just any note either; but I’m talking about the very first one in the most important section of the song—the part that either turns you on because the pitch sounds so good, or pisses you off because the note fell too flat.
She prances straight up to me, smiling in a way that lets me know she has enjoyed my take-charge gestures. I worried all night about how she’d handle my actions. I give her my most charming grin in return. Living in Italy for the past four years has taught me a thing or two. Mother’s wrong if she thinks I’m all player and no heart. She’ll see.
“Hello, Alek,” she says in her throaty voice that flows all through me whenever she speaks.
“Ms. Angelo. You look stunning, as I knew you would,” I say, holding out my right arm for her to take.
She hesitates and raises her left eyebrow. “No no no. I’m not making this that easy for you.”
I inhale. She’s already figured out a vital part of my personality. That’s never good for the man in the beginning. “I take it Hagar has been most hospitable towards you, yes?”
“Hagar’s great. I don’t think drivers come any more…obedient than him.” She stretches her eyes as she emphasizes her last few words.
“I do believe your boss told me to utilize your expertise whenever I saw fit.”
“Right. Time out, Alek. First, cut out all of the Ms. Angelos. I’m Erin, twenty-one-year-old designer girl from Lafayette, Louisiana. Second, I’m going to play your game, for now. But come Monday morning, I expect to be working on the Mystical line. No distractions or limo rides or fancy dresses to drool over.”
“Got it. Now, I’m starving. Would you like to come inside? Don’t want to catch cold, do you?” I ask as I secure the flower clasp holding the shawl on her arms. I don’t dare touch her skin. But damn if the temptation isn’t almost too hard to resist. I start toward the door, stopping when Erin doesn’t follow me.
“One more question. Something that’s been nagging at me since the showing.” A serious look crosses her face. I can remain calm as long as she doesn’t start talking about pearls set in golden bands.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were the first time we met, the day you came to Black Butterfly?” She stands so close to me. The shadows from the street lights play on her dark eyes. For the first time, I notice the sadness inside them.
What’s your story, Erin Angelo?
“Did you hear me, Alek?”
“You were already suffering from a panic attack. Hell, Erin, you practically begged me to keep your secret. I also thought you already knew who I was.”
“Yeah, but, you still could have just been honest.”
“And you would have literally choked from fear,” I say, in a calm voice. I don’t want her to suffer a setback because she thinks I now view her as incompetent.
She frowns and lowers her head. “You’re probably right.”
“I guess there was a small part of me that wanted you to see me as a guy who came to check on his boss’s new hires,” I say, meaning every word.
“You mean, the great Alek Dostov wanted me to believe he was a normal guy instead of a sought out maestro?” she asks, her lips curling up in a smile.
“That’s right.”
“So not the answer I expected,” she whispers.
“What do you mean? Thought I’d have an arrogant, a*shole like reply ready to validate your opinion of me?”
“Kind of, yes. Sorry,” she says, wincing.
“You’re forgiven. I don’t deny what I am.”
With our gazes locked on each other, we’ve now closed the distance between our bodies.
Normally, I wouldn’t even make it into the restaurant at this point in the game. Wrapping a woman up in my charms comes easy, I must confess.
Erin does something different for me, though. Being around her isn’t only about how quickly I can get her into my bed. No. There’s something else, another way she makes me feel, and I don’t have the words to describe the things raging through me. Then again, maybe I do know the exact word. But admitting that I’m caught up in a woman’s spell would be the death of everything I have worked so hard to recreate about myself.
Erin breaks the connection first. “It’s getting chilly. Boy, I can tell August is around the corner.” She takes a careful step back away from me and massages her forearms hidden underneath the shawl.
“Let’s get you inside before you freeze those pretty little fingers off and the Martuccios wind up sending a firing squad out after me,” I tease.
“Nah. No soldiers. They’d probably send the Sicilian Mafia,” she says. I stop walking, right away. I know she’s joking, but hearing the name of the group that has played such a large role in my past still puts me on edge.
She turns around, smiling, and says, “What? I’m only kidding. Lighten up.” I bury my fears and hold out my arm for her to take.
I know she was joking, but her statement hits too close to a memory I don’t care to recall. The mention of the Sicilian Mafia reminds me of a time when I spent a week of my life on the streets of Leningrad, begging for help so I could find my comrade, Nikolai.
“Alek are you alright?” she asks as we step inside the restaurant. I turn my attention back to her face. Right away, my mind clears.
“Of course I am with you,” I assure her.
We make polite conversation throughout dinner. She tells me about her hometown back in the States, a city called Lafayette. And I fill her in on the better parts of my life in Moscow. I even explain how Father met Mother while he was on a business trip in the States. Like most people, she’s both surprised and intrigued by my dual ancestry. I like to compare the way they met to a war, one where Russia conquered the United States and drew up a couple of peace treaties, Adriana and me.
