Little Tsaritsa Ch. 10

"Nadezhda," he whispered. She made out her name as his voice was drowned out by the mariachi music that was playing, and he approached her, lifting his arms to wrap her in a hug. The logical part of her mind told her to not let him hug her, but she found herself unable to move back, and she registered the scent of cologne as her cheek pressed against his tie. After a couple of seconds, she pulled back, and he did not resist.

The hostess led them over to their table, and Arkady pulled her seat out for her.

"Thank you," she replied politely, determined to not be swayed by any chivalry he might display this evening. He smiled faintly as he sat across from her. When the waitress asked what they'd like to drink, he glanced at Nadezhda, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll just have water, thanks," she said.

"I'll have a Bloody Maria, and bring the lady a margarita. What flavor would you like?" he asked. She wanted to protest but didn't wish to raise a scene, so she simply shrugged and asked for lime. The waitress retreated, and she crossed her arms as she stared at him. He smirked faintly.

"In case you change your mind, love."

"So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?" she asked.

"Work. An emergency came up, so I had quite a few meetings to attend, paperwork to rush, all that," he replied conversationally. His gaze was fixed on her, and she could not help but straighten up in her seat a bit. She'd gone for a more professional look, wearing a plum-colored suit with a white silk shirt that was buttoned all the way up. No tempting peek of cleavage or leg.

"What sort of emergency?" she asked, tilting her chin a bit.

"A client of the Group passed away recently, and unexpectedly. So I was called in to help with their business holdings and ensure that things were organized for a smooth transition."

"Hmm." She nodded. "There must have been a lot of work."

"There was, indeed."

She was tempted to get snarky with a comment like, 'So much work that you couldn't text me?' or something like that. The waitress came with their drinks, asking if they were ready to order.

"I'm in the mood for fajitas. How about you?" Arkady asked.

"Sounds good to me."

"A double order, then. Let's go with half chicken and half beef, with all the extras, and flour tortillas." He glanced over at Nadezhda, and she nodded.

"Don't skimp on the mole sauce," she said, giving the waitress a friendly smile.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" the waitress replied as she wrote down the order.

"That obvious, is it?"

The waitress gave out a small laugh. "You're not the first person to go head over heels over that sauce. Not that I blame you! I like it on enchiladas myself. Anything else?"

"Nah, I'm good," she replied. Arkady nodded assent.

Once they were alone again, she took a sip of her water, ignoring her margarita as she looked at him. "So... are we ever going to talk about what happened the other night?"

He paused for the briefest of moments before wrapping his fingers around his drink. "What is it that you wish to say?"

"Just wondering what it was you expected to accomplish by sitting there in my living room waiting for me to get home like a parent staying up to bust a kid who broke curfew."

"Well, if a child breaks curfew, you can't blame the parents for doing that."

She rolled her eyes, biting back several expletives. "Except for one thing, I'm an adult, and I have the right to a social life. Speaking of which, how did you know?"

"I saw you and him through the window of the bar."

"And just what were you doing in the neighborhood?" she challenged.

"I was meeting some colleagues at another bar down the block," came the reply. She leaned back, crossing her arms again. It was not an unbelievable excuse - there were several bars along that strip of road, and she had a pretty good idea of which bar someone like Arkady or his friends might go to. Still, it didn't explain how he would have seen her unless he happened to be walking by on the sidewalk in front of the bar she'd been at.

Of course, he could have been lying about being at another bar in the first place. And if he felt the need to lie to her... well, that certainly didn't bode well for their relationship, did it?

"You do not believe me?" he demanded quietly. She stared at him before pulling her new phone out and placing it on the table, sliding it towards him.

"I know what you put on this. And I do not appreciate it."

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and their gazes locked. She refused to look down or away despite the quickening of her pulse, feeling like a cat staring down a wolf. Finally, after several unbearable moments which seemed to stretch into eternity, he spoke.

"I put that there for your safety."

She snorted at that. "You could have just told me. Instead, you just chose to scare the crap out of me."

"That was not my intent."

