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Alina at fifteen is obsessed with her art, cherishing a girlish hope that her childhood friend Mal Oretsev will ask her out on a date, and constantly fighting with her mother.
Much the same as any other teenager, she imagines.
And then Aleksander comes and everything changes.
“Call me Sasha, milaya,” he tells her on their third meeting, when he has been dating her mother for two months.
She sees a flash of straight, white teeth when he smiles at her; feels truly seen when he listens to her talk about her newest painting and pays proper attention to her words (unlike her mother, who simply nods along while she looks at her phone); tries not to blush when he tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear and tells her the new earrings that he’s just given her as a gift look very pretty on her.
He makes her feel warm, safe and cared for in a way her mother never has.
Her mother seems to hope her new boyfriend will bring what she calls ‘much needed discipline’ into her daughter’s life.
Alina doesn’t bother to remind Keyen Starkova that she is a model student at school, that it is only her mother’s restrictive, uncaring methods that Alina chafes against and argues with.
Besides, Aleksander’s corrections are gentle, not harsh like her mother’s.
“Sit up straight, milaya, we don’t want you to hurt your back.”
“Finish all your vegetables, there’s a good girl.”
“I don’t like to stop you seeing your friends, little dove, but it’s a school night and you need your sleep. Besides, it’s freezing outside this evening, so I’m sure they’ll understand if you don’t want to go out.”
“I know you didn’t mean to be rude, Alinochka, these years can be difficult, after all, with all those terrible hormones. And you’ve apologised very sweetly, so I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can practice for your Shu test tomorrow.”
Sometimes she wonders if this is what having a father is like.
(her own died when she was only a baby, and she’s never been sure whether or not to envy the other children with two parents, especially when she struggles to find common ground with her mother).
Other times, though, she suspects that the way her stomach swoops when Aleksander pats her arm or strokes her hair is something rather different.
Finds herself a little confused, enjoying both his paternal air of concern and care for her, while at the same time waking at least two or three times a month sweaty and aroused from dreams of his hands gliding across her skin.
For a few weeks, she tries to avoid him.
Hides in her room when he’s over, pleads illness when he suggests going to a nearby café for lunch, ducks out of sight when she sees him coming around the corner.
In the end, though, she can’t stay away.
No one has ever treated her the way he does, like he really, truly cares.
Is it so wrong for her to want that, to crave that closeness she’s never had from anyone else?
So, she gives up on her pretence of aloofness, decides to enjoy having someone around who shows an interest in her art and talks to her about books and helps her patiently when she struggles with her homework and teaches her to cook beef stroganoff and bake honey cake.
And if she still can’t quite figure out exactly what Aleksander is to her, well, that’s a problem for another time.
Alina has just turned sixteen when she hears her mother screeching down the phone to one of her friends.
“Just this morning! I know, isn’t it fantastic … oh, you have to see the ring, Tatiana, the rock is huge.”
It really is entirely in keeping with her mother’s personality to get engaged and immediately ring the city’s biggest gossip to brag rather than bothering to tell her daughter.
In the end, however, Alina can’t find much to complain about. They’ll be moving into Aleksander’s home – a three-storey, spacious construction that is the envy of all her mother’s friends – and he’s promised she’ll have the top floor all to herself, with a huge bedroom, ensuite bathroom, personal library and even her own little art studio. Even better, Aleksander will be around all the time now, which she can only consider to be a positive thing.
The wedding two months later isn’t the lavish affair Alina expects of her mother, which she suspects is due to Aleksander’s restraining influence.
Nevertheless, her mother naturally finds a way to turn the idea of a wedding with less than sixty guests – something that had horrified her to begin with – into a chance to show off to the rest of her social circle.
“Small and intimate and exclusive,” Keyen trills to one of her less-in-favour friends as she dashes off for her dress-fitting, “so sorry we can’t squeeze you in, darling, but I promise I’ll send you all the photographs.”
Alina rather enjoys the wedding. The food is delicious, her bridesmaid dress (black and gold, a one-of-a-kind designer garment ordered specially by Aleksander) is the prettiest thing she’s ever owned, and she and her new step-father spend an entertaining half an hour twirling around the dancefloor (Alina trying desperately not to step on his toes, his footwork unsurprisingly impeccable) when her mother declares the first dance has exhausted her and sits down at a table full of her friends with a full glass of wine in hand to accept their gushing congratulations.
After the wedding, her mother and Aleksander head off for a two-week honeymoon in Novyi Zem, leaving Alina alone in the house.
