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“I’ll see you to your door,” he said, not being presumptuous.
“You’re welcome to come in for tea or coffee if you like,” I offered. So awkward.
“Sure, that would be good,” he said.
I think I heard the load falling off my shoulders. I opened the door and saw Josh had left a lamp on in the corner; he’d made a point of saying he was staying out for the night. The Russian removed his jacket and undid his bow tie.
Just as I moved to the kitchen to put on the kettle, his phone rang. I heard him groan and turned to see him look at the screen and frown.
“Sorry Brooker, got to take this,” he said, with a sigh.
“Sure,” I said.
Mm, ex-girlfriend, new girlfriend?
“Nikki,” he said, in a not-very-happy voice. I listened in. Nikki was the middle sister from memory.
“Can’t you call Mom or Dad? ... Well, what about Ana, where’s she? Get her to pick you up? ... Nikki, there’s such a thing as a taxi ... fine, where are you? Stay there. Don’t leave, don’t talk to strangers, and don’t talk to anyone male. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He hung up and came over to the bench where I stood.
“So, you best be going,” I said.
“Sorry, Brooker. That’s my sister. Long story, but she’s somewhere where she shouldn’t be and now she’s freaking out because her friends have left ... and so on ...” he sighed.
“It’s all good. I remember doing something similar ... you’re a good brother,” I teased.
“Walk me out?”
“Sure,” I said.
We got halfway down the stairs when The Russian stopped and turned. Standing one step above him, my face was aligned with his. What a beautiful face, I could kiss it all night.
“Sorry the night ended like that,” he said, as I studied his beautiful face to memory in case this was the last time I saw it close-up.
“Don’t be. It was a great night,” I said.
He placed his hands on my waist.
“What time is your job interview tomorrow?”
“Ah, nice of you to remember,” I said. “Ten o’clock.”
“Call me after and tell me how you think it went, yeah?” he asked.
“Sure, thanks,” I said. Yes! A chance for another contact ... I was building this house of love slowly, contact by contact.
I placed my hands on his shoulders since I could reach them comfortably from my higher step. “Go rescue your sister, you good guy.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re probably thinking I’m pretty perfect right now,” he said, with the hint of a grin.
“Yeah, too good to be true really,” I agreed. “I look forward to you falling off that pedestal.”
He laughed. “Now go inside so I can hear you lock the door, and call me tomorrow after the interview.” The Russian ordered me.
“Yes Sir, I will,” I snapped at it. “Thank you again.”
I went to move away and he pulled me back. He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity, then pressed his lips quickly to mine.
“Goodnight,” he said, and gently pushed me towards the door.
I went back up the stairs, opened the door, and with one final look his way, I went inside locking the door.
Holy mother of all things good, I was going to self-combust. And if my father knew I’d used that term I’d be on my knees saying ‘Hail Marys’ until I died an old spinster.
*****
I washed off my make-up and crawled into bed. It was close to two a.m. I grabbed my iPad and looked at the social media which was going crazy with stories about us. I swear they had made a mountain out of it – there were photos of The Russian helping me out of the car, the two of us posing near the entrance to the Ball, looking at the auction items together, and shots where I hadn’t even seen a flash going off, including the two of us dancing close and me feeding The Russian dessert. We were being called the “IT” couple and there were plenty of out-there headlines including a play on The Russian and American relationship “No Cold War Here”; or “When Sports Collide”, “Saints Preserve Us”, “Sun shines on Saint”, and on it went.
On other sites there was plenty of talk about Sasha’s gown and its design with photos of me wearing it, with and without The Russian. I was so glad she’d had hits from it. I put the iPad down and snuggled into my sheets. I knew it would be impossibly hard to get to sleep, but I was happy to lie in bed and dream of the manliness of The Russian. What a package, and I had ‘permission’ to call him tomorrow. I knew what euphoria felt like.