She sipped some water, glaring at him. "In all seriousness, how stupid do you think I am, Arkady? What are you going to do next, try to make me wear a burqa so other men can not look at me?"

"I watched you laugh with a man with red hair while the two of you shared food."

She stared at him for a moment. He wasn't even talking about Anatoly, for fuck's sake. Burt was taking Russian Lit to fill a Gen Ed requirement and had some questions for her. She'd been happy to answer, and it'd turned into a lively conversation about Russian history and culture as she gave him some pointers for better understanding the texts he'd been given to read. And yes, they'd shared a basket of fries. What of it?

"If you're going to pull this crap, then we're done."

"What?" Arkady asked.

"You heard me. I'm not putting up with this jealous, possessive crap, no matter how much money you pay me. It's not fucking worth it. I'll give back the money paid for this semester and find somewhere else to live."

Was it her imagination, or did she see a glimmer of surprise, or even fear, in his eyes? He reached out to take her hand, and she quickly drew it back before he could do such a thing. Quickly collecting himself, he regarded her with a faint scowl.

"You think that I am going to turn a blind eye to the attention that other men might give you? That I would allow myself to be cuckolded?"

She lifted a finger, pointing it at him as she spoke in a low but fierce tone, "You can't cuckold someone you're not married to."

"Still, you are mine. And if I have to, I will make that known to any man who thinks he can-"

"No."

"Nadezhda-"

"No."

He opened his mouth.

"Nyet, ty tupoy egoistichnyy ublyudok." No, you stupid, egotistical bastard. He stared at her, jaw slightly slack. She had to bite back a smirk. "I know some women think that a guy who's all jealous and possessive is hot, but I'm not one of these women. The guy you saw me with? He's just an acquaintance, a friend of a friend who needed a bit of guidance for his Russian Lit class. I'm not interested in anybody else, and even if I were, I'm not going to break my word. We have an agreement, and I am deeply hurt and insulted that you think that I might go behind your back like that. If you really think that I am so untrustworthy..." She shook her head.

He looked down at his glass of Bloody Maria, looking contrite.

Holy shit. He actually fucking looks sorry. Even a little ashamed. Out of the possible outcomes she could have anticipated tonight, him looking apologetic hadn't been high on her list, and for good reason. He was not someone accustomed to admitting he was wrong, much less someone accustomed to making apologies. She knew it was part of his job and accepted that Arkady was a tough man. It was just how he was.

Not that that kind of attitude didn't get wearisome at times...

"You are correct. I should trust you more. But how could I not feel worried when I saw you laughing with that man?"

"If you're going to freak out over that kind of thing..." She paused. "Should I behave the same way if I see you behaving that way around another woman?"

"Why would I pay mind to another woman when I have you?"

She smiled wryly at that before setting her lips in a somber line. "Seriously, all that crap from before was not cool. You ask me to trust you, how can I do that if you are not willing to reciprocate? You can not hide things from me..." she gestured to the phone, "Or get mad just because I have a social life. I can not be with you if you're going to behave like that. I realize that you're the one with the money and all that, but I'm not willing to have my autonomy disrespected. That's too high of a price to expect of me, regardless of what you might offer."

He took a slow breath but before he could say anything, the food arrived. A skillet of fajitas sitting atop an insulating mat was set in the middle of the table, with side dishes, sauces, and tortillas set down around it.

She hadn't been very hungry before, but there was a reason Gato Rojo was so highly-regarded, and she took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of the spices used to cook the meat and sauces. Arkady quickly set about putting together a taco for himself.

She took some of the beef and peppers, adding sauce and letting out a soft 'mmm' of approval after taking a bite. He lifted his chin and smiled at that. She continued eating, finishing the taco, and drinking some of her water, wondering if her words had gotten through to him as she'd hoped. Too bad the waitress had shown up at that moment, but the middle-aged Latina woman could hardly be blamed for that.

"You haven't touched your drink," Arkady pointed out after he finished his first taco.

"I guess I'm just not very thirsty," she replied as she started putting together a second taco. Despite what she'd said, he hadn't apologized or agreed to anything. Her new phone sat at the side of the table near the window. She would not be using it or doing certain other things unless he did, and if his male pride prevented him from doing so, that was his problem.

