radicalducati Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Polina
Max, it's like a roller coaster. First you fly at breakneck speed into the abyss, then you soar to the sky, hang there, and then you go tumbling down again. And so on and so forth.
As soon as I fell into his arms in the airport lounge, all the information Igor had "kindly" me was out of my head. But I immediately plunged into his roof-raising charm. My basic immediately reminded me of his presence.
His gift of a bicycle surrounded by baskets of flowers brought things to a close, and I drifted off into a land of fantasy and reverie. And the sex... It was beautiful. Tender and all in one. No wonder I lost touch with reality. I'd never experienced such a surge of , backed up by bodily pleasure.
And today, the balance was restored. Everything is back to normal. He reminded me that our is "sexual intercourse." He wrapped it up in a nice package, but the meaning didn't .
But once he touches me, I lose my head and give myself to him without a trace.
I'm getting more and more attached to Max, and he's growing deeper inside me, like a tree root. I'll probably get the painful shock of ripping him out of my heart when he's riding his coaster with someone else as obsessed with him as I am.
We're heading to Park Avenue – one of the most beautiful and most expensive streets in New
York. The bike turns out to be a great way to get around the Apple City, we pass where his SUV never squeeze through.
Max navigates the city perfectly, knows all the passages, takes shortcuts by bypassing , and is apparently well acquainted with the location of parking lots, he drives into one wasting any effort to find it.
We walk to Grand Central Terminal, one of the most beautiful train stations in the world,
Max recalls funny incidents from the recent past that happened in Manhattan, about his adventures friends.
- You know the clock for Grand Central was made by Tiffany's, – we stop in front of the 's entrance.
Raising my head, I look at Mercury in the center of the sculpture. I guess they told us about on the excursion, but I don't remember anything about it anymore.
- They're big, I guess, – I ask.
- I don't remember exactly, but it seems to be at least four meters in diameter, – Max said some thought.
I get curious and search the internet for information on my smartphone, but Max takes the away and winks at me:
- Come on, let's go to lunch into the “Oyster Bar”, one of the most famous fish restaurants. It delicious shrimp, but you and I can try any dish, I guarantee you'll like it.
Lucky for us, there are free tables and in a couple of minutes we are studying the menu, in the center of the room. I immediately choose bouillabaisse, my favorite oyster soup, and
Max orders a large plate of seafood, assuming that I will eat something too.
The food is insanely delicious, and since we were hungry, everything flew off our plates at enviable rate. But after a hearty bouillabaisse, I can't push anything down, except for one large prawn that Max left especially for me. I eat from his hand and think about how I could eat like every day. He touches my lips with his fingertips, and I have to push the unwanted thoughts .
- What happened again? - Max asks. Even though I control my expression and keep my in check, he still picks up on my mood.
I smile immediately, trying to make it as sincere as possible. I don't want to give away my... jealousy! I'm jealous of him. Jealous!
Max is silent, slowly studying my face, returning to his food. I'm grateful to him for my personal boundaries.
We spend the rest of the day strolling down Park Avenue, taking pictures on our , for lack of a camera, and sightseeing to Max's fascinating stories. He buys me a hat and a linen, weightless summer scarf, which he carefully wraps around my neck, his markings. His ability to make jokes dispels my jealousy, freeing me from the heavy of jealousy.
- Are you staying at my place tonight? - He asks when we get to the parking lot. I settle onto Harley behind Max, wrapping my arms tightly around him.
- Was I supposed to move in today? Since you like to make sex look like a celebration of , it would be foolish to deny yourself that pleasure, don't you think? - I'm talking right in your .
- Good girl, – Max laughs. We pull out onto a busy street, joining the flow of traffic.
While Max cooked dinner, I took a bath. With my eyes closed, I relax and think about...
HIM.
With him, I realize for the first time the breadth of the concept of living in style. It's more an image. It really is style in everything.
For example, his apartment. Beautiful and consistent in a style known in broad circles as
"modern," and among sophisticated connoisseurs in the French manner as "Art Nouveau”. I like it, this exquisite interior is not for everyone. A person who allows himself to live in such an has refined taste and a keen sense of beauty. Like Max.
