31
TATI
I’m starting to show.
I woke up this morning and decided that it’s time for the pink hair to go. I checked with the doctor at my last appointment about dying my hair and he said it was safe, especially now that I’m entering my second trimester. So, I got up early this morning before Viktor woke up and ran out to get hair dye. When I got back and told him what I was doing, he didn’t exactly look pleased about it, but he didn’t object. I think he’s used to me with this hair color, even though my natural color was starting to show through the roots.
I’m looking at myself in the full-length mirror in our bedroom, judging how my natural shade of chestnut looks as it frames my face. My curls are still in shiny, damp ringlets, and overall, I think I look good. Or at least I thought I did until I noticed my belly bump.
I run my hand over the baby pooch. My skin is smooth and soft, generally pleasant to the touch… at least that’s what Viktor thinks. He loves kissing and rubbing my belly, which I think ismaddening. I don’t think he knows what it’ll be like when I’m really big.
I hope he still loves me. Now that he’s Pakhan, everything has changed so much. We live in my father’s house and my old room is being turned into a nursery. Our room was once my father’s. I had the whole thing redone completely. The old heavy wood furniture that was, no doubt, hand-carved from some little old lady in Russia went out with the trash first. The heavy light blocking curtains were taken down, and thank God. It would have taken me years to get the smell of his nasty cigarettes out of them. The carpet was pulled up and replaced with newer, softer carpet. All the furniture was traded out for newer models of my choosing… except for the bed. Viktor insisted on a four-post bed, and I don’t disagree. I’ve had plenty of nights of unadulterated pleasure being tied to those posts.
Our lives are good. Too good, if I’m being honest. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall. Maybe it’s because we haven’t really talked about getting married or anything like that. I haven’t brought it up, but I would have thought that Viktor might’ve by now.
I want to marry him, but I don’t know if he thinks of me as the kind of woman who should be by his side. As I look at my hair, I wonder if when he sees a nice, normal color to my curls, he’ll start to see me as a proper Bratva wife.
I mean, whoever heard of a Bratva queen with pink hair anyway, right?
I sigh and turn away from my reflection. I’d better get down to breakfast. I can smell the coffee all the way up here. I throw my robe over my naked body and leave my bedroom.
The house is quiet today. There’s usually always someone from the brotherhood around lately. Viktor seems to take meetings all the time with brigadiers about one thing or the other. Sometimes, I come down in the morning and there are several sitting in the kitchen, drinking our coffee and eating our food as if they don’t have their own homes.
I don’t mean to think that way. I guess I’m feeling a little out of place at the moment.
I walk into the kitchen and see that no one’s there. No breakfast as been made, and there is half of a pot of coffee left in the coffee maker. I sigh, looking at my pristine kitchen. Then I walk over to the pot of coffee and turn the handle mournfully. Can’t even drink it.
I’d better find him and ask if he wants something to eat. Two nights ago, he was up late on a call with a Pakhan in Russia. I didn’t ask what it was regarding, but I did overhear something about figuring out my father’s territory.
I guess the work is never done. I leave the kitchen and go down the hall to his office. If he’s anywhere this morning, that’s where he’ll be.
I can hear him on the phone from the hallway, talking in Russian to someone. “They won’t be a problem,” he’s saying. “I’ll get Borya on it before the day is out.”
The door is open, so I casually stand in the doorway. He looks up from the desk and pauses, his eyes looking me over from top to bottom. He doesn’t smile or make any comment on it. Instead, he waves me into the room and says on the phone, “I told you, it’s handled. Have a little faith.”
I walk into the room. The office, formerly my father’s. This room still vaguely smells like his cigarettes, but only if you focus on it. It mostly smells like Viktor’s cologne now.
He says a couple more words in Russian to the person on the other line, then hangs up the phone. Then he pauses, leaning back in his chair. “So, you dyed it,” he says, a little smile on his face.
“I did,” I say, touching my curls self-consciously. “Do… you like it?”
“I think it suits you,” he says. “Any particular reason you felt the need to change it?”
I shrug as I walk over to his desk and sit on the edge. “I don’t know. I guess I thought that this would be more… appropriate.”
He arches an eyebrow and says, “Appropriate? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you’re a Pakhan now. How can anyone take you seriously if your girlfriend has cotton candy hair?”
He leans back in his chair, rocking gently. “You think that matters to me?”
“Doesn’t it? I mean, how they see you is important, right? If your men start to think less of you?—”
“I can’t control what they think about me,” he says. He gets up and walks around the desk to face me. “Tati, contrary to popular belief, I’m not God. I can’t control the minds of any man. If they see you and they take your reflection of me as a negative, then there is little I can do… unless they decide to act on it.”
“They won’t act on it if they think I’m worthy enough to be with you.”
His eyebrows raise with surprise. “Oh, I see,” he says. “That’s what this is really all about, isn’t it? You think thatIthink you’re holding me back.”
