Damn. That was some kind of dream. My body still feels like it’s on fire. I move my thighs a little and they slide easily together, the wetness between my legs aiding them.
Ugh, why did that have to be a dream? I lie in bed for a few minutes, debating making an attempt at masturbating and maybe, just maybe, giving myself the orgasm my body so desperately craves. Sadly, I don’t bother. I’ve never been able toget myself there. It’s just another bit of shame for my closeted upbringing.
I think about that for a moment. If I’d stayed asleep, would I have come? It’s kind of tragic to think that it might be the only way I’ll ever experience it. Even Andrei, who was a caring and gentle lover, never got me over the finish line. My heart sinks a little as I think about him. I thought we had time to figure that part out.
I sit up and run my hands over my face. Then I glance over at my nightstand. His card shines out at me, silvery gray plastic with his name printed on it.Anton Romanov, Entrepreneur. I pick it up and smile, my finger moving over the smooth lettering of his phone number. “Call me,” he said. It was as open an invitation as I was ever going to get and boy, was it ever tempting.
I stretch and stand up. I don’t have a lot of motivation for getting out of bed today or even leaving the pool house. Admittedly, I do feel a little less bitter about the breakup. I guess going out and being complimented by my high school crush does lift a girl’s spirits…
…do I smell coffee?
I sit, sniffing the air for a few seconds. That’s definitely coffee. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and reach for my robe. Then I realize I’m still holding the card. I look around frantically, then I spot a pair of my jeans lying over a chair by my window. I shove the card in one of the pockets.
Wrapped in my robe, I tentatively leave my bedroom and walk down the hall to the kitchen and living room area. Sitting at the island counter is my father, cup of coffee in his hand, another cup sitting next to him.
He doesn’t look at me but he says, “Good morning. Come have a seat. We need to talk.”
I start thinking about seeing Anton Romanov in the restaurant last night. Did he already hear about that? Oh, boy. I hope I didn’t just get a guy killed by flirting with him in public.
“What’s going on?” I ask. He looks up at me with his icy eyes.
“Sit. Please.”
I move to the stool next to him and I take a sip from the coffee cup. It’s good, but bitter. Tastes like the stuff he likes to drink. I glance over at my coffee maker and see that it’s half full with it. What a waste. I’ll have to dump it out when he leaves.
“So, I’ve been thinking about this whole thing with your boyfriend. Andrei, right?”
I blink. I don’t really talk to him about that sort of thing. I guess he wouldn’t know. “We broke up,” I tell him.
He nods solemnly. “Smart boy.”
I grip the handle on the mug to suppress the urge to throw the coffee in his face. “Right,” is all I say.
“I’m not saying that because of what I said to you that night. He’s a smart boy because someone like him does not belong in a Bratva family. If you married him, he would bring us all down, one way or the other.”
“Is that the real reason you chased him off?”
“I chased him off because he disrespected me in my own home,” he says, raising his voice. “Andrei made the mistake of thinking that his privilege extended to my house. He was wrong.”
He stops, taking another drink from his coffee cup. I don’t know if this is supposed to be an apology or what, but it’s taking far too long for my tastes. I’d rather be back in bed with my fantasies.
“But I’ve been thinking about that night and about you. You’re an adult now. It’s about time for you to move out on your own. Become your own person.”
He reaches into his inner jacket pocket and he pulls out two brochures. He sets them down between us and goes, “Read them.”
I pick both brochures up. One of them is for the peace corps. It’s got a photograph of a young woman kneeling down in a muddy road, giving a bowl of rice to an emaciated child. In big, bold letters it says,See the world! Make a difference! Join the Corps!
The other brochure has an old brick building on it with several nuns standing out front. Across the top of this one is written in Russian. It translates toSisters of the Sacred Soul.And underneath it says,Find your path.
“What is this?” I ask, a sliver of terror racing through me.
“It’s the freedom you’ve been so eagerly desiring,” he says as he takes another drink from his cup.
I’m still a little confused, so I ask, “You want me to either join the peace corps or become a nun? Are you serious?”
“You think I don’t know how you feel about having to come back home?” he snarls. “I know you talk to your girlfriend about what a tyrant I am. I raised you so that you will never have to want for anything. You have money and privilege and safety for your entire life. All I’ve done for you and you continually spit in my face.”
All I can do is stare in amazement. This man who all but told me that he hated me is now mad at me for wanting to leave? I set down the brochures. “I’m not doing either of these things, Papa. You can’t make me.”