His fascination with Art Nouveau is confirmed by the art albums on the library shelf -
Alphonse Mucha, Gustav Klimt, Georges Lemmen, Fernand Knopf and Mikhail Vrubel. Now I why Max spent at least three hours sketching in Kyiv in the Kirill Church painted by
Vrubel.
But Max's kitchen is austere and professional, you can immediately sense that the owner and knows how to cook. You could easily film a TV show devoted to cooking at his place.
I once dreamed of becoming an interior designer, so I more or less understand some of the of this wisdom and know for sure that fans of "art nouveau" their hobby in the interior fabulous money: each piece of furniture is unique, thanks to the pattern from which it is made.
And at Max's place everything is thought out to the smallest detail: stained glass, carvings, forged .
And that only emphasizes his versatility.
He rides a Harley like a real biker.
He paints paintings in the style of impressionism.
Wears Ralph Lauren clothes that fit his athletic figure, tailored as if by special order.
Lives in a sophisticated bourgeois environment.
It smells like a special fragrance made of a blend of musk and patchouli, with a slight note leather scent and a subtle hint of the smoke of expensive Cuban cigars.
He is an interesting, pleasant conversationalist, easy to talk to, with a sense of humor. He has agile, flexible, strong body, on which every muscle plays when he moves. He can cook, so any would be honored to have such a chef. And finally, he is a god in sex - tireless, assertive, and sensual.
And this man wants me. He says I have power over him. Oh, Max. You have power over me.
Unlimited.
I suck in air, submerging myself. I don't want to get neurotically attached to you, Max.
I surface and Max is already waiting for me with a towel in his hands.
- I hope you don't have anything against pasta with bolognese sauce?
- Pasta for the night? Max, you want me to turn into a fatty, – I snort funny as he blots my with a towel. He laughs:
- If you start gaining weight, I'll torture you with sex until you lose a few pounds. Did you that sex is the best sport?
Throwing on the silk robe that obviously now belongs to me, I realize I'm terribly tired.
- Are you sleepy? - Max asked, noticing that I was yawning, covering my mouth with the of my hand.
- Yeah, it's awful, – I admit.
- Are you going to eat or go straight to bed?
- Straight to bed. May I?
- Sure, – he walks me into the bedroom and tucks me into bed.
I wake up deep in the night, feeling someone's eyes on me. The dim nightlight softly the muscular figure of Max, sitting in the corner of the bed with his arms around his knees.
He looks up at me. His eyes glow strangely in the darkness. He's incredibly handsome now. I call name softly. Within seconds, he draws me to him, caressing me greedily in a way that makes me . With a gasp, I give myself to him.
- - -
It was three mind-blowing, happy days. From morning to evening our time with Max was with events, and then came thick, spicy, hot nights. Everything I wanted to ask him about in Kyiv had now faded, lost its relevance, and I decided to postpone the questions for later.
In this short period of time, we have accomplished a lot. First of all, we organized my , buying everything I needed, from the dishes I would use for cooking to long-lasting . Max took me on a "tour" of the stores closest to my house, where he thought I should buy . We visited a dance studio where I had an "audition" and coordinated my rehearsal . And, of course, Max's extensive cultural and not-so-cultural program awaited me: bike through Central Park, dinner at the revolving Marriott Marquis Hote restaurant overlooking
Manhattan, and daily walks in Soho.
Since the Marriott Marquis Hote has a dress code, Max offered to match my attire. Despite evening gowns I had brought with me, he insisted on shopping, taking me to the Ralph Lauren on Madison Avenue! The funniest part was that the store staff greeted him not as a regular , but as a good acquaintance. He explained later that he had once photographed models in
Ralph Lauren clothes for a major glossy magazine.
In the boutique, Max methodically and carefully went through all the possible options, in his , suitable for me, and as a result he chose a simple but stylish black dress.
At the same time, I once again confirmed my status as a sexual guru by managing to have with me in the fitting room despite the visitors and staff. And he did it so filigree that I didn't anyone noticed anything.
When the consultant excused herself, Max deftly slipped behind the curtain to my fitting with several dresses.
- Quelle vue, – I heard his muffled, low voice in my ear, and I jumped in surprise. He had the stall completely silently while I was taking off one of my dresses. When he hung the on the hook, he pulled me toward him.
