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“I’m already in my pajamas,” I said, girding myself against her upcoming arguments that I get dressed and meet them.
“That’s fine. See you tomorrow.”
She hung up before I said anything else, and I was still too shocked to be upset that she never asked if I was feeling better. I was actually feeling worse, because how could I stay so close to Aleksei without racing back to his side?
Back in my room, I slumped onto my bed and reached for my phone. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the notification that I had a payment from the top secret cash app I used to sell my own art. It was far, far more than what I’d asked for, even if he bought every painting. My heart soared that he thought the pieces were worth so much, even though my pride would never let me accept the money. It’d rot before I transferred it to my personal bank account.
But this is your shot at freedom.
I clicked on the message that accompanied the payment and my heart plummeted.
“It was well worth it?” I yelped, tossing my phone to the other side of the bed and angrily getting under the covers. “Arrogant son of a bitch.” Ugh, leave it to that insufferable jerk to ruin everything.
It was a long time of tossing and turning before I got to sleep, and of course, I dreamed of Aleksei. And in the dreams, I wasn’t mad at him at all.
***
No, I wasn’t loving living semi-permanently in Miami, even though the apartment the three of us were sharing was as fantastic as my mother promised. It was big enough I could pretend Donny didn’t even exist, and had every earthly comfort. The balmy weather and all the shopping kept my mother and him in good moods and since her venture into the art scene was a rousing success, and she couldn’t keep up with acquisitions, I was too busy painting forgeries to be able to hang out with them much. Poor, poor me.
It was the middle of our third pop-up art show, wildly popular due to their air of exclusivity. They were “top secret” until the day of the shows, but of course my mother whispered the dates and locations to all her new high society friends. Donny let everyone at the golf course he practically lived at know about them. We always had a full house, usually selling out. Most of our sales had to do with how well I could talk up a painting and schmooze the tipsy patrons. If I wanted to get back to Boston I shouldn’t have been working so hard, but I took pride in my job, and I didn’t want to do poorly on purpose.
I guess I didn’t really want to get back to Boston so badly, either. As much as I hated myself for it, I looked for Aleksei at each of our shows, disappointed enough to be pissed at myself when he didn’t show up. Thankfully, since we were so successful without him, my mom had given up nagging me about getting in touch with him about a possible sale. Now it had been so long, I kind of wished she’d start nagging me again, just to have an excuse.
Donny oozed up beside me as I straightened a painting, startling me into knocking it further askew. Instead of helping, he finished his glass of champagne while he watched me wrestle the big frame back into place.
“We’re heading out,” he said.
I glanced at my dainty gold watch, a gift from Donny that I hated on principle but was useful since none of my slinky dresses had pockets big enough for my phone. The show was only half over, which was par for the course. My mom and Donny came and socialized, drank, and ate the expensive appetizers, then flitted away to some club, leaving me to do all the work for the rest of the night. He leaned in for the usual kiss on the cheek but I pretended someone was calling to me from across the room.
“Have a good night,” I said, ducking away from him.
He barely seemed to notice my rebuffing him and slid his arm around my mother, patiently waiting for her to finish her conversation so they could go to one of the clubs nearby. Or whatever they did, it was of no interest to me. I explained the provenance of one of our actually real modern masterpieces to a swarthy businessman, while trying to convince his wife it would indeed go with any decor. Anyone who really cared about good art would furnish their home around such a piece, but I tried not to take it to heart when someone dismissed something beautiful because it didn’t match their curtains.
Beyond the tough to please couple, I kept my eye on the door, still not giving up hope of seeing Aleksei again. Did I want to give him a piece of my mind or crawl up his big, hard body? Either, or both. I just wanted to clap eyes on him again. I missed him like someone lost in the Sahara desert misses water.
A woman with icy blonde hair, dressed in a rose colored satin dress, pushed through the gallery doors with an older man on her heels. I recognized her at once as the woman who was with Aleksei at the restaurant, the first day my mother arrived. She had put her arm around him and made me seethe with misplaced jealousy. After my first flash of distaste at seeing her again, I eagerly waited for Aleksei to follow the older man into the gallery, but I was disappointed. And then got pissed at myself again for caring. He wasn’t mine, he could never be mine, and I didn’t want him anyway.
After she and the older man had drinks and a few moments to look over everything, I did my duty and warmly greeted them.
“Let me know if you’d like me to answer any questions,” I said. “We take commissions, of course, if you don’t see what you’re looking for tonight.”
The older man shrugged. “Get whatever you like,” he said in a heavy Russian accent. “I’ll be at the bar, Sofia.”
So they were also Russian, like Aleksei. Could I dare to hope this woman was a relative of his, nothing more? She pointed to a landscape, flashing a massive diamond on her left hand. My hope dwindled, but I clung to it.
“I’ll be needing several pieces,” she said. “For my new house after I get married.” She sighed deeply. “My fiancé couldn’t care less what I buy, which I suppose keeps us from arguing.”
I nodded toward the bar, still hopeful. “Is that your fiancé? He seems to only want to make you happy.”
She laughed. “No, that’s my father.” She held out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Sofia Pavlov, soon to be Morozov.”
My last shred of hope fizzled, and my jealousy flared, hot and angry. I kept my smile pasted on to make the sale, and forced my feelings under control. If anything, I should be angry at Aleksei, the bastard cheater, and she had every right to be angry with me if she ever found out.
She narrowed her eyes at me and my stomach rolled over. “Don’t I know you already from somewhere?”
I shook my head and introduced myself, feigning ignorance. “Have you been to another one of our shows?”
“Ah, I know. I saw you at a restaurant a couple weeks ago. You know my fiancé, Aleksei, no?”
