CHAPTER Six
Erin
Alek’s mom owns a vacation house that looks like the mansion of an Italian king. She lives just along the outskirts of Bellaggio. The front of the house overlooks Lake Como.
The evergreens and over-the-top gardens surrounding the place stun me into silence. The stucco on the house has been washed in a yellow stain, giving the exterior an expensive, but happy look. No wonder Alek loves gold so much. I would too if my mom lived in a place like this.
As Hagar eases the car to a stop, I experience an overwhelming sensation of dread. These people are the real deal. The Dostovs have chosen my design house to create the costumes for one of Milan’s hottest opera productions of the year; and it all goes down in five weeks. That’s not a lot of time at all. I’ve been trying to keep my anxiety under control. And by that I mean I’ve been gorging myself on extra large amounts of lime sherbet the past couple of nights.
And don’t even get me started on the Maestro, the man with the to-die for accent and body that touches mine without him even laying a hand on me.
I spent the entire night trying to rid my little head of visions with Alek Dostov. He’s a mystery to me. Really, I don’t understand what he sees in my amateurish designs. With his reputation and money, he could easily have commissioned Prada or Gucci. Instead, he chose me, a little Creole slash English girl from the south. Why? The word won’t go away.
He obviously doesn’t want me to swing with him. Carla has filled me in on many of the numerous adventures she discovered about his life outside the theatre. The man I’ve spent the last few times hanging out with doesn’t match the things I’ve heard. Instead, I’ve only been shown kindness and unbelievable loyalty to Black Butterfly Designs.
If he wanted to get inside my pants, then he would’ve made a move on me last night. But he didn’t. And don’t even get me started on thinking of the time I flashed him the day of the showing. And yet he was a perfect gentleman. Any crappy thing could’ve happened in that situation. But it didn’t.
My theory in this life regarding rumors and hearsay has always been a person is innocent until proven guilty. And you better have some good solid evidence, or I’ll probably just tell you to f*ck off.
Alek meets us at the doorway. He wears a black shirt paired with gray slacks and his hair is tamer than it was last night. There just isn’t any use in me trying to deny it. He’s die-on-the-floor gorgeous. “You look amazing in your Gothic dress,” he says and then leans over and kisses my cheek. He has never done this before.
His breath on my face is like a match, sending waves of heat through me in a way that steals away my voice for a short moment. I can’t even think of a witty comeback to his sarcastically sweet statement about my black dress.
It’s a simple thing I designed myself. Basically, I added spaghetti straps to a tube dress covered in tiered layers of silk that move when I walk. As I do with many other designs, I took my inspiration from the flappers of the 20’s. I’m just kind of standing here with my mouth hanging open...again.
“Squeeee!” A girl’s voice trills through the air. I almost jump through the overhang above us. “You came. I’m so excited to have another person my age here tonight,” Adriana gushes as she rushes over to where I stand, hugging me. There’s no way she can be Alek’s little sister. The siblings are like night and day.
Adriana reminds me more of my friends back home than a girl from another country. If it weren’t for her accent then I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
I allow her to take my hand and lead me inside. I steal a quick glance back at Alek. He shrugs and gives me an innocent face. Inside the house, I go from being consumed by aromas of foxgloves, roses, and evergreens to the smell of some type of seasoned roast.
Two men, a couple, and an older woman with a shocking head of long silvery-blonde hair sit inside the living room. This is the woman who Luca was talking with the entire time I was up on stage at the showing. Dressed in a floor-length gown, she could easily be mistaken as a movie star, or even Rachel Zoe.
“She’s here,” Adriana gushes. “Table’s all set, Mother. I didn’t want you to stress about anything so I took care of everything just before Nikolai arrived.” She’s speaking to the goddess in the silver dress. Of course, this woman would have to be the Katerina Dostov.
“Excellent. I’m certain our star guest is famished,” Katerina says, and glances at Alek who now stands on my left side.
The younger of the two men stands and heads toward me. He reminds me of Luca with his fair complexion and dirty blonde locks. The only difference is that Luca would never let his hair grow long enough for a ponytail.