- Max, what are you doing? - I'm sure my eyes looked like saucers, but he just put his finger his lips, silently ordering me to be quiet. I, in my underwear, was probably the easiest and most victim for him. He didn't even remove my panties, just slid them to the side. A moment , I was pressed against the stall wall. Oh, God... I wrapped my legs around his waist and just my whole weight onto Gringo.
- You're already wet, – Max's whisper was almost inaudible, and I bit my lip, wondering how to scream at the whole boutique. I was fully seated on his cock, all of its impressive length, or it just seemed that way to me. But the pleasure was bordering on pain and the moment he building up to that, the voice of the girl consultant came from behind the curtain:
- Miss, I brought you some more options.
I clung to Max with a deadening grip, trying to lift myself off him, or I wouldn't have been to get a word out. He understood and lifted me slightly, holding me under his buttocks. A light escaped my lips anyway, so sweet was the sensation, but he muffled it with a kiss, pressing mouth into mine. When I subsided, he nodded slightly, letting me know to respond. I tried to in a cheerful voice, but it sounded more like a squeak:
- I haven't changed yet. The red one didn't fit. Could you pass it through the doorway, please,
– the consultant's hand with several hangers appeared in the stall, I picked them up and arranged on a free hook.
- I'll leave you alone for a few minutes, miss, – it came to us.
- Yes, of course, – my voice sounded more like a sob, because at that moment Max's hips moving again, ramming into me. He started to speed up, breathing heavily against my neck.
All I could do was shiver and hold back a guttural moan, biting down on my finger. It took me a couple minutes to explode with orgasm. Apparently the adrenaline mixed with the risk of discovered sped up the experience. Shrinking around Max's cock, I felt him pouring into me immediately. We had never had such an orgasm in unison before. For a few moments we , clinging to each other and breathing heavily. He gently set me on my feet, kissed me, and, my clothes, gestured to check what was going on behind the screen door. As soon as I the wave that the way was clear, Max, smacking me on the top of my head, immediately left stall. I stood on cotton legs leaning against the wall for a few more minutes, coming to my and returning to the mundane world. There were teeth marks on my finger, and wet marks our "crime" on the inside of my thighs.
That man is going to drive me crazy!
Maybe we were played along, but the sexy short-distance race finished without any consequences. Max was clearly impressed by my rapid orgasm and, as it seemed to me, gladly gave me a pair of mind-blowing silver high stiletto sandals from Jimmy Choo, whose he took me to immediately after trying on the clothes.
I had no way of knowing that his words about "head-to-toe gifts" were to be taken literally.
While I was resting in his bedroom, still getting used to my new biorhythms, he was off .
Later, when he woke me up, still sleepy, he put a blue Tiffany box in my hand. Inside was famous key on a chain. He took out the jewelry, wrapped it around my finger, and spoke , making my soul tremble like a string trembling from the experienced fingers of a :
- You gave me a symbol of power, and I give you a secret. Maybe this key will someday find lock it can open.
Placing the gift in the palm of my hand and squeezing my fingers, he kissed me.
- What lock, Max? - My heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to fly out. I guess was the fact that I was still awake.
- From here, – he took my hand and pressed it against his chest. I swallowed noisily.
- Are you kidding me?
Max laughed softly, kissing again:
- I'm kidding, of course. I want to wake you up, sleepyhead.
You punk! I knew he was teasing me!
And then we had sex all three days. Incredibly sensual, mind-blowing, passionate sex. It's to remember it in peace.
When it was time to move into the apartment, some invisible string snapped inside me. I felt rush of longing while I was still with him, when I was packing. And all the way home, the same , growing stronger by the minute, followed me all the way home.
Max brought me and my things to the apartment, helped me inside, and kissed me tenderly the lips goodbye. That was it.
As soon as the door closed behind him, the whole world went blank. I wanted desperately to him, to ask him to stay at least one night, but the words stuck deep down, somewhere in my plexus, and there, in that hitherto unknown place, I ached. Max just walked away, not even a couple minutes. I stood at the window, wrapping my arms around myself and staring out into coming twilight, unable to see anything in front of me. I hoped it would go away soon.
