Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

33. Zoya

33

ZOYA

“ D on’t.” Nikita cups the single candle in the middle of a cake that looks like a disaster but tastes divine before finalizing her reply. “If you start, I’ll start.”

“I’m not starting anything.” I roll my eyes like the sudden movement won’t cause the wetness brimming in them to spill over.

I blow out the candle before Nikita and Gigi are halfway through singing “Happy Birthday.”

Even Grampies gets in on the act. His lyrics aren’t as clear as his counterparts’, but the sparkle in his eyes when he tells me to make a wish as I commence cutting a cake big enough to share with a hundred make up for his lack of singing skills.

“If you touch the bottom, you have to kiss the closest boy.”

My laugh is as husky as his words when he puckers his lips. They’re cracked from his breathing mask stealing all the moisture from his mouth, but they’re the only pair on offer, so I jab the knife in deep before leaning over his hospital bed to let him give me a sloppy birthday kiss.

“Happy birthday, Cheeky Chops,” he whispers in my ear before pulling me in for a hug.

“Thank you, Grampies.” I wipe my hand across my cheeks to ensure they’re dry before twisting to face the woman responsible for the first bit of happy wetness on my cheeks in months. “Where did you find mедови?к in Myasnikov? I’ve been searching for it for years.”

I wouldn’t have bought a slice if I’d found it—I have better things to spend my money on than painful memories—but that doesn’t mean I don’t constantly scan high-end bakeries for it.

Nikita’s brows furrow. “I thought?—”

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Gigi interrupts while balancing layers of honey-and-condensed-milk cake on her hands.

I shoot my hand in the air like a kindergarten student busting to use the bathroom.

Nikita’s response is the opposite of my eagerness. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I can’t be late. Dr. Abdulov?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her, aware I’ve already taken up a ton of time she doesn’t have.

We had a pamper day. It was free since we used supplies purchased before Nikita’s mom died. My skin has never felt so lush. It’s a pity I have nowhere to show it off.

Not that Nikita is aware of that.

“And you should probably get a wiggle on, too, Z. What time does the DJ gig start?”

I lie about a glamorous life so she won’t feel guilty about gifting me a thirty-minute shoulder massage in the dingy bathroom of her grandparents’ apartment for my birthday.

Furthermore, Nikita is studying to be a surgeon. Her hands are already miracle makers. The last thing she should feel is shame when offering up their services to a friend who still gives handmade birthday cards every year.

“I think it is around seven. It’s one of those secret gigs no one knows about, so the details are a little hush-hush.” I said I lie to protect her feelings. I never said I was good at it. “So I guess I should get a wiggle on.”

“What about your cake?” Gigi asks, desperate for more of the girl-on-girl time we’ve had in excess today.

I can’t remember the last time we’ve had Nikita alert and present for longer than two hours.

“It’s already curdled. I doubt a few more hours will hurt it.”

Gigi leans in to sniff the cake. When her nose crinkles, gratitude sparks through Nikita’s eyes. There’s nothing wrong with the cake, but by making out it tastes as ghastly as it looks, there will be plenty left for Nikita and me to share tomorrow. Gigi has a sweet tooth, but she’s fussy when it comes to the desserts she consumes.

“Thank you for today. I had so much fun.”

Gigi returns my hug before she whispers that only a sadist would enjoy a painful wax session. Then she shifts her focus to her blood.

“I’m so proud of you, darling.” Stupid wetness mists my eyes for the second time when she cups Nikita’s cheeks with her hands before she brushes their noses together.

Eskimo kisses were one of Nikita’s mother’s favorite ways to say goodbye.

I miss them as much as I do her, so I can only imagine the emotions Gigi’s farewell bombards Nikita with.

“You good?” I ask Nikita as we exit the basement apartment shoulder to shoulder.

“Yeah,” she whispers softly, her mind deep in thought. “Are you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shoves open the door at the side of the main entrance before pulling up the collar of her winter coat to protect her glossy locks from the cool winds. “You waxed.”

“Yeah. And?” I smile when she gets annoyed at me for tossing back to her one of the many neuroses she hands me every day, before saying, “Hairy vaginas went out of fashion decades ago.”

“Yeah, but…”

I wave my hand through the air, encouraging her to continue.

She follows along nicely. “You’re going out tonight. You don’t usually wax when you are going out.” I realize my excentric personality is beginning to rub off on her when she says, “The only day you get a Brazilian is the day you don’t want sex. It’s your birthday. You have plans, and you look like that”—she drags her hand down my body—“so why today of all days did you wax?”

It takes me longer than I care to admit to come up with an excuse. “Everyone’s pain tolerance is different?” Since my reply is more a question than a confirmation, it sounds like one. “And by the time the concert is over, it’ll be close to twenty-four hours since you were up in my business.”

