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I swear she was an actress, her eyes welled with tears and I felt The Russian soften next to me; he hated tears. No doubt she knew that, and she had played that card a few thousand times.
“Why are you in town?” he asked.
“I flew in to see you.”
“When?”
“Last night. I’m staying with a friend of Daddy’s ... an actor ...”
“Of course,” The Russian said. “Well, we have to go Leesa, we’ve got plans. Do you need me to call you a taxi or have you got a car out there?” he said, pointing to outside his gated property.
Then she changed. Miss Vulnerable went out the window and Miss Bitch appeared.
“You know what Russian? I don’t need a fucking thing from you. I don’t know why I’m even here begging you to see me. What the fuck? Who do you think you are?” she screamed.
The Russian moved in front of me.
“That’s enough,” he growled, “I’m sorry your trip here was a waste of time, but let’s try to finish with some sort of respect for each other.”
“Fuck you,” she said – actually, she almost hissed it. “You’ll be sorry you broke up with me. When your career is over, you’ll be nothing ...”
“Right, well, thanks for that,” he said, interrupting her speech. He put my overnight bag down and moved towards her. The Russian took her arm.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snatched her arm away from him. “I’m leaving.” She walked a few paces down the path and then turned back. “Have you told your new screw that when the team wins you’re going to screw her all night, but you can’t get it up when the team loses? Has she enjoyed that yet? She’d better hope the Saints have a good season. Or how ...”
The Russian’s growl was as loud as his movements were fast, and he had her arm again. I heard him saying something about her father and doctor, and thanks to Lucas, I knew the context of that statement. The Russian had her down the driveway in moments and then she pulled away and strode off. He stood, watching, making sure she got to her car. He webbed his fingers behind his head as he stood, watching her depart; my heart went out to him.
That had been horrid, the whole thing was nasty. I could only imagine what their fights must have been like in the past ... Leesa working him up, The Russian losing it and having to channel his anger and frustration somewhere, always worried what the consequences might be if she was fragile. We, as a couple, were so not like that.
I saw her leave in her car, and The Russian, his head lowered and his shoulders slumped, came back to me.
“I’m really sorry ...” he began.
I shook my head. “Don’t say it, it’s not your fault. And just for the record ... I can’t get it up if my team loses either.”
The Russian chuckled. “What if the Saints lose?”
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m bound to have no libido either.”
He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.
“Thank you,” he said. “Have you got your phone on you?”
“Sure,” I said, rummaging through my handbag and handing it over to him, confused as to whom he was going to ring now. He punched in a number and then I understood.
“Charlie, it’s The Russian ... yeah, good, thanks, and you? Good ... listen, can you please ensure that Leesa Hart is not given entry anymore please? Thanks, that would be appreciated ... no, under no circumstances. Yep, that’s it, thanks.”
The Russian hung up and gave me the phone back.
“Gated security,” he explained, and then exhaled. “Can you take a beach walk in that dress? I just need to let off some steam.”
“It’s perfect for the beach,” I said and removed my sandals. We put my shoes and bag back in the car, I locked it and The Russian slipped my keys into his pocket. He reached for my hand and we walked across his front lawn and entered the sandy edges of the beach. He kicked off his Converse trainers and left them on the edge of his property, and then, taking the small drop to the sand, he reached up for me, put his hands around my waist, picked me up and deposited me beside him. He took my hand again and we walked.
He was right; the beach was very therapeutic and the dark of the evening was calm and cooling. I tried to break the tension.
“Your three-course meal won’t be burning in our absence?” I teased him.
He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “No. Lucky for you that it is all done and just ready to be served. Best meal you’ll ever have.”
“Your mom again?”
“Ye of little faith,” he clucked. “Just the dessert. I did the starters and the main is from Scarpio’s,” he said, revealing he had organized dinner from one of the best restaurants in town. “I didn’t want you to run away screaming, and I figured there’s only so many nights I can feed you pasta.”
We walked along for a while and let the tension fall from us; it was magic, such a beautiful night, and The Russian was right ... by the time we got back to his place forty-five minutes later, everything that had happened was forgotten, and then something happened that I would never, ever forget, ever.