However, she could not forget that there was the fact that a man could apologize, and not mean it. She'd overheard her father apologizing to her mother for this or that several times, but ultimately, he hadn't changed his ways in the long run, and Grigori's apologies to his daughter hadn't been much more meaningful than those to his wife. She couldn't let herself be fooled if Arkady would merely use an apology to placate her. Was he such a man? Either way, she knew she had to tread carefully, moving forward. She couldn't allow herself to be lulled into complacency again.

He did not push her on the drink, and she eventually made herself a third taco, savoring the food. It was true that she liked to cook, but sometimes it was nice having someone else do the work.

The food was tasty, and as she well knew, a good meal could put someone in a good mood. She'd learned that from her grandmother, who'd instilled a love of cooking into her grandchild. Babby had cooked at Little Russka when her older son opened the restaurant, doing the more traditional dishes as well as training other cooks. A quiet retirement had not appealed to her, and she'd remained active until her death from a stroke when Nadezhda was eleven. The matriarch of the Ivanov family had been sorely missed, even by her daughter-in-law.

Julia had grown up in the foster-care system, and Nadezhda had often wondered if Babby was one of the reasons she'd married her husband. Babby had certainly been a balm in Mom's conflicts with Dad, for, unlike many mothers, Babby had not been blind to her son's faults, and often sided with Julia, much to Grigori's dismay. It was almost a miracle that Mom hadn't divorced his ass after her mother-in-law's death, but perhaps at that point, she felt she'd been in the relationship for so long, and had no blood relatives of her own that she could gain support from.

Nadezhda wondered what Babby would have thought of her relationship with Arkady. Babby's husband had been an alcoholic and died before she and her sons made their way to America.

There wasn't very much opportunity for a widow supporting two children in Soviet Russia, but the Volga Group had helped her with the paperwork and paid all the fees. Sofia Ivanov had repaid the Volga Group by working for them as a domestic while her sons got their education in public school. The debt had been paid off, her sons gained high-school degrees and eventually jobs, and while they were far from rich, they'd accomplished a respectable enough version of the American Dream for people that came from their very humble beginnings.

The American Dream came in different forms, and in the eyes of other people, Nadezhda had accomplished just that by having a wealthy patron. Many women, and even men, would envy her.

"What are you thinking about? You have a far-away look in your eyes," she heard Arkady say.

"Just thinking of Babby. My grandmother." 'Babby' had come from the word for grandmother, 'babshuka', which, like so many other words, could be very difficult for babies and toddlers to pronounce. It'd started with her oldest cousin, and after that, all the grandkids had called Sofia 'Babby'. She had never asked her grandchildren to call her anything else, so it'd stuck.

"Oh? Something about our dinner made you think of her?" he asked casually.

"Good cooking sometimes makes me think of her. She's the one who gave me a passion for cooking."

"In that case, your grandmother has my eternal gratitude," came the light reply. She smiled faintly at that. Soon enough, the skillet was empty, and he glanced at her. "Would the lady fancy some dessert?"

"Sure, what the hell," came her easy reply. The empty dishes were cleared away, two slices of tres leches cake now in front of them. She almost didn't want this pleasant meal to end, but ultimately there was nothing but crumbs on their plates, and she was comfortably full.

"I think a walk and some fresh air would be a pleasant conclusion to this fine meal," Nadezhda finally said as she dabbed her lips with a napkin.

"If you like." He paid the bill, and they went outside, him opening the door for her.

"We had been having a serious conversation before our food showed up," she commented in Russian as they started along the sidewalk. Despite being cool, the weather was pleasant enough, and they were far from the only ones taking a stroll down the strip.

"Indeed," he said, rubbing his hand along his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

"And?" she prompted gently.

"You want me to not be jealous or protective."

The snarky part of her brain envisioned herself patting him on the head and telling him he was a good boy for having correctly condensed the 'lesson' she had been trying to convey.

