“This is getting a wholePretty Womanvibe,” she mumbles and I pretend not to hear her.
Ava plays dress-up with Colette, my personal shopper, as late afternoon slides into evening. There are bursts of smothered laughter and the two empty champagne bottles sent out withCollette’s assistant who is in search of more makes me vaguely pleased. I suspect Ava hasn’t had many lazy, giggly sorts of evenings lately.
Much later, Colette bustles out with the rack of discarded dresses and bags of accessories. “Your girlfriend looks sleepy,” she says.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Anyway, that champagne is catching up with her, she’s already crawling into bed.” Colette is a mischievous-looking redhead who has never attempted to hit on me, which is a key reason I keep her on retainer. Having my inseam measured is irritating enough without wandering hands. “Ava is a sweetheart, and the dress she picked? Chef’s kiss!”
“I’m disappointed,” I say, walking her to the elevator, “I was looking forward to a fashion show tonight.”
“No, no!” Colette shakes her head disapprovingly. “You can’t see your wedding date all dressed up before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
“I think that’s reserved for the bride.”
“It applies to anything wedding-based,” she says haughtily, raising an imperious brow before the elevator door closes.
I’m up late, going through yet another round of construction budgets. Despite working more hours than should be humanly possible, Yevgeny still can’t find the discrepancies that are costing us millions. I’m taking this shit personally.
Rising to get another glass of vodka, I hear a whimper. Low, pained, more like an injured animal than human until the shrieking begins and I drop my glass, racing down the hall to Ava’s room. She’s left a lamp on, enough to see every muscleis locked tight, the tendons in her neck nearly bursting from her skin. No words, just anguished moaning, her head thrashes back and forth as her hands flail, trying to ward off an invisible attacker.
“Ava!Malen'kaya soroka,wake up.” I catch her flailing hands in mine, kissing them. “I’m here, you’re safe. I have you.”
Her eyes open abruptly, instantly wide awake. “D- Dmitri?”
“Yes, love. You’re here in my home, safe.” Cupping her cheek in my hand, I smile as she leans into it, letting out a shaky sigh.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Her voice is a weak thread.
“No, I was doing some paperwork.”
She finds a smile for me. “You have the same tone I’d expect from a man going in for a colonoscopy.”
“A colonoscopy would be more exciting,” I chuckle. “Would you like some tea? My mother is adamant that it cures everything.”
“What do you think?” she slumps a little, her shoulder brushing mine.
“I’m still a firm believer in vodka.”
Ava gives a watery little chuckle. “After all that champagne tonight, I should go with your mother’s plan.”
“Maybe something to eat as well,” I say, standing and offering my hand. She’s wearing a little silk slip and I groan silently. Her breasts are perfect, nipples pressing against the thin fabric.
I’m a sick bastard.
We end up on the couch, and I patiently redirect her attention to her plate ofblini.
“These really are amazing,” she pops another bite in her mouth and I have to shift over a bit before she sees my dick hardening. “What are they again?”
“Blini, thin pancakes, similar to a crepe but more substantial,” I explain, watching her prop her little feet up on the coffee table. “What size shoe do you wear on these dainty paws of yours?”
“No jokes about my shortness,” she orders before scooping her last bite ofbliniacross the crimson smear of jam. “I’ve heard them all. The one I hate the most? 'You've really got to hand it to short people, because they can't reach it anyway.' Then, they laugh like surely it's the first time anyone'severmentioned that I'm short."
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” I ask gently. “Sometimes, it can help.”
“Do you have nightmares?”
I’m the subject of a hell of a lot of them,I think. But that’s not helpful.