I try and steer the conversation back to the subject of her parents. No luck. She skips over any discussions surrounding her immediate family. Instead, I’ve learned all about her grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even all of their family dogs. She has gotten so comfortable with our conversation, she hasn’t even realized we’ve yet to discuss the line she created, the one she named Mystical.
Since I’ve never done anything like this before, gone on a date with a woman I didn’t intend to have sex with that night, I find myself enjoying this charade more than I imagined. But in my life, all good things either end in a puff of smoke or wind up crashing into a wall and exploding.
“So, your mother was born in Austin? That means you’re all mixed up, like me. Interesting,” she says and shakes her head as though she’s in deep thought.
She takes a bite of her focaccia, a type of yeast roll covered in garlic. Since we’re still well into the aperitivo, Milan’s happy hour, this is about all we’re going to be served for the time being. “It all makes sense now. I was wondering why Adriana doesn’t have a Russian name. And how you got those…nevermind.”
“Don’t do that stopping in mid-sentence thing. It drives me insane, yes. Finish. What do I have?” I lean over on the table, so I’m closer to her face. A rush of pink spreads through her cheeks. She blushes so easily. I enjoy watching it happen.
She shrugs and stabs at her focaccia until I’m ready to snatch the plate away and eat the bread myself. I place my hand over hers. “Erin, you were going to tell me something, yes?” Our gazes meet, and she stares deep into my eyes.
“Your eyes. They’re not blue like a lot of Russians. That’s all. You don’t need me to be telling you things you’ve heard all your life, I’m sure.” She glances down at her plate and then over at my hand massaging the skin on top of hers.
“Look at me, Erin.”
“No. I mean, I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s—”
“What have we here? The two of you look cozy,” a familiar female’s voice says, ripping through our bonding moment. Nadya. I sit back and give her a hard look. She’s wearing fur in July, the same thing Mother likes to do. And she looks ridiculous.
“Nadya. You look warm this evening,” I say, smiling.
“I am. These Milan nights can get a little chilly. Especially when a girl sits at home alone more often than not,” she replies.
“I’m sure a woman of your means can easily find male companionship,” I say with a smirking grin. She turns to Erin. F*ck me now and get it over with.
“Hi there. I’m Nadya, Alek’s ex-girlfriend.” She holds out her hand for Erin to shake.
“I’m Erin. And I’m not the new girlfriend.” Shaking her hand, Erin passes a quick glance in my direction.
“Erin Angelo, the student designer who wooed and won the hearts of all three Martuccio brothers? I’m in awe. Tell me, what kind of sexual favors did you do in order to convince them to take you in and spend all that money?”
“Nadya. This isn’t the time or place for that shit,” I warn.
“Oh, Alek, this is girl talk. Obviously, Erin has what it takes to survive in the fashion capital of the world. I simply want pointers on how she managed to snag yet another successful man so very quickly. Has he taken you to the waterfall yet?” Nadya gushes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I stand up and face her.
“I’m warning you, Nadya,” I repeat.
“No, Alek, it’s okay. Really. I don’t mind helping Nadya out,” Erin says, a devious gleam in her gorgeous eyes. Easing back down to my seat, I get the feeling that Nadya is in for a surprise.
“First, I signed up for design school. This meant I actually had to use intelligence over sex,” Erin begins, using the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard on a female. “And then, my instructors noticed I had a sharp eye for identifying trends. You know what I mean, right? Real. Raw. Talent. Now, this doesn’t include shopping sprees and matching up the designer labels in all my outfits. I’m one of the people who actually sat down and created the design for that acrylic, also known as, fake fur vest you’re wearing.” Erin beams a smile at Nadya and then glances at me. “Men can’t help but to notice someone who does this kind of thing. Right, Alek?”
“Damn right. I couldn’t help it, anyway,” I add, feeling more turned on by Erin than I’ll ever care to admit. She removes her shawl and exposes the way her dress dips low enough to show off her generous cleavage. I lower my head so neither one of them will catch me laughing.
“In fact, Alek told me that my ambitious nature outside of the bedroom turns him on so much that he can’t wait to get back and f*ck my lights out tonight,” Erin says with a smile. I almost choke on my saliva.
“Obviously. Have a nice dinner,” Nadya says in a flat voice and walks off toward a man standing near the bar.
“I cannot believe I just said those shitty things to her,” Erin says, shaking her head and gasping.
“She opened the door wide,” I answer.
“Can we have a subject-change moment, please?” she asks and moves on without questioning me about the waterfall statement Nadya made. I appreciate that she doesn’t question or judge me. Not yet. But after about a half hour, she begins to look weary.
