“He’s okay,” I tell Nik. If what John says is right—about Timo being promiscuous—then it’s probably better that he’s with John. And if Nikolai tries to split them apart right now, Timo will just run to someone else—someone not worthy of his attention.
Nikolai stays quiet, contemplating the situation. Whether or not he should intervene. “The hardest part is not knowing,” he says lowly to me. I think I understand.
There are moments that do not belong to us.
Lives that we can only see fragments of, and as painful as it is to say goodbye to the whole picture, we’re not supposed to have it anymore.
I imagine, for my parents, it was harder on them when I left for college. But it must’ve been so much worse when I moved across the country. It hurts them more than me. Just as this hurts Nikolai more than Timo.
“Can you imagine that wherever he is, he’s happy?” I ask Nikolai.
He nods a few times. “I’m going to try. I have to try,” he realizes. After another moment, he leads me away from them, through the club, towards the exit.
And he lets his brother go.
Act Thirty-One
“Who is she?” I ask aloud, surprising myself. I snap off the green necklace, my bare feet cold on the bathroom tiles. He runs the tub while I tremble from the sopping button-down and chilled air.
“Who are we talking about?” He unbuttons his slacks, distracting me as he steps out of them. Wearing only charcoal gray boxer-briefs.
I train my eyes on his tattoo, the inked lines along the inside of his bicep that create trees. It distracts me from his cock.
I open my mouth to say your ex-girlfriend. But the words stick. And I end up waving the green glow necklace in response.
He nears me and I back up into the sink counter, aware of my littleness to his largeness. It’s not just the fact that he’s taller than me. It’s his broad build, his muscular frame. If he was Timo’s size—lean, less muscle mass, a bit wiry—I would feel like we went together better.
But I’m very attracted to this, right here. In front of me. My speeding pulse, the tingles that prick along my arms, down my legs—it tells me so.
He begins to unbutton his shirt that’s on my body. He’s already examined my movements, reading me. “It’s in the past,” he says, realizing what I’m speaking of.
The gush of hot water, filling the tub, cuts through some of the silence. I press my palms flat on his hard chest. “But you know my past.”
He consumes me with those grays eyes. “I’m older than you, myshka.”
I believe it. I see it. But I don’t want that to matter, on any account. “And…?”
“And I have five years of history on you. I’m not discounting your own experiences. I know for a fact that your first couple of times in bed left a mark on you.” He lifts my chin, so that my eyes rise off the bathroom tiles. He is full of warmth. And light. “There’s just more in my past.”
“More,” I whisper. What more? I ask through my soft eyes.
His chest rises and falls.
We’re quiet for a moment, and I watch him unbutton the last of my shirt. He takes a couple steps back from me, my spine digging into the sink’s lip.
Standing still, my black shirt is partially open, revealing the sides of my breasts and my wet orange panties. He has trouble focusing on my face and not my body, his concentration on more pleasurable things than this talk.
I have to know. I’m afraid I’ll never grow the courage to ask again. “Why is she so complicated?”
He combs both hands through his hair, pushing the longer strands back. “Because…” He holds my gaze. “She was my partner.”
“What?” My face falls.
“Tatyana Ulanova.”
My mind rotates a million miles per hour, tilting, back-peddling, and out of all thoughts, the first I land on is so insignificant. “I thought it was Tatyana Ulanov, not Ulanova?” Maybe I begin with this because it’s the easiest to touch.
“It’s Ulanova. Whoever told you Ulanov was wrong.” He rubs his jaw. “In Russian, surnames change according to whether you’re male or female.”
My face twists as I process this. “But Katya and you are both Kotova…wait, is that even your real last name?”
He tries hard not to smile.
“It’s not funny,” I say. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Yes you do, myshka. Tatyana is a Russian citizen, but I’m not. Those of us born in the United States had to take the same family name, by law. For whatever reason, they agreed on Kotova, not Kotov.” He casually adds, “It’s a sore subject with my father, considering he speaks very little English and holds Russian customs to a high standard. To the rest of us, it’s just a name.”
I bet Tatyana knew all of this about him. Of course she did, Thora. She’s Russian. I’m at a disadvantage with a girl that I’ve never met. What’d he say about her? She’s the best in her discipline. At aerial silk. She can communicate with him, in any language. And she probably fits better with him. Physically.
I tremble, cold sweeping my limbs, my wet shirt like ice.
“Thora…” He nears again, about to undress me. To warm me.
I press my palms on his chest again to stop him. “Just let me think…”
“She’s out of the picture.”
“She was injured,” I remember. “She got hurt, Nikolai.” I shield my wince with my hands and groan. “Is that why you broke up?”
Girl sustains a career-ending injury.
Girl no longer works with Guy.
Guy breaks up with Girl.
Girl leaves Vegas.
It seems callous on Nikolai’s part, to desert a girl after something traumatic. Who am I really with?
He rubs his eyes like the memory is still raw. It shouldn’t still be raw, right? That makes me the…
“Rebound,” I whisper. “I’m your rebound.”
Nikolai drops his hand and cocks his head like you’re so wrong. “No. We broke up two months before she was injured. I was with her for three years romantically, longer professionally, but the feelings I have for her now are…” As he tries to find the right word, his face slowly contorts in a cringe, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. And then shakes his head.
“Your feelings seem to be strong,” I breathe, crossing my arms for warmth. I shake some. Stop shaking, Thora.
“Not in the way you think.” His voice is harder, more powerful. He shuts off the bath and then walks over to me, wanting so badly to take me out of the wet clothes. “You’re freezing.”
“I just need to process this with clothes on.”
“I don’t see what it matters if you’re naked.”
I exhale a tense breath. “Because I’ll be distracted.”
“By your own body?”
I scowl.
“You said it.”
“By you staring at my naked body.”
His lips curve upward, in a charming smile. “I’m not going to tell you that I’ll look away because that’d be a lie.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Can you hurry with your thoughts?”
My jumbled, tangled, helplessly confused thoughts. Ask something important. Everything feels important, so that really does not help my case. “Where is she now?” I manage to say. Good one. You’re doing good. Or well. Whatever. I kind of want to shut off my brain now.