Brandi’s arms and legs were on delay as if she was controlling her body from a remote. Her arms weighed more than normal, too. She hadn’t slept more than twenty minutes before the front desk was calling with their three-twenty wake-up call.
“Parents here,” said Nikolai, as he swept Brandi through a turn.
She dropped her head forward to his shoulder. She wanted to skate well for her parents, but she wasn’t sure she could pull out her best performance with her sluggish body.
Mikelina and Yuri had eyed their outfits and frowned before offering lukewarm congratulations. Yuri had left angrily when Nikolai offered the MP3 of the music Brandi wanted to dance to. Her husband had remained firm on the issue even though Brandi was willing to forgo the idea.
Her husband. She couldn’t get used to the idea, although he was making sure she was reminded.
He would hold her face with his left hand and make sure she could feel the gold band with a subtle shift of his fingers. He held her hand and twisted her ring on her finger. He even called her wife at every opportunity. He’d left her hungry when he turned away from her in the bed.
She felt a little like she’d gone through the looking glass backwards. She’d thought things were one way, and they were totally different. And she had no idea what she was looking at with Nikolai. Partner? Friend? Husband? Potential lover? All of the above? Or was he just a lying conniver? And if it had been his intent to trick her into marriage, why? And why wasn’t he taking advantage of the situation. Her token resistance last night was surely transparent.
“We say hello, da?”
“Yes. I suppose we should.” She didn’t know if she wanted her parents to leave or stay longer. She didn’t want to deal with misrepresenting her marriage to her parents, and she wasn’t even sure what the truth was any more.
“Try look like happy,” he whispered in her ear. He put his arm around her waist as they skated to the boards.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” said Brandi brightly as they reached the side of the rink.
“Hello, honey,” said her mother reaching out to hug her, while she saw her father stretch out his hand to Nikolai.
“Wish thank you for room,” said Nikolai. His hand settled on her shoulder.
Her parents looked at the tee shirt he wore, and no doubt recognized it as one she wore to sleep in at home in California.
She looked up at him, and his blue eyes fixed on her indulgently. She gave him a wan smile before leaning her elbows on the edge of the barrier. “Yes, it was a treat. They gave us champagne.”
She didn’t mention that they hadn’t opened the bottle. It was outside in their car. They would take it home to their apartment and stick it in the refrigerator. She couldn’t figure out if it was waiting to celebrate their real wedding night, or if they’d save it for their first win in competition. That was what Nikolai said they could save it for when he pulled it out of the melted ice this morning.
Nikolai stroked his hand over her shoulder. She wished he wouldn’t do that. Or she wished she wasn’t so aware of the path of heat that torched from his touch and traveled down the length of her body. She wanted to get off the subject of the room and what they were supposed to have done there, and what they wanted everyone to believe they did there. What she half wished had happened there.
“We start work on new dance today,” said Nikolai. “But most work compulsory steps. Would like see?”
“Of course. We’d love to see you two skate together,” answered her mother.
“Brandi, would like tango?” he asked, his blue eyes questioning hers.
She nodded. She was too tired to wonder why he had picked the tango, other than red and black were obvious tango colors.
He called to Mikelina, introduced her parents, and then had a quick conversation in Russian. He pulled her back onto the ice. They needed to work on intros. He dropped to a knee. She tried to remember if she’d seen him and Tatiana use this start position before. She draped herself across his leg. Hey, she could fake it. He brought her hand up to touch his face.
“Look away. Tango angry dance.”
“I hate you, but I want to sleep with you,” she replied. She knew the mood of the dance.
“Da, I want for to sleep with you.”
“You have,” she said, turning her head away.
“Not way I want,” he answered. His eyes swept over her and returned to her averted face. “I think you be angry with me.”
The music started. He ran his hand over her body. She flinched. His touch was far too intimate.
“Niet. You know my hand.”
“I do not.”
“Do now,” he said as he caught her arm and pulled her around in a quarter turn of a modified death spiral. She managed to hold her position through sheer willpower. It must have taken a lot of strength for him to pull her around him in a wide circle from a dead stop. He hauled her up to a standing position, and planting her hand in the center of his chest, she pushed away from him. Her move surprised him, and he was out of position for the start of the steps. She started without him, ignoring him. Classic tango.