"That's because you have nothing to be jealous of, Arkady. For so long as our agreement stands, I intend to honor it. I work hard, study hard, and you're the only one who shares my bed."

"And I have nothing to protect?" he shot back. He'd taken her phone and put it into his pocket when they left the table. They paused at a corner, and she looked up at him.

"I've never asked you too many questions about your job, Arkady. I know it has to do with business and some law. You do a variety of things for the Volga Group. And you do them well, from what I see. But if you think I am in need of protection to the point where you feel entitled to track my whereabouts without informing me... Is there something I need to know about your line of work?"

He glanced down at her for several moments, his gaze inscrutable.

"...No. I know I have told you about my grandparents and what they did in the USSR, that is true, but my work is within the bounds of the law. No, it is not work that pleases everyone, but I am not part of the... Mafia."

She cocked her head at the way he had worded his response. "Is anyone in the Group involved in such a thing?"

"Despite the Group's history, its current members as a whole have strived to distance itself from its... less-than-lawful beginnings. There are many in the Group I would trust my life with, but it would not surprise me if there were a few who... might be continuing the work of their, shall we say, forebears... " He trailed off with a shrug. "Although I would say that if anything, the Group certainly wouldn't be more corrupt than, let's say, the collective of politicians in most governments.

She slowly nodded. "So I don't have to worry about being kidnapped for ransom or anything like that? Or some business rival trying to hurt me to get at you?"

"No. But bad things still happen to good people, and I worry about you."

"Everyone worries. But usually, they don't sneak tracking software in the gifts they give."

"Now you know about it." He slid the phone out of the pocket of his jacket. "You tell me that you have no intention of being intimate with other men. I will take your word for it, but I would still like the peace of mind, in case of other... things."

She looked down at his hand and the phone before glancing back up at him. "You were really scary the other night, Arkady. I never want to feel that way again."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned upon him.

"Mne zhal." I am sorry. He lifted his other hand to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling that warm caress. "I do not intend to ever make you feel that way again, love. I do not wish for you to be afraid of me."

o0o

She had declined to spend that night with him, and he'd taken her demurrment gracefully. She could not deny to herself that she'd been testing him by telling him no, but all things considered, she thought that it was warranted. Perhaps it was a petty thing to do after his apology and promise, but it had given her some peace of mind, and after a tense few days, she was more than ready to be able to go to sleep and have nothing more than the usual worries about what the next day might bring.

Nadezhda smiled faintly to herself as she watched Arkady enjoy the meal she'd made for him. It was much the same kind of food that she'd cooked at her uncle's restaurant, although the attention he got with his meal at home was a lot more personal. Tonight, she'd cooked shashlik, which was comparable to shish kebabs, and pelmeni dumplings that she'd stuffed with meat and an assortment of minced vegetables, drizzled liberally with sour crème sauce. The meal was accompanied by fine red Georgian wine that was imported into the States by the Volga Group, which had a fair amount of contracts with Russia and surrounding Eastern Europe and Asian countries for various food items.

She savored the smooth taste of the wine, letting it slide across her tongue as she looked across the table at her lover.

"If you weren't already majoring in language, I'd encourage you to go to culinary school. Not that you need much education in that subject, anyway," Arkady commented.

"I still don't know how to make mole sauce," she responded lightly. She'd tried cooking Mexican at home for them once, and though the food had been decent enough, she had not been happy with how her attempt at the sauce turned out. He smirked at her.

"Perhaps you could get a job at Gato Rojo and see how they do it," he teased.

"Pretty sure their recipe is a family secret or something and they wouldn't share it. Not that I blame them," she replied with a mock dramatic sigh. She'd looked up several mole sauces online, and to make it from scratch was a time-consuming process. So she'd taken a few shortcuts after shopping in a Mexican food store.

At least Arkady hadn't had any complaints about the resulting meal, and it'd been a learning experience for her. Tonight's meal continued in mutual enjoyment.

o0o

Arkady looked down at the dark-haired woman snuggled at his side with no small amount of contentment. Barely aware of what was playing on TV, he ran his fingers through her hair, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of the shampoo she used.