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I blinked a few times like I was just remembering. “Oh, sure, Aleksei. I don’t know him very well. I met him at a card game, and he expressed interest in some paintings. Maybe he cares more than you think?”
She shrugged with one slender shoulder, rustling her pink satin. “Maybe. You know about the card games his cousin arranges?”
“I didn’t know it was his cousin, no.” It made sense, though. I wouldn’t have been surprised. “I just stumbled into an invitation.”
She smiled knowingly. “Don’t be shy. My father keeps track of everyone in this town. He’d very much like to do business with your family. A big art purchase is just his way of a greeting.” She shrugged again. “And to make me happy, I suppose.”
I didn’t know whether to drop all pretense or not, but if they were important, my mother would want me to keep the wheels greased. “I’m sure my mother would be delighted to meet with your father.”
I almost wanted to warn her. If Mr. Pavlov was anywhere near as powerful as Sofia was making him out to be, she might be calling me step-sister soon enough. Well, that was one way to get close to Aleksei again. I nearly gagged at the thought.
There was a shout over by the bar, and I whirled to see Sofia’s father angrily berating one of my serving staff.
“Pardon me,” Sofia said, looking embarrassed. “He has a hair-trigger temper and is used to the old ways back in Russia. You’ll have to forgive him.”
She hurried off to calm the old man down, still telling off the poor server. I made a mental note to give him a bit extra at the end of the night if he didn’t flee in terror. Sofia took her father’s arm and led him away, trying to soothe his continuing bluster.
So that really was Aleksei’s fiancée. I looked down at my own bare hand since I kept putting off the dreaded ring shopping. I wondered if Aleksei surprised her and if it was exactly what she always wanted, or if they giddily picked it out together.
Hmpf, good for them if they were so blissfully happy. But were they? If so, why did he seduce me?
There was only one answer. He was a jerk. It gave me a petty thrill to see Sofia still trying to calm down her father. Good luck to Aleksei, having that old grouch as a father-in-law for the rest of his life.
Strangely, it only left me feeling sad instead, since I hadn’t even met my future in-laws yet. For all I knew, I was in store for an even worse fate.
Chapter 11 - Theresa
Six weeks later
We were still in Miami and I was still blissfully single, well, blissful not to be married yet. I got my mom to think a long engagement was her idea by coming home with an armload of glossy wedding magazines and glumly saying it was too bad we wouldn’t have time to plan the wedding of the century.
Despite running six bars, four bail bond companies, an online money lending service, an illegal betting system, and overseeing a small army that provided protection for the better part of Boston’s businesses, on top of coordinating the acquisition of some very important art for a worldwide clientele, my mother didn’t go out too much back home.
There were just too many assassination attempts for her liking. But she hadn’t screwed enough people over yet here in sunny Florida, and she couldn’t get enough of its rich social scene. The idea of putting on a wedding that all her new acquaintances would scrabble for an invitation to and that she could hold over their heads for favors, was too much to resist.
Donny did whatever my mother asked, still relentlessly kissing her butt, so he was fine with it. And just like that, I was granted a reprieve. The ring I was forced to finally pick out weighed heavily on my finger, though, signifying I was on borrowed time.
We still did our exclusive art sales, and I still hadn’t seen Aleksei at one. Despite time supposedly healing all wounds, he was still at the forefront of my thoughts and I still lay in bed every night thinking about his touch, then dreamed about him once I did fall asleep. Thankfully my days were a rush of getting ready for our shows, either setting up, coordinating art shipments, or frantically painting to fill the demand for whatever my mother couldn’t get her hands on.
The weather had gone from delightfully balmy to downright hot and it was getting to me, making me feel queasy and tired all the time. Even in the overly air conditioned gallery during that day’s luncheon show, my stomach kept doing flips. I could barely concentrate on showing some sculptures that had just arrived from a gallery in California.
Some starry-eyed sucker had borrowed money through our online loan company and had finally crumbled under the exorbitant interest. A few of our guys had gone to recoup the losses, and I was pleased to see their stuff was quite nice. It probably meant their kneecaps stayed intact that I assured my mom that I could get a healthy amount for the sculptures. Even though it wasn’t what we usually dealt with, I wanted to try my hand at selling something different.
It was getting harder to keep my smile in place while the young man considered the piece. When a server passed by with salmon rolls, and I caught a whiff of the fish, I had to excuse myself in a hurry. I barely made it to the restroom before I lost what little was in my stomach. It was the third time I’d puked that day, and I had to throw in the towel, calling my mom to take over the rest of the show.
She arrived about twenty minutes later, annoyed enough to make me rethink my need to lie down, but the moment I inhaled her strong floral perfume, my gut roiled in protest, and I made another dash to the bathroom. She waited for me when I got out, shaking her head in dismay.
“You’ve got to stop cramming your face with junk,” she said, eyeing my midsection. “No wonder you feel like garbage, and your skin looks terrible. Whenever you do eat, lately it’s just pastries or that disgusting sugary cereal I’ve never seen you eat even when you were little.”
She meant the Lucky Charms, and she was right. I never ate them before in my life, but I woke up a week ago, ravenous for them. “It’s the only thing I feel like eating,” I said, too tired to be offended by her jab at my skin or her disdainful glance at my stomach.
“You need to eat some real food or it’s not going to get any better. Have some of those little chicken puffs before you go.”
I gagged and shook my head. “I can’t even hear you talk about them.”
My mother’s irritated look turned cold, and she stared at me for a long moment. Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled back her arm and slapped me viciously across the face. So hard my teeth clacked together.
“What in the hell?” I asked, stunned. I rubbed my face, recoiling from her furious glare. She’d never done anything like that before. She didn’t need to, because I never stepped out of line. I hadn’t stepped out of line now.