There’s a sadness swimming in this man’s eyes, making him appear both youthful and wise at the same time. He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles. The graceful way he moves rivals any ballerina I’ve ever seen. This must be Alek’s dance coordinator.
“Nikolai Belikov, Madam Angelo. Pleasure to meet the woman who will be transforming my dancers into Gothic Kings and Queens,” he says, bowing. Right now, I’m wondering which planet I've landed on. Everyone seems so polite and gorgeous and just unreal.
Alek sighs and makes a whispery laugh. “You’re trying too hard, comrade.”
“No worries, Sasha,” Nikolai begins, his gaze locked on me. But a smile spreads across his lips, “I will not steal such a gorgeous creature from you on this eve. Maybe some other time.” He strolls back over to where the others sit. All eyes stare at Alek and me standing there.
I lean my head towards Alek. “Sasha?”
“My nickname. Don’t even think about laughing,” he mutters.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” I say and glance at him, a small chuckle betraying my promise.
We’re staring at each other when the goddess who reminds me of Rachel Zoe stands and glides over to where we stand. “Darling, how rude to let your guest stand here in such obvious discomfort.” She scolds Alek and turns to me. “Erin Angelo. It’s a pleasure to finally have a moment with you.” I catch the tiniest hint of her Texan accent. Turning toward the others sitting in the room, she introduces me to La Scala’s director, Frederico Ponterelli, and his wife just before we head toward the formal dining room.
I’m going to kill Alek. He made it seem like I’d only be meeting his mother. Now, I’m being put on display. And I never do well in these kind of situations. That’s because people are naturally curious and want to know everything about someone they’ve just met. Me? Well, I can’t see how I’m going to get around talking about my family with this lively bunch. I craftily avoided that topic with Alek. I get the feeling my tactics won’t work this time.
Dinner goes well at first. We all take a seat at a long wooden table polished to a high shine. The roast covered in pesto, garlic, and tomatoes hits my belly in a good way. People laugh and share funny stories about the places they’ve traveled to. I’m pretty sure I can make small conversation without saying or doing anything stupid.
And then Frederico, the man who hired Alek and Nikolai, opens his mouth.
“Katerina, I think we should have a toast,” Frederico says and glances at Alek. “Here’s to hoping Ms. Angelo’s designs can lessen the impact of the risqué showcase your son has chosen.” He lifts his glass high, but no one else joins him.
Katerina remains calm, but still puts on her bitch face. I’ve worked with enough women like her to know when someone transforms in that way. “Why, Frederico, whatever do you mean, darling? Alek’s choice of Requiem for a Dream is just what Italy’s fashion capital needs. The religious fanatics will understand. And I do believe that we’ve had this conversation before.” She takes a bite of roast and gives him a firm smile. Alek stops eating and glares at Frederico.
“Erin, love, tell us about your family. Surely you miss seeing them, being that you’re so far away from home,” Katerina says to me. I knew this moment was coming.
I shrug and try to ignore the panic creeping up on me. If I keep the anxiety under control, then there’ll be no need to worry about using my pump in front of everybody. “There isn’t really much to tell. Um, we all love music.”
“I think we should go back to Frederico’s statement,” Alek says, rescuing me. “He’s my toughest critic. Naysayers are always good in this business.”
“I think not,” Katerina says firmly. “I’m more interested in hearing about the girl who got chauffeured around by my personal driver yesterday.”
Holy moly. For some reason I’m getting the bitch face and the attitude that comes along with it. Time to shake the rebel in me up a bit.
“Behave, Mother,” Alek warns, giving her a stern side glance. I’ve stepped into a war, the dangerous kind, the one where mother and son are using me as bait.
“Alek loves sex. Did he already tell you this?” Katerina informs me. Blush fires through every single cell in my body. Adriana spits out all of her Chianti and gives her mother the ‘O’ face. Frederico backs down and Nikolai attempts to say something, but Katerina holds up a hand, silencing him.
