8: In Which She Puts on a Show for Some Horses (1/2)

8: In Which She Puts on a Show for Some Horses

******************************

Amazingly, King Mikhail was true to his word and kept his meeting with my father. Bowing out of front row seats of a train wreck in motion, I decided to walk the grounds with my old, battered Nikon in hand. Halfway across the expansive green, my phone rang and I dreaded answering. I’d been ignoring Sav’s relentless calls since she and the rest of the guests departed yesterday but that couldn’t last forever.

So I was grateful to see “Squirt” plastered across my screen.

“What the hell’s up with your phone?” my brother groused into my ear.

I grinned, struck by a strong wave of homesickness. “Hi, Calvin. I’ve missed you, too.”

“You know, if smart phones are a little challenging for you...” His voice trailed off on a cocky laugh.

“I was just ignoring you, squirt,” I told him, already used to his usual ribbing that modern technology was too complicated for me. “What’s up?”

“Hold on a sec.” I heard a scuffle with the phone, followed by the bang of a door. “My roommate’s an ass. I swear, being related to you is like being related to a banana in a world full of apes.” Calvin had the privilege – a privilege I certainly never had – of staying off-campus since rooms at Helen Huber Prep were scarce.

“How sweet. I see English Lit is paying off,” I dryly remarked, collapsing under a forlorn-looking tree facing the north side of the castle. “What’s that little analogy supposed to mean?”

“Uh, your little photos are kind of in this month’s issues of chick shit. More people read that crap than watch your dumb TV show.”

Of course, I didn’t even have my “dumb show” anymore. “Language, Cal,” I said automatically, playing with the loose thread of the hem of my thick sweater dress. “I didn’t know that. They were supposed to come out next month.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorta on a week’s suspension for getting into a fight because of it,” he murmured nonchalantly. “Mom’s holding off on telling Dad until he gets back. Don’t want him to have a coronary in a foreign country.”

“Suspension?” The idea was ludicrous. Calvin was a good kid. He was the epitome of perfection, which was why my parents could trust a sixteen-year-old to live off-campus. Sure, he lived with one of Rory’s friends, who just happened to be the mother of Calvin’s best friend and “roommate”, Jason, but it was still a privilege. “What the hell, Calvin?”

“One of the guys had your pic, Fee. And when I say had, I mean had. The thing was crusty with jizz and –”

“Stop right there!” I cut in, heat creeping up my neck. OK, so pubescent boys were jerking off to photos of me in Zara Paulsen dresses. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been in a bikini. “I don’t need to hear that kind of stuff. Thanks for defending my honour but it was pointless. I sincerely hope you haven’t messed up that beautiful face of yours,” I teased, knowing what was coming next.

“Beautiful?” he snarled. “Ophelia, stop it, or I’m hanging up and blocking you on Facebook.”

I let out a laugh. Calvin hated to hear it but he was beautiful. He had been the most gorgeous baby I’d ever seen; so beautiful that I’d asked my parents if there’d been a mistake at the hospital and my baby brother had been switched with a baby girl. He’d been born with a full head of downy, jet-black hair and the longest, thickest lashes ever. He’d been blessed to have our dad’s eyes – golden, instead of coffee-brown like mine, or even Rory’s – and he knew it. Rory could never resist his puppy-dog eyes.

At sixteen, he was still baby-faced, with pouty, dark pink lips and not a hair on his jaw. After trying bottle after bottle of hair-growth creams, he’d finally given up on growing a beard and/or moustache. It didn’t help that he was nearly over six feet and broad-shouldered. It was kind of a contradiction.

“OK, OK,” I conceded, reining in my laughter. “Did you phone me to confess your sins, or just to receive praise for engaging in idiotic, manly activity?”

“No,” he sombrely replied. “Promise you won’t freak out, O.”

“I won’t freak out,” I instantly complied, bracing myself because of his swift change of tone. Calvin was never serious with me.

He sighed heavily, as if he were truly unwilling to spill. “Natalya might have called Mom. From rehab, she says.”

I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting but this wasn’t it. My estranged doped-up, ex-model birth mother coming up in conversation after so very many years was the last thing I expected.