- -
My first day on the job. I get to the office early. Habit. My workplace has already been for me, a letter with instructions and office standards is waiting in my e-mail box. The HR manager introduces me to Mary, my assistant for current issues, gives me the obligatory tour the office for newcomers, and at the end introduces me to my colleagues.
At the scheduled meeting with the manager, we discuss key project issues. Gradually, I sink my work, finally stopping the image of Max in my mind.
Closer to lunch, Mary tells me that today at five o'clock in the evening I'm in for a surprise the company's management - a limousine ride around Manhattan. It turns out that this is a -standing tradition - a gift for employees from other cities or countries who move to New York work. I'm even confused by the surprise.
But an even bigger surprise awaits me on my return from lunch. A delivery boy is waiting me at the office manager's desk, handing me a bouquet of French roses with a "Happy First Day Work, Baby!" card enclosed. You're invited to celebrate tonight. Max." My heart bounces and like exploding fireworks lights up every corner of my soul. How unpredictable he is after ! He leaves me alone the night before, and the next day he asks me out on a date! Is it a date? A date?
Among my coworkers, I've had the longest relationship with the head of public relations and is she, Sarah, that's her name, who walks into my office when I place a vase of flowers on my .
- Oh, Polina, what a bouquet. May I ask who gave you such a beauty? - she asks with a . What should I tell her? From a lover?
- From a friend, – I answer. Sarah clicks her tongue and laughs:
- Oh la la, what a friend you've got, Polina. I bet he's claiming more than that!
Sarah is a pleasant young woman in her early thirties. She is cheerful, talkative and very . I immediately take a liking to her, and it seems to be mutual.
I am also visited by the head of the consulting department, Michael Russell, a dark-haired, man with straight features, stern in appearance but with a chuckle in his eye. He comes to with documents that he recommends for review.
- The bouquet? It's beautiful. In honor of your first day on the job? - he flicks his fingers on a rosebud.
- Yeah. In honor of the first day.
- You have good taste, Polina, – Michael smiled, giving me an unexpectedly penetrating from head to toe.
- Thank you. It's a gift, – I proudly show off the breasts that aren't there.
- I figured it out, – Michael points to the card with his eyes. Michael bites his lower lip and with his eyebrows. - It tastes great, – he said, and then he looked me over from head to toe . Oh, God, was he referring to the bouquet or to me?
For an evening limo ride, I may take a few coworkers, I'd love to have Mary and Sarah for the ride.
The limo is waiting for us in front of the entrance to the office center, and it has license with my name on them! This is so unexpected and so nice! What a surprise! Champagne in ice bucket and fruit awaits in the salon.
Who would have thought I'd have so much fun on my first day of work! The girls and I are , drinking champagne, peering out the rooftop window, and having a lot of fun. In the of the ride I get a text, "Are you comfortable talking?", I dial "Yes". He calls me back .
- Hey. Uh-huh. How was your first day?
- Uh, hi. I'm taking a limo ride with my coworkers. It's a gift from the company in honor of first day on the job.
- I'm glad to hear that, – I felt him smile. - Where should I pick you up? Or can I come to house?
- The driver said he would bring us to the office.
- Okay, then I'll pick you up. What time should I be there?
- We still have an hour of riding left, – I look at my watch.
- All right. I'll see you later.
- Is that your friend, the one who gave you the bouquet? - Sarah giggles understandingly. I .
At half past seven, driving up to the office building, I see Max through the window, waiting me at the entrance. Sarah and Mary are staring at him with their eyes wide open. How can you stare at a man like that?! I'm angry because he's attracting everyone's attention, even in New
York City, which is so sophisticated and infantilizingly accepting of every passerby.
Max is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and the collar open, slim pants that emphasize his long legs and thin waist, and black model shoes. He's smooth- , fashionably trimmed. I admire this handsome man, almost blowing bubbles like a child!
Sara whistles behind me, saying, "O-la-la-la."
After waiting for me to say goodbye to the girls, Max takes my hands in his, brings them to lips, and kisses them one at a time. Only now do I notice that he's clutching a rectangular -wrapped package under his armpit.