“We don’t have to stay. You look tired. I can take you home now,” I offer because I’d already sent Hagar away, and being in the same room as Nadya asks for more trouble.
“We never got to the business part of the conversation. And we don’t have to leave. I’m a pro in handling female drama,” she assures me. I believe her. “So no worries. I can deal with your ex-girlfriends.”
I smirk. “Girlfriends? There has only been one partner for me over the past six months. Nadya and I weren’t like that. You make me feel like a--a...”
“Man whore?” she answers for me.
“Exactly. Erin, if I were one of those, do you think that with you looking as good as you do right now, I’d still be sitting here playing my good guy card?”
“So, you admit to having ulterior motives? I mean, I’m only guessing I’m halfway right since we haven’t mentioned a word about the Mystical line.” She crosses her legs and tilts her head in a way that emphasizes the most beautiful parts of her face, ripping me back to another time with someone who reminds me so much of this woman.
“I like the name Mystical. It fits the style of music we’ll be playing, and the designer who created it.” It’s a pickup line, yes; but it’s also a hell of a lot better than the last one I tried to use on her.
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before Erin glances behind me and says, “You know what? I think it might be time to leave. Your ex-girl or partner or whatever keeps throwing mental daggers at me.”
“Mental daggers? I was wondering why I felt something sharp poking at the back of my head.” We share a nervous laugh at my weak attempt to make a joke. “I’ll take you home, since I’ve already sent Hagar away,” I offer, standing so I can help pull out her chair.
“Darn it. I kinda got used to the limo guy,” she teases. “What was all that about anyway? You don’t honestly intend to keep sending a limo out for me, do you?”
“Of course I do. Can’t have my top designer moving around in a taxi, now can I?”
“Alek, that’s really not—” I place two fingers on her lips, silencing her. I don’t give a damn that all eyes are hanging on us, either.
“The decision is final,” I say and ease my hand away from her heart-shaped mouth. She has the kind of face that haunts men in our dreams.
During the ride home, she doesn’t say much. I catch her staring at me a few times when she thinks I’m not paying any attention. She’s trying to figure me out. I can tell.
I had to think of some excuse to go back to her house. Besides wanting to spend as much time with her as possible, I can’t shake the image of the black Sedan out of my head. I haven’t said anything to her about it yet mainly because I don’t know if there’s anything to what I actually saw. If I continue to send Hagar over to chauffeur her around, then I can keep an eye on her without being too obvious or scaring someone who already has a nervous condition.
At the door leading into her apartment, she turns and glances at me with mysterious dark eyes shadowed by her lashes. I want her to invite me inside. She’s painfully controlled. It doesn't matter. I’m turned on by her even with the ice princess act.
Back in the day, I’d ruthlessly pursue a woman until I got my way. I’m well aware of how women see me: sensually handsome, successful, rich.
How do I normally view most females? I always considered them to be a soft passage, a way to escape the fake ass shit in my life. But this woman intrigues me. Still, I can’t bring myself to come on to her.
What the f*ck is wrong with you? This isn’t your style.
I bring my attention back to Erin. She was going on about the fabric she purchased for the outfits our dancers will be wearing. And then she says, “Luca told me about the insane deposit you paid us,” she says, ripping me out of my thoughts.
Her words confuse me. At first, I think she’s telling me the amount on the check isn’t enough. “Are you like related to Bill Gates, or something? I mean, six figures, Alek? Really?”
“Not Bill Gates, no. A man named Sergey Dostovsky,” I mutter. I’d love to have been born into the life of a software mogul, a man who worked for his wealth. Someone who built his empire based on honesty and hard work and not by using methods of terror the way my father has done.
“Am I really worth all of this trouble?” she says quietly and lowers her head.
I step in front of her and lift her chin. “Do not ever doubt yourself, Erin Angelo. Always remember there are no amount of digits to cover your self-worth.” I lean over and plant a soft kiss on her cheek.
The wind caresses the space between us, but even Mother Nature can’t shake the electricity flying between Erin and me at the moment.
“I’ll remember that,” she says and turns toward her door, drifting away from me again. “I should head inside. I’m really tired.” Sighing deeply, I stuff my hands in my pocket. That way I know they’ll behave themselves.
“I understand.” I back away and head toward the steps leading up to her building. I’m frustrated, horny, and feeling just a tad desperate. Before I get too far, I turn around. “Oh, I almost forgot. My mother, the one who’s paying for all of this, wants to speak with you about your plans for your new line. Hagar will pick you up at 4pm tomorrow. I’m assuming you have no plans? Or maybe you attend church the way many Italians do on Sunday?”
She gives me a smug grin and says, “What if I do? Would it even make a difference?”
I consider her answer. “Probably not. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I head toward my car without telling her where she’ll be meeting up with me.