“Fee? You there?” My brother’s voice was heavy with concern.

I nodded, although he couldn’t see me. “How? How do you know?”

“Well, Mom had to fly in to speak to my fucking ass of a principal,” he replied without asking me what I meant. He just knew. “Her phone rang and she answered. She was pissed enough to accidentally let me know who it was. Natalya said some pretty dumb shit.”

“Like what?” I didn’t even bother to scold him for his colourful language. It wasn’t important right then.

“Like how much she wants to see you and tell you how sorry she is for everything,” Calvin said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “She says she won’t give up until she gets what she wants. What a Looney Toon.”

I couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at my lips. Calvin had been too young to know much about my birth mother, except for the fact that she had stripped for Playboy, defiled a minor, and given up all rights to be my parent the day she dumped me on my father’s doorstep. Out of solidarity, Calvin hated her almost as much as I once had. I had long ago let go of my eagerness to please her then let go of my resulting hatred of her. Now, I only felt a dull twinge of misery whenever I thought of her and that was only thanks to Rory, who was my mother in every sense of the word. I suddenly felt the strong urge to hear her lilting English accent.

“Ophelia?” There was that tone in Calvin’s voice again; the one that made it clear that he hated being the bearer of bad news.

“I’m good, Cal.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to see her.” Ever, my subconscious mind tacked on. “It won’t be good for me.”

“I know. Mom knows,” Cal said softly, although he absolutely didn’t; they didn’t. He was just saying that because he loved me and he thought that that was what I needed to hear.

No one really understood what kind of a number Natalya had done on me. Hearing my “mother” complain that I’d ruined her body, or that I was dragging her down and screwing her life up, wasn’t something I’d ever really forgotten. Oh, she’d never said those things to my face – intentionally – but she did get shitfaced and spew all kinds of things. Drunken minds speak sober thoughts – wasn’t that the saying?

She’d never really wanted me and had probably tried her hardest to make sure I never found out – but I did, and it stung. It stung so much that, as a kid, I’d tried to do everything possible to make her want me whenever she dared to show up. If it hadn’t been for Rory, I would probably still be waiting by the door for Natalya to take me shopping.

Calvin cleared his throat, tugging me from a walk down memory lane. “I’ve had a little bit too much,” he sang, in a perfect, on-key impression of Gaga. He waited. “Come on, O. You can’t leave me hanging. Do the next part.”

For a moment, I was completely stunned. But then I obliged with a laughing, “All of the people start to rush.”

“Start to rush, babe,” he went on before joining me and bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Works like a charm,” he said once he was done barking in my ear.

“Always.” Calvin never failed to remind me of my Lady Gaga phase, especially because I’d forced him to learn all the lyrics and dances to every single one of her songs with me. “Thanks, Squirt.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.”

I laughed again and our conversation launched in a completely different direction. Calvin was intelligent and I sometimes forgot that he was only sixteen, but boys were boys and things eventually turned to girls, cars and games before we said our goodbyes.

I leaned against the tree trunk and pulled my knees up to my chest, bringing my chin down atop them. Now that my brother’s familiar voice was gone, I was left with the equally familiar feelings of worthlessness that I’d thought I’d buried so long ago. Yet there they were, brought to the fore by the mention of Natalya wanting to reconnect.

The last time I’d spoken to her, my father had had to hold Rory back from ripping her extensions off. It had been embarrassing but not as embarrassing as Natalya gatecrash the screening of my dad’s first documentary at a star-studded theatre. I’d been seventeen and absolutely mortified that the drunken woman wearing tacky make-up and scanty clothing had once been someone I’d idolised. She’d made up some story about wanting to get to know me; that she was my mother, no matter what my parents – Dad and Rory – said. She’d gone on about me making her proud and turning out to be a Mini Natalya. That had gone down well with my dad, who wanted me to be nothing like her.

So now her actually wanting to apologise? Yeah, that was a first.

“Pussycat?” Nikolai’s was the last voice I wanted to hear when I was feeling so low, so of course it made sense that he’d be creeping around.

“Jeez, what are you? A ninja?” I muttered, quickly wiping off the emotion I was sure was plain on my face. I turned to glare up at him from behind the tree trunk.