- You're very handsome! - I blurted out and was immediately embarrassed by my .
- I wanted to match you, – he looks at me like we haven't seen each other in a month. - We reservations at Club A Steakhouse. There's a car waiting for us. Let's go.
The ride is close, just a few blocks.
It's quite noisy here, people are arriving all the time.
Our table is located in the corner. In this place we can socialize without crossing paths with visitors.
Max had thoughtfully made a preliminary order, wanting to treat me to a certain dish, so we brought steaks with a variety of side dishes quite quickly. The portions are so large that I can eat half of them.
We drink a red Burgundy wine that harmonizes with the meat.
- This is for you, – Max, handing me the package.
- What's this? - I'm trying to guess what's under the wrapping paper.
- Look, – he smiles, watching my reaction, lowering his head slightly and arching his left . It's a leather briefcase.
- Max, thank you, – I look into the case to see how it's made inside and find a box. I take it without even guessing what it could be, but as soon as I realize what's in it, I want to hide it or, on the contrary, evaluate it in detail.
- There's a picture on the box, you don't have to reveal it. I tried to pick something to match , – he continued to study my reaction.
I pull out the box, making sure no one sees it but me, which seems to amuse Max, who 't hide his ironic smile.
The box has a picture of a lace corset with lots of weaves, it's completely see-through with top cup, leaving the breasts exposed.
I look at the check mark in the "black" box. Max guesses the direction of my gaze:
- You can wear it under your new black dress, and also, – he slowly slices off a piece of . - It's very sexy.
- You've already showered me with gifts, – I don't even know what else to say. - Business and fine lingerie, Max.
- It's my pleasure to give you gifts, believe me. You're a businesswoman now, and the will come in handy for papers. And you'll wear the underwear the next time we go on a after your work, – Max winks at me and raises his wine glass in salute. - Here's to your career , Babe.
His last sentence sounds ambiguous. I chuckle involuntarily, and he shifts his position under table, pressing his leg close to mine.
Max asks me how I got into the company and what I'm going to do.
My story is pretty traditional. When I was studying in London, in my final year of , I decided to take a second degree at the International Business School. Students on our were able to intern at large companies, including myself. My score was one of the highest in course, so I could choose, and I decided not to be petty, choosing one of the world's largest companies. They noticed me and offered me cooperation, recommending me to the Kyiv . My thesis was devoted to a project, which I proposed to them. The New York headquarters it, and I was confirmed a contract. Max was in Kyiv just as we were finalizing the final for the project and collecting data by region.
- So once the project is up and running, your work in New York will be over? - Max asks.
- It's a big job, Max, not for a month. I signed a contract with the company for two years. It's my first day on the job, – I said, smiling. - It all depends on how I prove myself.
Max nods understandingly.
We are silent for a while, each of us thinking about our own things.
I'd had a fair amount to drink tonight, considering the booze in the limo, and I was a little from the wine. I wondered how he'd react if I asked him questions now.
- What are you thinking about, Polina? - he's the first to break the silence.
- About questions for you, – I said, and then I realized it, but it was too late, the words had from my lips.
- Yes. Ask, of course, – he replies simply.
- Oh, – I realize I'm not quite ready to ask those questions myself right now.
- Baby, if this whole time you've been worrying about something, it's better to get it over , don't you think? - Max looks me in the eye. I nod, pulling myself together.
I'm getting air in my lungs:
- I got my hands on some information about you. It's pretty detailed. I don't know how to it... - I'm swallowing. - Do you have a title?
He looks at me askance, squinting his eyes, as if he can't believe what he's hearing. He sets the glass down on the table.
- What's the information? - Max is very calm. Beyond calm.
- Diverse, – my hands moisten. I don't like the look on his face-stony, not a single muscle .
- Be specific.
- About you. Of a personal nature.
- Hmm... Why are you asking me these questions now, – Max looked at me sternly, and a ran down my spine.
- You don't like to talk about... the past... Am I stating or asking? - I didn't want to ruin our , – I blurted out. - I didn't know what kind of reaction to expect... The information doesn't seem be readily available..." Apparently my fears were justified; he looks more than a little wary.
- Ask your questions, Polina, – he puts his hands on the table.