Aleksander calls at least twice a day to check on her, transferring far too much money into her bank account for food and making her promise not to live on take-out. He sends her pictures of some of the interesting art-work and monuments he sees, and messages her with reminders not to stay up all night painting and that she is absolutely not to have any boys over.
Her mother includes Alina in one of her group chats and sends a steady stream of pictures of their hotel, the boutiques she’s visited, the new jewellery she’s purchased, and a few selfies. She never directly messages Alina or asks how she is.
Aleksander ends up returning home five days early, citing a work emergency.
Alina is a little sceptical, wondering if her step-father has simply decided to let his new wife shop in peace.
(sometimes, she wonders why the two of them decided to marry, as different as they are in personality and outlook).
Her suspicions are confirmed when Aleksander spends very little time working during the five days before her mother returns. He cooks dinner for himself and Alina every night, takes her to an art show in nearby Tsemna, starts to teach her how to play chess, and patiently sits still for hours reading a book so that she can sketch him.
Her mother returns with an extra two suitcases and soon there is a constant stream of guests in and out of the house, coming to congratulate the new Mrs Morozova or listen jealously to tales of her trip to Novyi Zem.
Alina only sighs, closes the door that leads up to the top floor of the house and finds herself wishing her mother would take another extended holiday very soon.
When Mal asks her out, Alina accepts with a smile, trying to feel as excited as she would have done if this had happened a year and a half ago.
She knows not to expect too much from a teenage boy, but she’s still a little put out to find that Mal’s idea of a first date is sub-par hotdogs in the park in the early evening before he goes to meet his friends to play video games.
It’s so cold that she starts shivering, but he doesn’t ever think to suggest they find somewhere to sit inside. Instead, he spends the whole time talking about football (he’s the school’s star quarterback), hunting in the nearby forest at the weekend with his friends and how excited he is to take over his dad’s farm in the future.
Alina finds football boring. She considers hunting for sport to be cruel. She’s never really liked farms.
Mal goes in for a kiss as he walks her to the uber that she’s ordered, but she turns her head and leans away.
It’s an awkward goodbye, one that will probably make him irritable and bitter and lead to gossip at school calling her frigid or a prude. Alina doesn’t care, though – the date she’s dreamed of for so long has been a flat disappointment and she honestly hopes Mal will just avoid her from now on.
How did she ever find him attractive, she wonders? Has he changed so much from when they were younger, or has she?
When Alina returns home, her mother is out at a supposed book club hosted by Tatiana Lantsova (a weekly event that is more likely simply an excuse to drink copious amounts of wine and gossip about their neighbours).
Aleksander is in the living room, three quarters of the way through War and Peace, even though she knows he only began it earlier that day. He looks up when she enters, smile turning to a frown as he notices that she’s shivering slightly.
“I do hope you weren’t outside in just that thin jacket, Alinochka.”
“I thought we’d be inside,” she answers grumpily, cold and hungry and irritated that her date has been so dissatisfying.
Aleksander’s frown deepens as he coaxes the story out of her, muttering uncomplimentary things about Mal as he turns the heating up and bustles around the kitchen to make a bowl of soup from scratch for her.
When she tries to help, feeling bad about interrupting his reading, he just glares and sternly orders her to sit on the couch under the fluffy blanket that he got her a few months ago until she’s properly warm.
Later, when she’s tucked against his side, eating delicious chicken noodle soup with sourdough bread and watching a black and white version of War and Peace in Old Ravkan (with subtitles – he’s trying to teach her the language, and her progress is steady, but it’s hard to follow when the characters speak so quickly), she wonders what outing with a careless teenage boy like Mal could ever compare to an evening like this with Aleksander.
She wonders if any guy will ever measure up to her step-father.
Alina wakes one night, warm and flushed from a rather pleasant dream.
Keyed-up and aroused, she slips her hand into her pyjama shorts and tries to conjure up an appropriate image in her mind to help things along.
But no matter how she tries to picture her favourite celebrity crushes, her thoughts keep returning to Aleksander.
Pale skin, dark hair, close-cropped beard, intense gaze, warm smile, strong hands holding her.
She comes quickly, gasping out his name even as she tries to stay silent.
Fuck.
It’s one thing to acknowledge that her step-father is handsome and have a few dreams about him, entirely another to come with his name on her lips.
No, it’s fine, she tells herself. He’s just extremely good looking and very clever and always looks after her and takes the time to get to know her. She can find that with some other guy.
She can.