But my poker face clearly wasn’t as believable as I’d thought it was because Nikolai’s face creased up with worry and he crumpled down beside me, abruptly jerking me into the warm slab of his chest.

“Who made you cry?” he demanded, pulling back and cupping my chin. His piercing blue eyes searched mine for an answer.

Cry? I rubbed at my cheeks, astonished when the pads of my fingers came back glistening with tears.

What a freaking waste of liquids.

“No one,” I offered lamely, forcing a laugh. “Must be the pollen in the air.”

We both glanced at the blossom-less grounds.

“Don’t lie to me,” Nikolai said menacingly, as if I’d personally wronged him.

I was suddenly aware of his scent enfolding me in the same way his arms were. The memory of his body over mine brought a dull throbbing in my groin. I had a one-track mind and the only way to repress that was to spill and tell him exactly why I was sobbing out in a field. Hopefully that would put him off.

But Nikolai was a silent listener, allowing me to press my head against his chest. I had never confided in anyone about my mommy issues; never told anyone how badly she’d scarred me. I didn’t really know this until I said it aloud.

“Pussycat,” Nikolai said quietly, “look at me.”

Don’t, the self-preserving voice in my head warned, but I ignored her and did it anyway.

I instantly wished I’d listened to her.

Nikolai’s jaw was clenched, as if he were controlling the urge to say something he didn’t particularly want to – probably something awful about Natalya – but it was his eyes that completely affected me. The bright aqua pools were filled to the brim with something worse than the pity I’d been afraid to find – genuine affection.

“I can’t pretend to know what you went through – what you’re still going through – but this, I know. You’re incredible,” he murmured, wiping away the moisture on my cheeks. “You could’ve gone through life bitter and full of self-loathing but you stand here beautiful, intelligent and strong. A mother should be the source of a child’s comfort and yours wasn’t. It’s not your fault and God, Ophelia, if I could make it all better, I would.” He gave me a slow smile. “You are Bibi. I hope you know that.”

I wanted to roll my eyes but I was choked up with too much emotion to do even that. Nikolai wasn’t kidding when he said he was a huge fan of Chasing Ghosts and Bree “Bibi” Brady, the badass character I played. We were nothing alike. For starters, she kicked ass.

Had kicked ass, I reminded myself. Bibi and her cohorts were no more, thanks to HBO.

His words were sincere and I squirmed, suddenly wanting to get out of his reach. I was becoming claustrophobic and overwhelmed with feeling and this just wasn’t what a holiday fling was supposed to be about. We were supposed to fuck, not “tell our secrets and braid each other’s hair”.

“Don’t fight me, baby,” Nikolai huskily commanded, slanting his head to do what I hadn’t realised I’d been aching for until it happened.

My lips were parted and just like that, he was making it all better. With his tongue, with the nip of his teeth. With his body. He held the back of my head with one large paw and groaned when I nibbled on his lower lip. That noise sent a shiver of immense pleasure down my spine but it also brought me back down to earth.

I jerked my head back. “Are you following me?” I tried to get out of his reach but it was useless. He only gripped me tighter.

“No, I’m going for a ride,” he breathlessly replied, regarding me with darkened eyes. My head was immediately filled with thoughts of riding him, of discovering just how amazing the reverse cowgirl could be and... “You have a dirty, dirty mind, myshka,” Nikolai smirked, reading my mind. “Not that kind of ride. Horseback.”

“Oh. Of course.” My eyes eventually focused on the white T-shirt straining across his chest and army fatigue pants tucked into black combat boots. So sexy. “Horse riding.”

“You sound disappointed.” And he sounded way too smug for my liking.

“Oh, please,” I countered, although there was no hiding the fact that I did, indeed, have a filthy mind.

“Come with me, kotik,” he startled me by imploring. “I don’t think I can leave you like this.”

“Nikolai, stop this.” I finally, successfully ripped myself away from him and pushed myself up to my feet. “What we had was...un-fucking-believable but it was just sex,” I told his seated form. “Don’t feel like you owe me something when you don’t. I’ll be fine.”