- I asked. Are you Alexandre Maximilien Cameroons Beaumont-le-Roger?
- Polina, my name is Max Cameroons, – he says calmly, but separating each word.
- I'm sorry for asking you. It's not curiosity. I... - I'm trying to explain. - What's the right way put it.
As I'm dragging out the pause, he's helping me. But it feels like a light kick.
- Try to find the words, – he says stiffly.
- I wasn't looking for this information intentionally. It came to me by accident. But I couldn't myself from reading it. I just want to figure it out now, – he nods his head understandingly. - Is grandmother a titled person?
- Yeah. What difference does it make?
- So you're the heir...
- The heir is my father. I hope he lives a long and happy life. I'm Max Cameroons, the artist,
– he says firmly, enunciating every word. - I'm a very ordinary man. You'd better leave the details of origins out of it and not go back to him.
- Why did you change your name?
- Does it matter? What will it do for you personally?
What's in it for me? Nothing, except that I'm the mistress of a titled dude who lives to the rules of the upper class or whatever society he's a part of, and I'm not the daughter a poor man, but I'm still from the "proletarian" class. Max seems to read my face, and I'm not that I'm an open book to him.
- Polina, you're sleeping with Max Cameron, the same guy you met two months ago.
Nothing has changed. Who my ancestors are in no way changes who I am as a person. The person 're talking to. I'm Max Cameron, – he looks at me, and I want to hide.
I nod:
- Okay. I asked you about women. It just so happens that there were over a thousand names the list of women seen with you....
Max laughs quietly and makes an uncertain gesture with his hands, raising them palms as if trying to push me away with my questions.
- What idiot gave you that information, Polina? I could have been seen with a lot more . What does that mean? It means absolutely nothing.
- Yes, I understand, – I nod. - But the press sometimes credited you with having affairs with least fifty-seven of them.
- Whoa! Screw the press, – he laughs, and leans back in his chair. - Don't you realize how press twists the facts? Any woman, Ava for example, could be on that list.
- I don't know. These women were not seen with you in a café. The list is extensive, and of them are public figures, famous for their romances, – I shut up, not knowing what to say, the absurdity of the whole rant. Max twirls his fork in his hands and sits thoughtfully. I 't look at his moving fingers, so I averted my eyes.
- So you're stressed that I might give you some crap? I'll get tested tomorrow.
- No, Max. I trust you, but I'm afraid. I can't trust your partners, – I cut myself off. A slogan a public service announcement popped into my head out of nowhere. Damn it! That's not what
I meant to say. I'm sorry. I don't know, – I rubbed my forehead guiltily.
To be honest, Max could make the same claim against me. Igor had plenty of women, and I for a fact that they were casual. True, he used a condom. It was his decision.
- What else? Ask. There's nowhere to retreat, – Max interlocks his fingers and puts them in of him. It's closed.
- Max, this is the hardest question of all.
- I guessed you saved the "good stuff" for dessert.
- You should know, your answer has no bearing on how I feel about you.
- What's your attitude toward me? - His mocking look looked like a slap in the face.
- Good.
I'm getting uncomfortable with the look in his eyes.
- So... – My tongue faltered, and I mumbled. - Did you fight with your father because you with your stepmother?
- Is that the last question? Or are there more? - I look at Max's perfectly calm face and he's furious. His eyes are slightly covered by his eyelids, hiding the thunder and lightning sparks in their depths.
- The last one, – I barely move my lips. I can feel the sweat on my forehead. But the worst is that I'm horny. Max's frenzy turns me on more than Max the funny man and the seducer. This stumps me, and I squirm in my chair at the surprise of my discovery.
Max is silent, then very slowly takes the knife with both hands and starts twirling it in his . Hmm... Quite eloquent.
- I don't know what exactly was in the information you studied because..... That day, for the and only time in my life, I threw a party at the house where I lived. It's my dad's house. But I it in my part of it, it doesn't overlap with his in any way. One of my friends jokingly suggested crack. With whiskey and vodka it was... Anyway, it blew everyone away. There were girls the group. I remember everything, right up to the moment when I fell into my bedroom with... – cuts the phrase short. - Never mind. Patricia, my father's second wife, was definitely not with . She wasn't having any fun with us either. But the morning my father broke into my bedroom, was in my bed for some reason. Among others.
