Or perhaps the universe had finally given him something worth the many sacrifices he’d paid over his lifetime in the form of a woman he couldn’t even hate if he tried. Especially when he was mad at her.
He blamed her for that, too.
“He told me to wear a cashmere sweater under the blazer,” Vaslav said, settling on being the one who broke the silence between the two.
“Who?” Vera asked.
“My tailor.”
“Did you ask for a shirt—”
“No, I have plenty. His advice, on the note taped to the pocket, was to opt for a cashmere sweater instead of a standard button down. Apparently, that’ll better reflect my retirement. My retirement, Vera.”
“And you’re annoyed because—”
“He knows about my retirement!”
To start.
Vaslav had other issues with the note left by the tailor he preferred, like the fact that the man felt comfortable enough to leave a personal note for him to begin with. But that was an issue he could deal with on a different day.
This one’s schedule was full.
Taking her time to fold the book in her lap closed, Vera carefully set the paperback book down to the tiled floor of the shower stall next to the mug full of coffee that didn’t appear to have been touched yet. “Didn’t I talk to him for an entire hour on Monday about the mood you wanted for your suit? Not formal, more casual. A muted black—warm for the weather.”
“And?” Vaslav asked sharply.
Vera tilted her head to the side, unwavering in her calm disposition even as his worsened right before her eyes. “You mentioned, more than loud enough for him to hear, that it was the last time you planned to be seen with vory in public. Your words, not mine or his.”
He hadn’t realized she was still on the phone with the tailor when he made that comment because she wasn’t even supposed to take the call to begin with. She conveniently forgot to mention that part of the story. Either way, he’d let her handle it when the last thing he’d needed was a half hour conversation on the phone when his skull felt like it was splitting open. Who cared about hemlines and thread color when his brain could explode at any fucking second?
“He must have put it together himself, and thought he’d pass on something helpful for today,” Vera added with a small shrug. “What harm does that do? I thought you wanted news to spread. Who’s to say it isn’t?”
Of course, she just had to make sense.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“It’s not that important of a day,” Vaslav muttered. “Not so much so that my personal tailor needed to put his input in on it, no?”
Vera didn’t call him on the lie, and he would never say it, but he was grateful for her silence. It was a significant day. Definitely for the men involved, and partly for him, too. While the men in power would have their moment, in the grand scheme of the day’s events, his part might only seem like a passing second.
That second would still mean a lot.
Every choice he had made in the past year accumulated to the proverbial passing of a torch in a public setting, and he hadn’t really thought that much about it, if he were being honest. Which was unlike Vaslav who usually spent more time than he should obsessively overthinking almost everything.
Whatever.
This retirement business was easier to manage if he just let shit happen the way it was meant to. That included him taking a step back—no dirty hands, no making plans. If he had no skin in the game, and he pulled no strings, he was less of a threat in a way.
Or so he was told.
Vaslav didn’t know if he believed it.
Vera continued her quiet observance of Vaslav as he headed deeper into the well-lit bathroom. Hanging the garment bag with his new suit on a hook, he then yanked open a drawer on the vanity to find the toiletry bag he kept inside. He spent the next couple of minutes spreading out the items he planned to use to get ready for the day while Vera finished her cigarette in the shower stall. Once she had done, and had sprayed the ashes down the drain, she tossed the butt to the toilet and flushed it. Lastly, she removed the stool from the stall and replaced it against the far wall. She lingered behind him in the reflection of the mirror as he trimmed his beard along his jawline with a pair of stainless steel scissors.
“Are you going with cashmere?” she asked.
“Should I?” he asked back.
“It’s just clothing, Vas.”
“Right,” he returned. “And it’s just another day, Vera.”
Which wasn’t at all true.
They both knew it, too.
“Well, it is comfortable,” she said. “Warm, too.”
“Mmm.”
His noncommittal grunt pulled a tiny grin from the woman behind him in the mirror. He dared to grin back, and didn’t regret the choice when her lips split with a wider smile.
All those days of silence between them while he worked through how he felt about what she had done regarding his mother were for nothing when she smiled at him. The clouds in the sky could have parted with the rays and voice of God coming through, and it wouldn’t have made one single damn difference to Vaslav in that second.
It was sickening, really. Except he wouldn’t change a thing about it.
“I have a dress—grey, you saw it before. We could match.”
He knew which one she meant. Loose sleeves, body-contouring, and a treat to enjoy the sight of her wearing the sweater dress.
“I do have a grey sweater,” he admitted. “We can match without saying we are, yes?”
“Sure, if that’s what you need to get dressed and leave this house today.” Vera nodded. “I’ll wear the grey dress, and find your sweater?”
Setting the scissors next to the sink, Vaslav scrubbed a hand down his jaw, brushing away the stray hairs he’d soon rinse off.
“All of this,” he muttered, “for five minutes on the side of the street.”
The comment stopped Vera from turning away to leave the bathroom.
“Five minutes?” she asked. “I thought we were having dinner with my parents in the city before they fly out tonight?”
Actually, he’d told her they would see her parents—and Igor—around dinnertime at a restaurant in downtown Moscow, and spend the night in the city after. He hadn’t specified whether or not they would also join the meal but that was never in his plans.
After all, he’d made himself clear to Igor about their transition of power and how Vera could be used. If Igor wanted to initiate Vaslav’s retirement and flex his new control by starting with a mutually beneficial agreement with an American Bratva boss on the trade of a significant stock of weapons, then so be it. The fact that the American boss also happened to be Vera’s father presented a viable story to the rest of the organization that could be told without Vaslav needing to be a part of the conversation.
After all, he was trying to step away from said organization. He shouldn’t be a part of the conversation in any real way at all. Wasn’t that the point?
“Vas, what about dinner with my parents?” Vera asked again.
“Something came up,” he said.
It wasn’t a lie.
Not entirely.
Glancing over his shoulder, he found Vera still lingering in the doorway of the bathroom, not entirely ready to leave, it seemed. To be frank, he didn’t want her to go, either. Even a few days of time, space, and silence was a little much for him.