His blue eyes were amused as he caught her steps. She leaned deeply into her strokes, and worked with the speed and sharpness Mikelina and Yuri coached. Their hips were brushing as they performed the dance steps. She was too far forward when she went through the quick twizzle spin, but Mikelina’s sharp rebuke was buried under encouragement. She tried to think about her edges, but the heat of Nikolai’s hand, splayed against her back, distracted her.
They had traced through two patterns almost too quickly. Nikolai reached under her arms and held her against his chest as he skidded to a stop. She obliged by dragging one skate, the other boot across her knee.
“Nice, nice,” said Mikelina. “If start dance with that move, must make sure in position at the start of music. But is good look.”
She could hear Nikolai’s heart pounding under her ear.
“I screwed up the twizzle. We need to do it again,” Brandi said.
“Later. Want skate different, while parents here?”
“Yes.”
After skating practice, her parents took them to eat lunch. Nikolai aggravated her by not only resting his hand on her leg, but rubbing his fingers in a slow circle all through the meal, which she thought was carrying their charade too far. It was one thing to rest his hand on her leg, another to concentrate so annoyingly on making her aware of her refusal to consider making their marriage real. Then he snuck in under the belt by telling her father, he would treasure her. A low blow.
Her faked smile was rewarded with a kiss as her parents turned away to get in their rental car and return to the airport.
“Would like sleep now?”
She frowned.
He stroked his fingers over her cheek.
“They’re gone now. You can stop playacting.”
“Come, Brandoosha. You are sleepy, da? Go bed. I wake you for to go work.”
He took her hand and led her back into their stale building. She followed docilely. She was tired.
“I have to be there at four,” she said.
“Have two hours for to sleep. I pack dinner for you, okay.”
“Sure, thanks,” she said, as he closed the apartment door.
“I’m going to start working later tonight.”
“What late?”
“Until ten or so.”
“For why?”
“My boss asked me to, and we could use the money.”
“Niet, not need,” he said, raking a hand through his hair.
“Yes, we do. You know that when we start competing we’ll have a lot more travel expenses.”
“Da.” He sounded frustrated. “I see to have visa changed. I work.”
“Don’t be silly. You don’t need to have your visa changed.”
“I can no work. Is says I here in America only train. Only for to skate.”
“It’s no big deal.”
He rolled his eyes. “What mean deal?”
“I mean I told you when I came that I planned to work part-time to help pay for my share. Nothing’s changed.”
“Is no need to pay own apartment.” He pushed back his sleeves.
“I can’t believe we’re having our first argument about money. We aren’t even really married.”
He blinked. “I keep you from sleep. Am being hoghead?”
“Pigheaded. Yes, you are. Good night.”
He nodded. Picking up his tattered Russian/English dictionary he sank down on the couch.
Brandi went into the bedroom and kicked off her athletic shoes. Second day of marriage and she felt strangely bereft that she was crawling into bed alone. She shook her head. She was more tired than she had realized, if she wanted Nikolai to be with her. Especially since they’d probably be disagreeing about whether or not she should work.
His tall male form next to her in bed was exactly what she didn’t want. Exactly what she didn’t need. But then she always knew she was too vulnerable to his good looks, and when he acted caring on top of that, she was turning into a marshmallow. A toasted one, all gooey and melted on the inside.
Except caring didn’t mean love, and a three-year marriage to get his citizenship didn’t mean anything beyond that. And she was getting all confused about the natural order relationship stages should happen. Love, sex, marriage. She ought to at least have part of that sequence right. And surely it didn’t all happen in a few weeks.
She still remembered the bone-deep hurt from the fallout of her first relationship with a skating partner and the deep repercussions that still affected where she was in her skating today. Everything was at risk, her career, her dreams, her future and her heart. Better to hold onto them than let Nikolai have too much control over her life.
Already the signs of his natural tendency to dominate were patently obvious. It would be bad enough that they would lock heads on the issues of money, honesty, and dealing with family. When you added physical intimacy to that, emotions played too big a part. No, better to keep to the original plan of a marriage of convenience in name only.