She scoffs before walking faster. “I was not up in your business.”

“You were so far up there I was beginning to wonder if you were giving me a pap smear.”

Nikita stops walking and turns to face me. “Talking about pap smears?—”

“Nope.” I shake my head in disgust. “We’re not going there, and you’re not doing that. Ever .”

“I’m a trained professional.”

“I don’t care if you are the highest paid escort in the country, you’re not sticking anything inside me, let alone an ice-cold duck beak and a kitchen scraper. I don’t swing that way.”

Well, I didn’t.

Andrik said he’d kill any man who came between us.

He didn’t mention women.

It’s a pity I love dick more than a Celine Dion mega fan or I could have closed my eyes and pretended mouth stimulation alone would take care of an itch no amount of self-stimulation has scratched over the past five weeks.

My self-loathing party ends when Nikita grumbles, “Says the lady who rode my leg all the way to climax station this morning.” She shudders like she walked through a cobweb.

“I wasn’t close to climax. Your disgusted howl cut the journey short. I was a mere minute from saving you from the need to shower.” When she appears lost, I ask, “Is squirting a medical term, or should I refer to it as?—”

Her hand shoots up to clamp my mouth before I get out all my question. Then her motherly eyes hit their full potential. “Because it is your birthday, I’m going to act like we’re not having this conversation outside my place of employment. Behave, be safe, and message me when you get home. I don’t care what time it is. I’ll most likely be awake, anyway.”

I pretend that my message isn’t ten minutes from being sent since Lilia gave me the night off for my birthday.

My agreeing gesture appeases Nikita enough to lower her hand from my mouth. “I love you, Z.” She wraps me up in a warm hug. “Happy birthday.”

“I love you too.” I return her hug before pushing her into the hospital entrance only used by staff. “Now get out of here before Boris works out why you don’t use the main entrance anymore.”

Boris is lovely, but if Andrik had his face, keeping his dick in his pants wouldn’t be an issue for him. I doubt even his wife would want to give it up.

There’s no doubt my wild side is whittling its way under Nikita’s skin when she twists to face me just before entering the hospital severely underpaying its staff. “Squirting is the correct medical term, but some people also call it female ejaculation. Women expel fluids of various quantities and compositions from the urethra during sexual arousal and orgasm. There have been several studies conducted on the phenomenon, but most of the researchers were male. They took centuries to find the clit, so I haven’t given their findings much thought.” She tilts her head and flashes the cutest grin. “Should I consider my own study?”

I twist my lips. “I think you should. But can I suggest a practical approach to your research instead of theoretical? The results will be more accurate that way.”

“They would. But then I’d need a research assistant, and I don’t see anyone offering their services.”

“Except Boris,” I correct.

“Except Boris,” she parrots.

After groaning, she drops her lower lip, waves me goodbye, and then trudges into her workplace like every man she crosses paths with today wouldn’t sell their left kidney to assist her with a study on the female anatomy.

Once Nikita is out of eyesight, I take the most direct route home. It is the same bus I’ve ridden the past month. Since it is early, it is brimming with people. The ratio of men to women is starkly different, and the handful who appear attached to a significant other don’t miss the bounce the potholes cause my chest.

Their eyes do the same boing their children do on the knees of their wives, and it makes me sick to my stomach that their wives gave them something I never could, yet they still gawk like the best they can get isn’t directly in front of them.

Don’t they know looks fade, but family is for life?

Or was it only my mother who drummed that into her daughters since adolescence?

With my mood no longer playful, I don’t realize someone is sitting in the stairwell outside my apartment door until we almost knock knees.

His prolonged rake of my body is as deprived as my fellow male riders, but regretfully, he knows what I’m rocking under my T-shirt, jeans, and jacket combination.

“Vlad.” I slow my roll to ensure I maintain plenty of distance between me and the last guy who couldn’t find my clit with a map and a compass. “What are you doing here?”

He looks at me in shock. “It’s your birthday. As if I wouldn’t visit my favorite girl on her birthday.”

“I’m twenty-eight.” With him lost, I continue. “Where were you when I turned twenty-seven?”

Vlad is the man who had me believing abstinence was the better option. He was the last person I slept with before Andrik, and he only cared about getting himself off, leaving me unsatisfied and sore enough from his jackrabbit moves not to rush out and seek a replacement.

I assumed all bed companions would be like him. Selfish.

Andrik taught me otherwise.

I take some of the anger I should be directing at myself for letting Andrik slip into my head again for the umpteenth time today out on Vlad. “I would show you out, but I’m reasonably sure you know the way.”

“Come on, Zoy.” His nasally whine annoys me, but not as much as his following words. “We were good once.”

“Once,” I agree. “Then you snuck out in the middle of the night and I never heard from you again.” I could leave it there, but life without drama is dull. “It just happened to be the same night I tried to assure you not all the dryness was your fault. It was, by the way.”