“I know this to be true because I have to set him up with the finest, most expensive pieces of kinky ass just to satisfy his needs.” She takes yet another sip of her drink, sets the glass down, crosses her hands, and bores into me with a borderline manic smile. “Do you enjoy sex, Erin? If not, then you shouldn’t be trying to snag my son. It’ll never last.”
I think I’ll just lay down, die, and get this bat shit insane moment over with now.
“Damn it, Mother! Why do you insist on acting this way?” Alek growls, banging his fist down on the table.
“What is it, darling? I have every right to know how my money is being used,” Katerina answers and turns back to me.
Everyone else at the table either continues eating or stares back and forth among the three of us. Somehow, I find my voice in all of this craziness. “Yes, I—I enjoy sex very much. It’s a favorite pastime of mine, actually. Do you enjoy sex, Signora Dostov?” I have no idea at what point and time in my life when I had grown such large balls.
“We’re not talking about me, now are we?” Katerina picks up her fork and stabs her perfectly cut portions of roast. I can’t let her off the hook that easily. Women like this enjoy dishing out tests, and she just tossed a fat one at me.
“I mean, it was a pretty big part of what made me name the line Mystical. Because sex is a mysterious thing, when done correctly, I mean. More people should talk about it this way.” Across the table, Alek lowers his head. I think he’s laughing.
“I toast to that,” Frederico says, raising his glass and waggling his eyebrows at his wife.
“I second that notion,” Nikolai says and raises his glass too.
“I might as well go with the flow. You’re all terrible. Remind me not to bring any sane dates home in the next couple of years,” Adriana says from beside me. “Here’s to sex because that’ll definitely sell Erin’s Mystical line. Oh yes, and it’ll also make my brother and Nikolai tons of money.” She beams a grin and a relieved chuckle passes over the table.
But Katerina doesn’t handle defeat so well.
“Surely your mother must be extremely proud of her daughter’s accomplishments in such a short time,” she blurts and waits for my reaction.
“She is,” I barely whisper. I’m cornered and feel trapped. My breathing increases, and I feel Alek’s eyes analyzing my face.
“And your father, what does he think of his daughter’s accomplishments?” Katerina asks, probing deeper. She might’ve been born in Texas, but she has the ruthlessness of an assassin somehow built into her body. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think she already knew the answers to her questions.
“My father is dead.” Suddenly the urge to be away from the prying eyes and questions overpowers me. Talking about that part of my life never turns into a good thing for me. Before the tingle in my chest gets any stronger, I enact my exit plan.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I fake a few coughs, stand, and head outside.
“Erin wait,” Alek says, but I don’t listen to him. Between the sudden showering of attention from him, dealing with his ex girlfriends, and now this moment with the mother from Hell, I’ve had about all I can take.
I step outside and follow the path leading from the front door to the side of the house. I keep trotting until I find myself deep inside of an open area filled with terra cotta flower pots overflowing with tiny evergreen trees. Lake Como is still visible in the decreasing evening light. I step up on a pergola near the lake and glance across the water, closing my eyes.
The waves are gentle and soothing and the water has a floral odor to it. Only in Italy does the water smell like perfume. Both my father and sister used to love being near the ocean. The sudden grief rips at my chest, winding me. Tears burn my eyes. I won’t let them fall, though. I’ll never give those little demons power over me ever again.
The courtyard and the fragrant flowers enveloping me ease the anxiety fluttering inside my chest. But it doesn’t take away the sudden attack of loneliness I have to deal with each time someone mentions my family. Or the guilt I’ve yet to face for what I did the day my father and sister died.
I’m pretty sure I’m all alone; so I do the one thing my therapist back in the States told me to do when I have these kind of setbacks. I sing. The song is one Bette Midler sang in an ancient movie produced in the 70’s. It’s called The Rose. In another lifetime ago, it was the song that changed the entire course of my life. But I only get through the first chorus before I’m interrupted by a male’s voice coming from behind me.
“You have the voice of an angel. No, I think it’s more like a jaybird, the kind that sings best when it’s all alone.” Alek says, coming to stand beside me. He wears a dreamy, kind of faraway look and his eyes are wild and excited. “First, I learn my designer can outperform any professional ballerina. Now, I find myself caught up in a voice that should be on a stage, and not stuck behind a sketch pad and sewing machine.”