*~*~*
As soon as she left for work, Nikolai went to the bedroom and scooped all her practice outfits out of her drawer. He tossed them in a shopping bag and carried them to a nearby tee shirt silk screening shop. An hour and a half later, he had the majority of her leotards and skate dresses on the counter and a shop girl had matching long-sleeved tee shirts lying across them. She frowned at a pink outfit and laid a pale blue tee shirt on top of it.
“What would you think if we put this pattern on this shirt?” She showed Nikolai a pink rose that matched Brandi’s skate dress. “I could even put a little blue rose here on the dress shoulder to match your shirt. I never knew skaters went to so much trouble to match clothes. Where is your partner?”
“She is work. I surprise her. How much cost?”
He winced as he forked over the one hundred and seventy-five American dollars, but that was nothing compared to what they would need to pay for their actual performance costumes.
He hoped that spending money would help show her he accepted her decision to work. She had thought he was upset about the money, but he was more worried about how she would have enough time to sleep. Then he realized he was arguing at cross-purposes with her and keeping her from the very thing he was worried that she wouldn’t get enough of, her rest.
After he returned home from his English class, he walked to the party shop to wait for Brandi. The closed sign hung in the door so he leaned against her little compact car in the parking lot. She gave him a smile as she left from the back door. A man hung out the door watching her.
“My boss was worried you were some creep stalking me,” she said as she neared him. “I told him you were my husband.”
“You wish me not wait for you?” he asked, while reaching for her.
“No, but it’s almost ten o’clock. You shouldn’t wait up for me. We have to be up in a few hours.”
He caught her elbows and gathering her against him without moving away from the car. He drew her in between his legs. “Must work so late?”
“I need to work. We need the money,” she said dispiritedly. “It’s not like I’m putting in a lot of hours, and evenings before closing is when he needs me here.”
He caught her face and tilted her head back. She was tired. He could tell by the limpness in her body. He kissed her gently. Her resistance was low. Part of him wanted to press his advantage, knowing that she wouldn’t put up much of a fight right now.
He slanted his mouth across hers, kissing her more deeply. He inhaled the scent of her, fresh and a faint hint of spice. He held her loosely, fighting the urge to pull her hips against his, to bend her backwards. He broke away, feathering a couple of gentle kisses across her soft mouth. He watched her indulgently.
She blinked as if suddenly aware that she was allowing him to hold her and kiss her casually, comfortably. She leaned back in his arms. “Okay, I think we’ve convinced my boss that you’re not some psycho.”
Her boss had closed the door some time ago, but Nikolai wasn’t about to point that out. He gave her a gentle hug, before moving away from the car and leading her to the driver’s side. “We go home. Maybe we skate different time. I ask Mikelina. Would want share ice?”
“With another couple?”
“Da, pay not more.”
“Less?” she questioned with a smile. She started the car and pulled out onto the street.
“Da, pay less.”
She shrugged. “We should have some private ice time, but maybe we could share part of the time. How are your blisters doing? Are they healing?
“Da. I talk Mikelina. Yuri like late skate.”
Brandi reached across the space in the car and touched his arm. The small gesture started a swirling in his gut. He would spend the night aching again. He should not have kissed her. He should not have allowed himself to experience the soft drape of her tired body against him, it made him wonder too much how she would feel laying across him when she was sated and sleepy. How would she feel when he had caused the limp relaxation?
“We don’t have to work on creating a dance to that music if it upsets Yuri. It’s just an idea I have. I don’t want to destroy the dynamic of your relationship with him and Mikelina. I’m just a novice compared to you guys.”
He wished he could follow what she was saying better. “Brandi, we are ice dancers. We must like dance. We must feel dance.”
She withdrew her hand to turn into their parking lot. He wanted to reach out and pull it back.
“You don’t think I can do Russian style of dancing?”
He stared at her. He hadn’t thought that. “You no think I do western dance?” he asked instead of responding. “I wish for mix. Russian passion, American...” he searched for a word to explain the concept. American’s were so much more looser in their style, freer. They pleased the public. They could dance to rock and roll whereas Russians were often too formal, too classic and stiff—just a tick off when they went for pop culture dancing styles. He hoped that in three and a half years they could have the technique to satisfy judges and the style to please the audience.
