The women’s chatter drifts to me on the breeze, a nice sound amongst the testosterone fest that is this stupid game.
Sitting with Cassie is Justina. She’s Andrius’ assistant or something. I’m not sure exactly what her deal is, except she’s part of his family now. She’s also very efficient and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She and Andrius’ woman, Violet seem close, but there’s something there, a tiny thing you might only notice if you observe people closely. I’ve noticed it. There’s an issue, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t think Violet is jealous of Justina. There’s nothing remotely sexual between her and Andrius, but on some level she’s not entirely comfortable around her. She’s much more relaxed around Cassie, and she hasn’t known her as long.
Then again, who wouldn’t be relaxed around Cassie? K calls her his sunshine, and she is a golden ball of happy, fluffy-haired, positivity. She makes my teeth ache some days. Funny how she saw something in such a miserable bastard as K, then fell head over heels.
Justina is reading a business magazine, and she looks up from it grinning.
“Hey, Andrius,” she shouts.
“Yeah?” he asks without turning to look at her.
“You know how much shit you give me for my handbag habit?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it says here they’re a better investment than classic cars or art.”
Finally, he turns to her, panting from the running around he’s doing, and stares. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, says here, some designer handbags now perform better than almost any other collectable investment.”
“Well, shit, go buy some more.” He starts laughing, but I’m filling it away.
The way I do with all the facts I learn.
See, us men, we think the things we like— cars, art, hell, even cigars, are serious; and the stuff women like— handbags and jewels are frivolous. Women however have been making their own economy for a long time now. They don’t sit around discussing their bags the way some men discuss their investments and collections. They buy them and sell them though—to one another. In some cultures, jewelry is where money and wealth are collected and handed down. It goes from one generation to the next to be worn around the necks of the daughters and granddaughters and so on.
It’s not a surprise to me that handbags might outperform art as investment pieces. Women have their own money now and their own power. Good for them too. I prefer women to men. Men are shits. Mostly.
I trust about three men in the entire world. K, Andrius, and Vasily. That’s it. Maybe Ilya, another Pakhan, to a degree, but not fully. Damen, I’m thawing toward, mostly because he’s helping me dig into Dasha’s life, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him the way I do with K now.
Men have beaten me, abused me, threatened me, and lied to me. Every bad thing that has happened to me has been at the hands of men. Except for one thing. The worst thing, and that happened because of the only woman to betray me.
Dasha.
I’m thinking about my beautiful ballerina again when the ball comes flying my way. I catch it for once and am full of triumph. Which way do I run? I hesitate for a moment. It’s a moment that costs me.
Two seconds later, two hundred and fifty plus pounds of muscle collides with me, taking me to the ground.
I hit hard with an oomph as the air goes out of me. Pain hits my stomach at the winding, and then I can’t worry about that because my face explodes with pain as it smashes into the dry ground.
Holy fucking shit, it hurts.
I groan, and the weight on top of me disappears as K’s gravelly voice reaches me.
“Bohdan?”
Hands pull at me, and I’m turned over to see K and Andrius looking at me with concern. Cassie is running over too, her blanket on the ground.
My face feels like someone detonated a bomb in the middle of it.
“Your nose.” K shakes his head. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s broken,” Andrius says. “Like you broke mine.” He turns to K. “You’re the breaker of noses. You should have a coat of arms made with this as your title.”
K’s face falls. “Fuck, Bohdan. I’ve messed you up good and proper.”
“Another fucking hospital trip,” Andrius says in English as Cassie reaches us.
My eyes are watering. Tears pouring down my cheeks as they stream from the agony in the center of my face. I try to sniff, but can’t.
“How do you know it’s broken?” I ask Andrius, automatically speaking in English too, the way I’ve grown used to when Cassie is around.
“Because it is no longer like a nose, but a splat in the middle of your face.”
What? A splat? That sounds bad.
“You’re not going to be so pretty now, no matter what they do with you,” Andrius says. “Come.” He gives me his hand and pulls me up. “We must take you to the hospital.”
He turns to K. “Sometimes you don’t know your own strength.”
K looks so damn upset at himself. I pat his arm, consolingly. “It’s okay,” I tell him.
“Yeah, it’s not,” he says. “It was an accident. You went down at a weird angle.”
“Because his head has been in the clouds ever since he saw his ballerina,” Andrius grouses. “Good fucking job you’re not starting an actual work role in Paris and instead are just going there to stalk your ballerina, because I wouldn’t put you in the field with your head like this.”
“Not stalking,” I say, gritting my teeth at the agony.
“It is.” Andrius fixes me with his ghostly eyes and shrugs. “You need to get her out of your system, and then come back here and help us build our business. Go … stalk her, get it all worked out, then come back here with your head on right and you can start work proper.”
“I’m amazed you’re allowing him to go stalk her,” K says as if I’m not here. “What, with us only just starting this and it being your baby and all.”
“Not stalking,” I mutter as my nose throbs.
Andrius shrugs. “Either she’s going to tell him she hates him, he’ll come back here and mope, or she’ll fall in love with him again and he can bring her back here to add to the collection of women we’ve kidnapped or been given.” Andrius cracks up at his sick humor, but K glowers.
“Technically, I didn’t kidnap Cassie. She came with me to save her life.”
“I came with you because I didn’t have anything better to do that day,” she quips.
Their big, stupid dog comes bounding up, tongue lolling out. He’s idiotic and has no control over his limbs. He runs around like he’s a three-month-old puppy not a fully grown dog, legs going everywhere. We all love him, though. You can’t not when he comes bounding up to you, smiling his soppy Golden Retriever smile, his whole-body waggling.
“Go back inside, Gully,” Cassie says.
When he ignores her and continues slinking around us, waggling his body, she laughs. “Okay, Gully, go find Violet. Go on, find Violet.”
Gulliver is Cassie’s dog, but he’s taken a real shine to Violet and the baby; he’s protective of them. He runs off at Cassie’s command, back legs going every which way, to find Violet who has disappeared into the house somewhere. Levi, Violet’s dog, will already be by her side no doubt.