He smiles like he doesn’t believe me.

It doubles my anger.

“You’re an asshole.”

I make it to my front door before his sniveling tone ends my steps. “All that mess was my ma, Zoy. I didn’t want ankle biters. Never did. But I was the last of the Stronovics, and Ma didn’t want Pa’s name to die with me.”

The honesty in his tone cools my turbines by a smidge. “So what’s changed?”

His smile slips as he rubs his hands together. “I’ve got a couple of rugrats now, so she’s good. She is off my back.”

“A few?” My pitch is as high as my brows.

I realize I’ve forgotten Vlad’s quirks when he rubs his hands faster. He isn’t gleaming with attitude. He’s shitting his pants.

“Yeah… I’ve got four.”

“Four?” I double-check, certain I heard him wrong. “You have four kids?” When he nods, I take a step back. “How the hell did you have four kids in two years?”

He wets his lips, shifting foot to foot. “Technically three.”

“Three kids or three years?”

He bows his head like a dog about to be smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. “Three years. Three pregnancies, and one set of twins with a side chick.”

It takes my sluggish head a minute to click on, and when it does, it is a devastating blow to my ego.

He cheated on me.

A man who drove his mother’s Honda and still lived at home when we dated cheated on me.

What. The. Fuck has my life become?

“I… We…” When violence is the only thought I have for several long seconds, I point to the stairwell. “You should go… or I can’t guarantee your chances of further procreation won’t lower to zero.”

“I was a dick back then, Zoy.” He waves to the stairwell like the past is one step behind him. “I’ve grown. Matured. I’ve even got a job now. That’s how I was able to afford these.” He thrusts a gas-store-purchased bunch of flowers into my chest, along with a card. “I made the card because I know how much you like them to come from the heart.” Several petals float to the floor when he tugs the card out of the badly wilted arrangement. “And you’ve been wanting to go to this gig for years, so I asked around and found some tickets.”

Too curious for my own good, I accept the card he’s holding out and tear it open. I’m surprised when an elaborately gilded ticket falls into my palm. It isn’t for the DJ gig I told Nakita about earlier. It’s for a sex club Vlad mentioned numerous times during our brief courtship.

He’s been seeking an invitation for years but was never high enough on any social ladder to be granted one.

“It’s for tonight.” He steps closer, bringing himself near enough for me to smell his breath. It doesn’t smell like whiskey, but something is definitely up with it. “And I really want to experience it for the first time with you, Zoy. It’s been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.” When I don’t immediately tell him to take a hike, he rubs his hands together like I’ve already said yes. “The name on the ticket doesn’t matter. I checked with the club before I arrived, so all you need to do is get your fine ass dressed and we’re good to go.”

My eyes shoot down to a name not close to mine for half a second before my knee pops into Vlad’s groin. It’s the name of the woman I accused him of hooking up with when we were together, except her last name is no longer Berkov. It matches Vlad’s surname.

“Fuck… that…” He tries to remain standing tall, but within seconds, the pain becomes too much for him to bear. “I need to sit down for a minute. Can I?” He points to the section of stairwell his ass was warming when I arrived home.

“Take all the time you need, Vlad.” I bob down until not even his misted eyes can miss the seriousness in my gaze. “But you better be off my stoop by the morning or I’ll invite my best friend over for a game of doctors and nurses.” I lower my tone to a deadly whisper. “Her party tricks involve unclean scalpels.” When I recall his personality is the only time I can mention “dick” with an impressive edge while referencing him, I add, “And tweezers. Teeny-tiny peanut-grabbing tweezers!”

Not giving him a chance to reply or defend his manhood, I shove my key into the lock with enough force to bend the metal before I race into the entryway of my apartment, slamming the door behind me.

My back barely braces against the battered wood when I’m confronted by another fool with a death wish. “He’s gonna need longer than a minute. But I’m up for a game of doctors and nurses if you’re seeking participants.”

I glare at Mikhail before twisting the door handle, ruefully yanking open the only entry point of my apartment and then gesturing for him to leave. “You have five seconds to get out of my house before your right nut joins your left nut in your stomach.”

He doesn’t take my threat seriously. “How’d you know you got my left nut?”

“You told me,” I bark out before I can stop myself, “two seconds before you fell to the ground and cried like a baby.”

“I know why he did that.” Vlad’s voice crackles with a sob. “I’m reasonably sure my left nut is gone. Like gone , gone.” He fiddles with his crotch like it’s a bag of marbles. “I can’t find it.”

“It’ll come back down… eventually ,” Mikhail replies before he shuts my door with him on the wrong side of it.

“You’re not welcome in my ho?—”

“If I can prove I didn’t know he was going to be there, will you at least give me five seconds of your time to explain that I’m not setting out to intentionally hurt you?”