“American optimism?” she asked with a smile.
Nikolai was charmed. Her dark mood was gone, barely expressed and shoved aside with her natural ebullience banishing the lingering traces.
“I think I say freedom.”
“A blend of the oppressed and the liberated. We’ll have to be careful it doesn’t look like I am an imperialist, and you’re still oppressed,” she teased.
“Brandi, use words I not know. Write down I look up.”
“Don’t worry about it. In other words, you think we can mix our different styles and come up with a whole greater than the sum of it’s parts.”
In so much as he could follow that concept in her words he agreed. “Da. I not want make you Russian dancer. I wish become more American dancer.”
“But I should try to become more Russian, without losing my American traits.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Da,” she answered, opening her car door.
He stared at her, desire sweeping through him in a wave, but he wanted her to feel that making love was right too.
“But normally you wouldn’t have challenged Yuri like you did this morning, would you?”
No, he wouldn’t have. Not before. But he did feel strongly about doing the dance Brandi wanted. Tatiana wanted to be led. Brandi was used to being a driving force in her skating. Even he was used to being led, but he was determined to support his new bride in her drive for artistic expression. “I do best thing for us.”
“Okay, but be careful, Nikolai. Don’t support my ideas at all costs. Losing a great choreographer like Yuri would not be worth having artistic freedom. I may need you to rein in my wild ideas. Decisions about dances should be made by all of us.”
He nodded. She was offering a level of trust he hadn’t thought to achieve for some time. But Yuri should have allowed them to try their idea, except part of Yuri’s tirade before he stormed out had been the limited amount of time they had to develop two dances.
He watched her bounce up the stairs ahead of him. He could only think of a couple of times when she was tired enough to trudge up the stairs. He wanted her so badly it hurt. She stopped suddenly and turned.
“Did you call your mother?”
Nearly as good as dashing cold water in his face. “Da.”
She walked sedately up the rest of the stairs. “What did she say?”
“I ungrateful son.” He’d looked up the translation so he could be sure to tell Brandi the right word if she asked. Which she just had. He shouldn’t have bothered. Worry lines marred her forehead.
“Oh, Nikolai, don’t you think it would have helped if I could have said something nice to her in Russian. I would have, you know.”
“I know. Maybe we go Moscow after season. Maybe she to be happy. Maybe she see I happy husband.”
“You’re her only child, right?”
“Da.”
*~*~*
Brandi chewed her lip as Nikolai unlocked their apartment. The drone of the air-conditioner greeted them. He put his hand on her waist as he waited for her to enter. The smooth warmth of his gesture sent a warm buzz through her. Still she sensed his quiet about his conversation meant it hadn’t gone well.
She wanted to do something to ease what must have been an uncomfortable discussion with his mother. He had done so much to make sure the meeting with her parents had gone smoothly. Her parents had gone back to California secure that their daughter had made a good marriage, even if they thought it had been hasty.
“I guess it means a lot to parents to be involved in the wedding.”
“You no want my mother involve.”
“I wouldn’t have minded, but I understand.” She understood he had no intention of letting his mother have anything to do with her. It probably was out of consideration for his mother and the eventual divorce. He wouldn’t want his mother to get attached to a temporary wife.
“Is okay,” he said cryptically. “I make better with her later. She not like Americans.”
Yeah, once his mother understood his marriage to an American was finished, she probably dance in the streets. Or whatever Russian women did to celebrate. Maybe Brandi should send her some party supplies.
She tossed her purse on the coffee table. The stark apartment hardly bothered her, anymore. Maybe if she brought home a couple of bright posters for the walls. She looked around. She could find a nice afghan to cover up the mud-colored couch. The place wouldn’t look so drab if she just brought a little color into it.
Nikolai dropped back from her, closing and locking the door. When she turned around he was coming out of the bedroom with a pillow and blanket tucked under his arm. She watched him as he dropped them on the couch.
“I would you get sleep,” he said in answer to her unspoken question.
She nodded, ducking into the bedroom to change, wondering why she felt so alone. He was respecting her wishes. Although he’d ignored her willingness to make friendly overtures to his mother. She felt excluded, and she had to acknowledge that part of it was self-inflicted. For a good cause, she reminded herself. The little telling things like his not wanting her to interact with his mother only went to show his intentions. Marriage for citizenship. That was the bargain, and she was the goose who kept getting confused on that issue.