I swallowed the lump that came up in my throat. I hadn't expected Max to answer , without any backtracking. My mouth is dry. My face is burning. My head was .
- What do you mean, "among others"? - I sure don't want to know the answer! Why did I ?
Raising an eyebrow, Max studies me now with a new expression. I feel like a circus animal.
His lips curve into a sarcastic smile.
- Do you have any hypothetical idea what crack is? You go to nightclubs? Have any of your tried it?
I slowly shake my head negatively.
- I can roughly guess... Is it cocaine?
- Sort of, only tougher, – his mocking tone reinforces his mocking look.
- I don't understand what "among others" means. There were a few... – I mumble , trying to disguise my shock, but I'm not doing a good job.
- Polina, as I recall, your question was whether I fucked my father's wife, who is also my . Or are we already discussing the details of that day? - Max leans slightly toward me so
I can hear his quiet, hard voice.
- I don't know anymore... It's all one thing after another... - I started this conversation for ! If you don't want answers to your questions, don't ask!
- Are you ready to hear it for what it is? You want details?
I'm not talking. I don't know! I'm afraid to hear his answers!
- Okay, let's end this conversation. Maybe this will help you figure things out for yourself.
You might want to turn down my offer.
At first I don't understand what he means, but when the meaning of what he says reaches , my stomach twists into a knot.
- Max, don't, – I deeply regretted not stopping in time. I knew for sure now that I didn't want continue this conversation.
- You have to, because it will be worse if the remaining questions poison you, – Max says and completely calmly. - I have absolutely no memory of having sex with Patricia. From the ...uh, – Max raises his eyes to the ceiling. - Let's call it what it is, you're a pretty mature girl, – says ironically. - A man's sexual activity can last for hours. Or more bluntly, a boner that can a basketball team, a choir of virgins, and at least a couple of prostitutes. I was young, didn't anything about drugs. That's not an excuse. I just didn't know what it did. I took a couple , no one forced me to, I was even curious about the stuff. But the effects of the mixture of , which I don't tolerate well, and drugs did their job. I think you can guess what I did all . But it wasn't Patricia. It was other girls.
I don't want to hear it! I'm already pounding. The fever turns to chills. And he continues and calmly:
- Yes, you heard that right. There were several....
- Stop, stop, – I raise my hand.
But Max is somewhere far away, probably at that very bottom.
- It triggered a detonator in my relationship with my father. While I was a kid, he found of reasons to pick on me, but this incident was the perfect excuse to finally get rid of me. It worked out. Patricia made a lot of bullshit excuses for herself. She was young and stupid. We the same age. In this situation, I couldn't defend myself a priori. For one thing, I really wasn't and the reputation of the girls in my room could be irrevocably ruined. They were the of quite famous people in Britain. Secondly, it was wild to make excuses for Patricia's . My father clearly thought that nothing could save my reputation, but his wife was also in the middle of his rage. He suffered as a result. Or maybe he wanted a divorce from
Patricia and that was the perfect excuse, because I don't see how they could have gotten along. But truth was that Patricia wasn't with us at the party, she didn't go into the bedroom with me and I 't remember having sex with her. I hope I've answered your question. So it's up to you to decide I fucked her or not. More dirty details, Baby?
I shake my head negatively.
- We should go, – Max gestured to the waiter, paid the bill, and rose from the table. What's ? Does he want to go to my place or... I realize he's going to put me in the car and leave.
Why did I get involved in this? Well, he made some mistakes when he was young. Who 't?! What now?
But my thoughts jump from one thing to another, I can't concentrate.
A few girls.
Probably at the same time.
Oh, my God!
Drugs.
Stepmother's slander....
- Max, will you come to my place? - I turned to him, my voice faltering at the obvious in my voice.
- Come on, we need to get out of here, – he takes me by the elbow, and for a while we walk by side. On the street, he lets me go. I stop dead in my tracks:
- Max, please, come to my place. I...- I shifted from foot to foot, afraid to look him in the . - I'm wearing really nice lingerie. For you.
