Other than us in the booth are two strippers Pavel says are from the ‘A’ squad. Pavel has his arm around one of the strippers and I’m ignoring the other one sitting between us. She’s putting on lipstick and checking her makeup, just as disinterested as I am.
I should have just stayed home.
“You haven’t touched your drink,” Pavel says, pointing to the champagne flute in front of me. “What’s the point of bottle service if you’re not partaking?”
“I don’t like champagne,” I tell him. “You know that. It always gives me a headache.”
“Gives you a headache,” he repeats in a slightly bitter tone. “You’regiving me a headache. I take you out for one last night of freedom and you spend the whole night sulking.” He turns to stripper number two and nudges her. “Tomorrow, he’s going to be off the market and he’s acting like he’s headed to his execution. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
Stripper number two smiles and says, “Maybe she’s not really his type.” She turns to me and scoots closer, her lowered lids sizingme up. “Big, handsome man like you probably needs somebody more your speed.”
She runs a finger over my arm and I pull it away. “I’m going to get a real drink,” I say and stand up. “Try to stay out of trouble until I get back.”
I leave and make my way to the bar. Honestly, I should be making my way out the front door.
I stop the moment I have the thought and look toward the entrance. Ten, maybe twenty steps and I could be standing outside hailing a cab. And if I leave now, I can catch one of the late night talk shows before bed. At least I’ll be more alert when I have to head to the church tomorrow morning.
“Alexei! Holy shit! Alexei!”
I turn toward the voice shouting at me just in time to see someone standing up and waving at me. It takes me a few seconds to recognize him through the strobe likes, but as he comes closer and I see his short, curly reddish-blond hair, I realize who it is.
“Dmitri?” I say as he walks up. He gives me a warm hug and for the first time in weeks, I am genuinely happy.
“Cousin!” he says as he hugs me. “It’s been a long time, right?”
It has. Three years. Dmitri left for Europe after his twenty-first birthday and just never came back. It was only supposed to be for a couple of months and for a while, we all worried that something might’ve happened to him. Turns out he’s been fine all this time.
“Where have you been all this time?” I stand back and look him over. He’s gained a little weight and about an inch in height, but he looks the same as he did when he left.
“Europe,” he says with a laugh. “Brussels, Amsterdam, Germany, Paris, all over. I liked it so much, I decided to stay there a while.”
“Ah, you didn’t bother to visit the homeland likeTetushkasuggested?”
He snickers. The memory of his mother’s insistence that he find a nice Russian girl and get married while he was gone is still fresh in both our minds. “Absolutely not,” he says. “Not when I could be a single man in the Red Light district in Amsterdam. You should see the women out there, man. You’d fall in love.”
“What? Better than paradise right here?” I motion to the stage. “What could be better than American girls on poles?”
“Come with me next time and I’ll show you,” he says with a laugh. “Have you seen my sister yet?”
“No.” I glance around the club toward the bar. Usually, when Anya was working, she would come over to say hello, at least. “She must be off ton?—”
“There she is.” Dmitri nodded to the door just as she was walking in. She was wearing a black lace top and blue jeans, her long, curly brown hair tied back into a ponytail. “Come on.”
We make it to the bar at the same time that she does. She sees us both and her blank expression changes as her entire face brightens into a smile. “Dmitri!”
She rushes over and practically jumps on him. “What are you doing home? When did you get back?”
“Just today,” he says with a laugh. She then turns to me and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Long time for you, too. What are you doing in here? Somebody owe some money?”
“No.” My face gets a little warm. I’m not sure if she’s joking or if that whole thing with Kozlov has gotten around. “Pavel brought me.”
“Oh, right,” she says. Then to Dmitri, “Guess who’s getting married?”
“Who?” Dmitri looks from her to me with genuine curiosity. Anya snickers.
“I am,” I tell him. He just blinks.