I don’t back down without a fight. I just fail to mention that my anger is more centered on that the wrong brother showed up to celebrate my birthday.

“It was his home. Whether you knew he would be there that day or not doesn’t count. You knew he would eventually be there.”

Since he can’t deny the truth, he remains quiet.

“I guess you no longer need five seconds?”

“I—”

Since I’m feeling hormonal and my ego is obliterated enough to demand privacy, I cut him off. “Goodbye, Mikhail.”

“Sunshine…”

I open the door like my heart isn’t breaking from the devastation in his tone before stepping back so he can exit without bumping into me.

He stops partway through the door. “If you didn’t want him to react, you wouldn’t have used me to rile him.” He brushes his lips against the corner of my mouth. “You know how to reach me when you need me.” He flashes a ghost-like grin, mouths, Happy birthday , then gallops down the stairs Vlad is still hogging.

Silence reigns supreme under the healthy roar of a high-powered motorcycle rumbling through my building.

“Is he your boyfr?—”

“Goodnight, Vlad.”

I close my apartment door before Vlad can voice all of his reply. I can still hear it since the walls are paper-thin. “Can I please get back the ticket to Vixens? If you’re not going to use it, I may as well give it to someone who wants it. They’re not easy to come by.”

I almost tell him to go to hell, but then I remember I’m no better than him.

I’m a cheater too.

He wobbles to his feet when I slide the ticket under the door’s lip. He gathers it up before locking his eyes with the peephole I’m peering through. “Would I be pushing my luck to get my leather jacket too?” My sigh is silent, but he must hear its ripples. “It was my pa’s, and I thought maybe I could hand it down to my eldest like he did me.” After another lengthy delay, his eyes turn pleading. “I swear it’ll be the last thing I ever ask of you.”

Hopeful he’s being honest for a change, I stomp to my room to grab the dust collector hiding in the back of my closet. I find Vlad’s jacket in under thirty seconds. It is next to the suit jacket that has a lusty scent as strong now as it was weeks ago.

I run my nose across the pricy material of Andrik’s business jacket before my head can demand my heart not to. It smells delicious, and our intermingled scents make me a mixture of angry and hot.

It should be impossible to miss a man you hardly know, but I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t missed Andrik today. His attention is so thrilling that I forget I’m not meant to crave it.

I’m also not meant to throw my friends under the bus with me to achieve it.

Mikhail was right.

I used him to force Andrik to respond.

Since I am mad at myself, I thrust Andrik’s jacket back into its spot with the same aggression I used weeks ago. This time, since my hearing isn’t affected from the ringing tires rolling over asphalt for twenty-four hours straight, I hear a crinkle I missed last time.

My throat works through a hard swallow when I discover two documents in the breast pocket. The first one is a plain sheet of white paper holding two tickets for the concert I mentioned earlier tonight. The other is an official-looking document. None of the details are filled in, but the terms in black and white for the world to see all point to the same thing.

Andrik’s wish for an heir.

As he’s hinted at numerous times, he doesn’t want his child to be produced the old-fashioned way. His marital contract states with the utmost certainty that the couple’s union is not about love. The child’s conception, fetal development, and delivery are clinically planned procedures.

Even the mother-to-be’s living arrangements form part of the agreement.

There isn’t an option for her to share a room with Andrik—nor a bed.

The knowledge makes me smile… until a date on the ledger registers as familiar.

Andrik’s reared-to-breed wife was scheduled for artificial insemination on the day I attended my interview.

He was fingering me in the driveway of his palatial home while his wife was being inseminated with his sperm, and it was inside her when he was in my bed, eating me for dessert.

The amount of disrespect is shocking, and it sends my emotions into a debilitating downward spiral.

Andrik isn’t demanding discreetness to respect my wish not to be portrayed as a homewrecking whore like my mother was for years. He’s rejecting me like every other man has when they realize the only thing I can offer them long-term is me.

That’s a slap to the face worse than any I’ve been given, and it dips my confidence to the lowest point it’s ever been.

“Fuck you, Andrik,” I lash out, shouting like he can hear me. “I am more than enough. If you’re too stupid to see that, that’s on you, not me. My fertility status doesn’t make me a woman. My body does. My strengths.” A fire roars inside me as my ego strives to break through the deluge swamping it. “My ability to do what I want, when I what, for exactly how long I want makes me more a woman than any name you could have placed at the top of your contract.”

With my confidence semi-restored, I toss down the document, snatch up Vlad’s jacket, and then hightail it out my front door.

An oomph leaves Vlad’s mouth when I thrust his jacket into his chest. It has nothing on the holler that leaves his mouth when I pluck the ticket for Vixens out of his hand and then gallop down the stairs two at a time.

We dated long enough for him to recognize when my wild side is coming out.

Regretfully.