He takes a step closer to me, his scent filling my nostrils, his smoldering gaze boring deep into me, pulling at that wall I’ve erected. I turn my gaze toward the lake. It’s just too hard to face Alek right now. And then, he reaches out and gently turns my face back toward his.
I’m thankful that it’s getting dark. I can feel the blush raging through me. I had no idea he was around, even though I probably should’ve expected that he’d follow me.
“You are full of mystery, Erin Angelo,” he says in a quiet voice. He’s so close, and I’m so far away. I wish I could be the person Petre suggested I try to become, the strong version of Erin, the woman who can stand up to anything in order to protect the fragile girl hiding inside me. But I can’t.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” Alek says.
“He died a long time ago. And I’m not all that mysterious,” I answer and lower my eyes. Feeling sorry for myself, maybe; and guilty, I most definitely got that one down.
“Give yourself some credit.” He’s almost pleading with me. “I need to apologize for Mother’s behavior. She means well. She aims to protect her greatest asset. Me. Sometimes I think she forgets that my friends are human beings too.”
“Um yeah,” I answer, feeling flattered he referred to me as a friend and not just a client. “I’m used to dealing with people like Katerina. It’s just that, I…my family…” The words don’t come out. I turn to face the lake once again and hug my shoulders. Cool air whips across the water. I’m caught up in thoughts of my family when I feel a set of strong hands massaging my shoulders. Alek stands behind me. We’re only inches apart, and I can’t deny how good it feels standing so close to him.
“Tell me about them, your family,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear.
Be open to new experiences.
Don’t be afraid to trust someone.
I lean toward Alek’s head. The reply to his request sits on my tongue. I want to tell him how I feel, I really do. The fear never allows the bold side of me to have the last word, though.
He’s a player, a swinger.
Open up to him and you might as well go ahead and grab the wood to build your coffin, girlfriend.
I turn around, inhale deeply, and release a long sigh. “There’s really nothing to tell. My father and sister are dead, and my mother’s in a f*cking institution. End of story.” I wait for his judgmental response to what I just said. That’s what usually happens with other guys. Instead, I get something different.
A string of Russian phrases escapes his lips before he says, “Damn Mother for making you feel this way.” He shakes his head, reaches out, and then pulls me into his arms. My back rests against his chest.
I’m too stunned to move.
I don’t even think I want to move.
My heart races. My nipples harden, and my sweet spot pulses. This is the way grief affects me. I’m not only horny, but also opening myself up to the threat of heartache. I told myself I’d never trust again.
“I am so sorry, Erin. But for some reason I don’t fully understand, Mother sees you as a threat.”
“She wants what’s best for you, I’m sure,” I explain, even though I’m not confident with my answer.
The woman I faced down a little while ago makes the word vicious sound tame. I have no doubt she could go head to head with a bull and win.
Alek stays quiet a moment longer. We stand there listening to the water thrash against the shoreline below. He’s almost a complete stranger, yet I already feel as though I’ve known him for longer than a week.
A few more moments pass, and he releases my body. Stepping around to face me, he uses that analytical look to study my features the same way he did the first time we met.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re stunning, Erin Angelo,” he answers. You’re astonishing too, Alek Dostov. I take a deep breath. This scene creates the perfect opportunity for things to happen that probably shouldn’t be going down between a maestro and the designer he hired. It’s my personal code of ethics.
“Could you—would you please ask Hagar if he doesn’t mind taking me home now?” His shoulders droop the tiniest bit.
“Of course, Jaybird.” He moves back, staring at me a moment longer. “Will you be alright?”
“Yes,” I answer without looking at him. I’ll lose all of my self control if I glance into those baby blue-browns one more time. I’m not only an anti-OMG girl, but I also don’t normally do nicknames.
Once again, I’m discovering yet another unexplored aspect of my personality thanks to the Alek.
“I’ll go get him for you.” He walks away, leaving me alone with nothing more than the sounds of the lake and my racing heart to keep me company.