I had to step back when he rose to his impressive six-foot-four height. The glower on his face was intense enough to singe the tiny hairs on my skin.

“Just sex?” he demanded.

“Un-fucking-believable sex,” I amended, looking away. “I’m sorry for over-sharing with you. The last thing you need to hear is a sob story about my mommy issues. I’m going to –”

“I want to know everything about you. Why can’t you fucking get that?” He took a single step towards me and suddenly he was invading my every sense. “I told you my sob story, remember? I’ve never told anyone and something tells me I’m the first person you’ve ever shared yours with. If this is just sex, why do we keep giving pieces of ourselves to each other?”

I stared up at him, shocked. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Nikolai, when my father finishes whatever it is he has to do with your brother, I’m going back to Miami,” I slowly stated, the words of reality cutting into me as the frown on Nikolai’s face deepened. “It’s only been over a week and you’re...you’re scaring me.”

His face immediately softened. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said gently. He ran a hand down his face, as if wiping his scowl away. “I don’t know why I’m like this with you.”

He sounded so dejected that I had to give him something.

“I was jealous,” I offered quietly, receiving a look of total confusion from him in response. “That night, when you had that big-breasted stripper draped all over you? You asked me why I was jealous and I still don’t know why.”

“You weren’t supposed to...see that,” he muttered, frowning.

“Yeah, well, I did,” I retorted, my tone more irritated than I’d intended.

“Hey,” he growled, grabbing me and spinning me around so that my back was pressed against his chest. His thick forearms were banded around my waist. “Every guy there had to take a turn in the Seat of Sin. It was unfortunate that you came in when it was mine. She did nothing for me. She didn’t get me hard; she didn’t turn me on. She wasn’t you.” His final words were breathed into my ear, the heat of his breath warming my entire nervous system. “You know that this is more than just sex, don’t you, pussycat?” His tongue caressed the shell of my ear and I jerked against him, feeling the steel of his erection against my lower back.

I closed my eyes. “I don’t want it to be.”

“Too fucking bad,” he whispered, nibbling at my earlobe. I moaned, leaning further into him. “You don’t have to be scared, kotik. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. I’ve wanted to fuck and kiss and hold you for so, so long. Tell me you want those things, too, Ophelia.”

I exhaled, my hands finding his arms. “I want them.”

He placed a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Good. Let’s go riding.”

My eyes snapped open when he released me and took my hand instead. “Excuse me?”

I was aroused to the point of freaking discomfort and practically begging him to take me – and he wanted to hop on a horse instead?

“You’ve been on a horse before, correct?” Nikolai asked as he led me down a path that would inevitably lead to the godforsaken stables.

“A few times,” I dazedly replied as the large wooden structure came into view.

He squeezed my hand. “Great.” He slid me a sly smile. “As Bibi, or as Ophelia?”

“You know, I’m starting to think you like this fictional character more than you like me,” I sniffed in response, pretending to be offended.

He stopped, jerking me to him. “I like Ophelia Shaw perfectly fine, thank you very much,” he pronounced, his voice solemn. “Probably because Ophelia Shaw is perfectly fine,” he added, flashing me a panty-dissolving grin.

I slapped his upper arm, rolling my eyes. “Very amusing.”

He laughed, dragging me inside the stables, where the stench of horse crap and hay immediately hit me. The smells were comforting, reminding me of the one visit to Rory’s countryside hometown when I was still young. She’d taken me to the stables and I’d grown thoroughly attached to a pony called Apple (or a different fruit; I couldn’t be too sure). The last time I’d been on a horse was on set and I was hit by a wave of nostalgia.

A quick glance around revealed that the stable-hands were gone and for that I was eternally grateful. I wasn’t totally ready for anyone else to discover that Nikolai and I were fooling around. It was enough that Savita and Inga knew.

Nikolai was already giving his attention to a black thoroughbred, running his hands through the horse’s mane. I had never been envious of an animal in my life but there I was, wishing I were in Animorphs and had the ability to transform into a horse so that I could receive the same administrations as...

“She’s called Agrafena,” Nikolai practically cooed, pronouncing the horse’s name as Ah-grah-fye-nah. “Wild horse. Agra, for short.”