They celebrate New Year’s Eve with a party, fifty guests roaming the ground floor of Aleksander’s palatial home, many of them quickly approaching the ‘falling over’ stage of intoxication.
Her mother is in her element, accepting compliments for the food (catered), the decorations (a professional party planner) and the drinks (Aleksander’s choice).
None of Alina’s friends are here, her mother having decreed that she didn’t want some drunken teenagers ruining her event, as if some of her own friends didn’t behave like rowdy teenagers themselves when they’d had a bit to drink.
Alina had been invited to Marie’s house, but Aleksander had expressed concerns about the possibility of underage drinking and whether she would be able to get home safely on such a chaotic night. Marie had kindly offered to let Alina stay over, but Aleksander had thought that was an even worse idea when he discovered that Nikolai, Mal and a number of other boys would be stopping too.
Alina has spent most of the party up in her room, reluctant to socialize with her mother’s vapid friends and be subjected to the same repeated questions – “how is school?” and “no boyfriend yet, you poor thing?” and “what are your college plans?” – and then promptly ignored if she tries to respond with anything more than “fine” or “still thinking about it”.
Now, the time approaching midnight, she heads out of her room to make a perfunctory appearance at the party so that her mother cannot complain that she’s “hidden away like some sort of sullen hermit” (a direct quote, following her non-appearance at last year’s party).
When she spots the light on in Aleksander’s study, however, she makes a detour, knocking softly and entering when she hears her step-father’s voice, “come in.”
“You’re working?” she asks incredulously when she sees him sitting in his chair and looking through some papers.
He snorts, “hardly, Alinochka. No chance of concentrating when all I can hear is Tatiana Lantsova loudly proclaiming to all and sundry that her husband can’t get it up in bed, but she’s found ‘a Fjerdan stallion’ who really knows what he’s doing’.”
Alina grimaces. Tatiana Lantsova and her husband are both absolutely shameless when it comes to their extra-marital affairs.
“You’re hiding then,” she says as he puts the papers to the side, giving up any pretence of reading them.
She can spot a half-empty glass of whisky on the side table, probably the really good stuff he only brings out for himself or guests he actually likes, and thinks he’s probably been trying to have a few moments of respite from the party.
“Hiding,” he agrees, “just like you.”
Alina just shrugs, “yeah, but mom probably cares that you’re not there.”
He doesn’t try to protest her words, far too familiar with her distantly antagonistic relationship with her mother.
Instead, he lifts the glass, amber liquid sloshing slightly inside, and offers it to her.
Her eyes widen in shock. Aleksander has lectured her countless times about the dangers of underage drinking. She vividly remembers the disappointed look he gave her when she came back from Marie’s a few months ago, tipsy from sharing a bottle of wine that her friend had liberated from her parents’ liquor cabinet. Clearly destined to be an emotional drunk, Alina had sobbed her way through an apology and then proceeded to fall asleep nestled into Aleksander’s side, a History Channel show about old treasure maps playing on the TV in the background, after he’d made her drink a giant glass of water and eat some crackers.
“Go on,” he leans forward, pushing the glass into her hand, “just a taste, as a New Year’s treat.”
Slowly, Alina lifts the glass to her lips and takes a big gulp. Might as well make the most of the opportunity, after all.
It’s a mistake.
Whisky, she decides as she splutters and shoves the glass back into her step-father’s hand, is absolutely disgusting.
Aleksander laughs, tweaking her nose affectionately, “and that is why little girls shouldn’t drink.”
“Sasha,” she pouts at him, “urgh, how do you drink that stuff.”
“Practice,” he tells her succinctly, draining the rest of the glass and then standing, “now come along, Alinochka, neither of us need the aggravation of your mother on the warpath because we weren’t downstairs at midnight.”
She would much rather stay and read a book or talk with Aleksander, but she knows he’s right.
The noise of the party is even worse when they open the study’s heavy wooden door. Alina winces as she hears her mother’s high-pitched giggles, sighs at the raucous, off-key singing of some of the guests.
As she moves towards the staircase, Aleksander takes hold of her arm, leans down and brushes his lips across her cheek.
“Happy New Year, Alinochka,” he murmurs, “a little early, before we have to rejoin the party.”
“Happy New Year, Sasha,” she whispers, unsure why a seemingly innocent kiss on the cheek is making her heart race.
They walk in silence back down to the party, he to her mother’s side and she to a corner of the room that she can hide away in with a tray of mini lemon tarts and a plan to avoid all the guests as much as possible.