He lifts the right corner of his lips in an unfunny smile.
- Then I'm out of luck, I won't see it on you. Not today, – he said firmly.
- Max, – I try to block the passage.
- You have to get up early tomorrow. It's late, – he doesn't look at me. I take his palm in :
- Please, Max.
He gently releases his hand, leaning toward me slightly:
- I don't have my certificate on me, – it sounds almost conspiratorial.
- Max! - I'm in the middle of a revolution, a war and a strike all at the same time! - Please, at me. I beg you, come to my place. I admit that curiosity has played a cruel trick on me... It's fault.
- No, Polina, the idiot who gave you this information is to blame. If the past is important to , it would be right for you to sleep with the information and evaluate the events of my youth my presence. And then, I won't dare touch you until you're sure of me, – he says calmly.
His tone scares me far more than all the stories, mythical and real, he's had in his life.
- No, no, Max! - I'm ready to jump on his neck and wrap myself around him like wild ivy. -
Forget I said anything.
- I can't, – he looks me in the eye. - I promised to be honest with you. Go home. You need to some sleep.
A rental car pulls up beside us, Max opens the door in front of me.
- I'm not going without you! - I raise my chin, showing my determination, even though I'm inside.
- Good night, Polina, – he nudges me toward the open door.
- Max, please! - I try not to draw attention to myself, but I'm still talking louder than usual.
- It's okay, – he sounded completely calm. - When you get home, text me, please, – he sits in the car and slams the door shut. The car takes me off toward Brooklyn, and I look out the window at Max. His figure gets smaller and smaller, until he's completely out of sight.
Oh, Max! Why did I start this conversation?!
- - -
At home, I take out of my suitcase his gift, a painting, and place it in place of the hanging in the living room.
I text Max, honoring his request. I wish I hadn't texted him and waited for him to text me, or even come over to check on me, but I know that's a bad idea. In the time we've known each , he's never once changed his words.
Now I even regret that he's so honest!
I instinctively remove my makeup, wash my face, and brush my teeth.
After his confession, I only respected him more. He didn't hide behind words, he didn't or understate things. And that makes me even sadder. Because he asked me not to dig into past.
I take the box of Agent Provocateur underwear out of the case and notice that there's else at the bottom. Another small box. It's a nipple pestis, silk cones in black. I spread the out on the bed, ironing the lace.
"Max, I was wrong” , I mentally address him.
No sooner do I get into bed than my smartphone vibrates.
"Thanks for the text. Good night." I text back, "Good night."
I lie with my eyes open and go over the events of the day.
Only now do I realize the wisdom of his decision - it's good that he didn't come to me. I think things over, figure things out for myself.
My thoughts are very contradictory.
I'm insanely jealous of him! Of his exes, of the women who stare at him today, of the who go "Ooh la la la." (Oh, Sarah, if I ever get my hands on one!) I want to put a "He's " sign on him!
He was so handsome today! So young and stylish! He stands out from the crowd. I'm lost looking at him, and when I hear his voice, see his smile, smell his scent, I fall right into him.
His revelation of a stormy episode in his youth does not push him away from me. On the contrary, I sympathy. He'd dropped something about a lingering conflict with his father, and that he'd used against Max to the fullest. Lisa was right, how could a father do that to his own child? Our father do anything to keep his children's reputation intact. Under any circumstances!
That Max has had several girls in his bed, I don't even want to think about it! I don't need to ! Period.
I believe Max! And I despise Igor's slander!
I didn't ask him about Diana. But now I don't want to know anything about her! I don't think
I could bear to hear about the girl he was planning to marry.
Plus, that stupid topic about unprotected sex.....
I have to submit my labs, too! It'll balance us out.
Max, my boy! I won't let anyone else hurt you! I'll only ask you for exclusive rights to your . Otherwise, jealousy will eat me up inside! Turns out I'm a very possessive person. I'm . Max, I've learned so much about myself since you came into my life.
In the morning, I text him, "I've been thinking. Can we talk? Polina."
The answer doesn't come until hours later, "Sure. We'll talk. Friday. I'll pick you up."
I glance at my smartphone screen and incredulously reread the text message. Friday?! It's Tuesday!