When she emerged from the bathroom after brushing her teeth and washing her face, he had already fallen asleep. The blanket had fallen to the floor. She stood in the hallway. The fall of light from the partially open bedroom door spilled across the floor in front of him, but she could make out his even features. His long dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back. His smooth chest rose and fell with his deep breathing. She was almost used to seeing him in his black briefs, although the blatant exposure of his masculine shape still caused her to draw a sharp breath each time.
The air-conditioner cycled on, and he moved. The cold air blew across his bared body. Brandi jumped back afraid to be caught watching him sleep. Fine dark hairs sparsely covered the pale skin on his long and muscular legs. Her eyes were drawn to them as he drew them in, curling up on the couch.
She knew the experience of those legs against hers, rubbing, sliding against her in their dance. She had even felt the heavy heat of his thigh resting against the juncture of her body, or perhaps the heat had come from her. She crossed the room and picked up the blanket. She draped it over him, gently tucking it behind him so it wouldn’t slide off again when he shifted positions.
Unable to resist, she brushed back the stray strand of hair that threatened to drop across his eyes. She knew in that minute she had gone too far. He didn’t wake, but with that simple touch, she had changed. She couldn’t sleep with him, because she cared too much about him. And that made her far too vulnerable to hurt. She was too close to falling in love with him. It wouldn’t take much to tip her over the edge. She wouldn’t be able to survive a divorce and continue partnering him. These feelings didn’t belong in this kind of relationship.
She had to stay focused on the benefits of their deal. He would get an American citizenship, and she would get a real shot at the Olympics. If they worked their tails off. A three-year marriage was the price. If she kept these feelings to herself, maybe she could survive.
It was ridiculous anyway. He could hardly speak English, although he had improved since she arrived. How could she think she was falling in love with him, when she barely knew him, didn’t even like him sometimes? She had almost hated him when he kept yelling, niet, niet, niet at Tatiana. These feelings were probably infatuation, they couldn’t really be the start of love. If she didn’t let the infatuation blossom into more, she could probably get out of this thing relatively unscathed.
She backed away, closed the bedroom door and slid into the bed feeling cold and alone. The worst part was that Nikolai was the only person she could talk to about their marriage, and she couldn’t tell him about these feelings.
*~*~*
In the morning Nikolai entered the bedroom as Brandi pulled out a practice outfit.
“Is what wear today?”
“Yeah,” she answered.
“Are tired?” He crossed to the dresser to find the matching shirt he had just purchased.
“Not too bad.”
He found the light purple long sleeve shirt and pulled it out of his drawer. “Is good match, da?”
Brandi didn’t answer. He looked over at her. He thought he saw a glitter in her eyes that didn’t speak of amusement or her usual sparkle. He wondered if he had done something wrong. “Are mad?
She shook her head no, with tightly pressed lips.
“What wrong?”
“I thought you always wore black.”
“Tatiana want me shadow to her.” He shrugged. And that had been fine with him. But with Brandi he wanted to show the world they were together, in sync. “You want I shadow to you? You, Kevin wear same color.” On ice and off. In fact the Saturday that Kevin had spent with them he and Brandi had managed to wear tee shirts in matching shades of bright blue.
“No. Of course not. I just...” She bit her lip and turned away.
Nikolai stood with the light purple shirt in his hand feeling awkward and wondering if he should put it back in the drawer, wondering if he’d made a huge miscalculation. He’d thought she’d appreciate his effort to make them color-coordinated.
“You want I not wear?”
“No, go ahead.” She walked out of the bedroom.
The short drive to the rink was silent. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt a half dozen times and then pulled them back down. “Is black pants,” he said finally.
“I’m just tired, Nikolai. You look fine.”
He wondered what had happened last night to make her withdraw. He thought when he picked her up from work and she allowed him to hold her and kiss her that things were improving between them. Had he made a mistake in not sharing the bed? Although sharing the bed and not her body would have been sheer torment, and he hadn’t thought things had improved that much between them.
He hoped she was simply tired, not withdrawing from him. But he suspected a retreat.