At midnight, she sees Aleksander kiss her mother briefly as everyone cheers and drinks champagne.
Alina refuses to examine the reason for her sudden flash of jealousy too closely.
Wait-listed.
At every school she’s applied to.
Alina doesn’t understand it.
She knows she’s talented, knows how much she’d benefit from art school, knows her teacher had been sure she’d get plenty of offers.
And yet, here she is, with no acceptances to show for all her hard work.
Aleksander finds her weeping in her room and tsks softly.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t cry, milaya. Tell me what’s wrong and then we can fix it.”
He sits down on the edge of her bed and she lets him draw her into his arms, petting her hair until she stops sniffling and explains exactly why she’s so upset.
“Well, no use wasting your tears on those who do not know your worth, Alinochka,” he tells her, “and perhaps you’re not ready for college anyway. All these schools are so far away, milaya, and you’d be all on your own.”
He makes a point. She might be glad of the opportunity to escape her mother’s critical stare, but she would also be losing Aleksander, and that thought makes her cold inside.
“It’s just, I worked so hard on my portfolio, Sasha,” she tells him, “and Os Alta University has some really interesting courses.”
“If you want to learn, Alinochka, you need only ask. I’m sure we can find you an excellent teacher who would be happy to give you private lessons.”
Alina nods, knowing that Aleksander would have an art teacher ready and willing to begin within a few days if she asked him.
She wants to wallow a bit first, though. It’s a bitter disappointment and she can’t pretend otherwise.
“Maybe I’ll just wait and see what happens,” she tells Aleksander, “who knows, spaces might become available.”
“Whatever you want, milaya. You know I’m always here if you wish to talk.”
“I know, Sasha,” she smiles at him softly, so grateful for his presence in her life.
Even though her plans have taken an unexpected detour, Alina finds it reassuring to know that she’ll always have Aleksander to help her.
She really doesn’t know what she’d do without him.
The day she turns eighteen, her mother is on a spa day with friends, leaving Alina to celebrate alone with Aleksander.
(it’s really the best birthday present her mother has ever given her).
There’s a pile of gifts wrapped in expensive, shiny black paper and decorated with glittering gold ribbons.
Art supplies. Perfumes. A velvet dressing gown so soft she wants to bury her face in it. A cuff bracelet studded with aquamarine, sapphires and emeralds. A gold necklace with a blazing sun symbol studded with diamonds. A pair of gold Jimmy Choos that are so tall she needs to hold Sasha’s hand when she tries them on, legs as shaky as a newborn lamb’s.
It’s all so much, generous even though she knows Aleksander likes to spoil her.
Almost mad when compared to her mother’s gift of a $200 Amazon voucher.
“A girl only turns eighteen once, Alinochka,” is all he says when she throws her arms around him and thanks him profusely.
There’s cake too. Lemon, her favourite, from a fancy little bakery that she adores.
(on the years she actually remembered, her mother had always picked up coffee cake, her own favourite, ignoring the fact that her daughter didn’t really like it).
They have a slice each, then another, Alina teasing Aleksander about his sweet tooth as he picks the pieces with the largest amount of sugary icing, pouting when he insists that she leave the rest for the next day.
When she goes to bed that evening, he stops her, leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth when he says goodnight.
She’d only have to turn her head slightly and …
But she can’t let her thoughts wander in a dangerous direction.
He’s her step-father, after all, married to her mother. She’s sure he doesn’t look at her in any other way.
Except …
It seems to her that Aleksander watches her with dark eyes sometimes, like he wants.
Surely, though, it’s just her imagination.
(Alina wonders, though, and she certainly wants).
Five weeks after Alina’s eighteenth birthday, she wanders downstairs to make breakfast as usual.
She sees no signs of her mother, but that isn’t unusual. Keyen has an active social life and is rarely at home. Sometimes, Alina goes days without exchanging a word with her.
There’s a pile of paperwork on the breakfast bar, though. Curious, and assuming the papers are Aleksander’s and she should probably take them up to his study, she glances at the front page.
The words that immediately jump out are ones that make her heart beat fast in her chest.
Divorce Proceedings.
She is up the stairs and knocking harshly on Aleksander’s study door before she can even think about it.
“Are you and mom getting a divorce?” she asks, slightly breathless, when he opens the door.
His expression turns serious, “I had hoped to break the news to you gently, but I –”
He pauses for a moment, distracted as he notices her eyes welling up with tears, “Alina, milaya, I’m sorry the news has upset you. I’m sure, however, that you’ll come to see it is for the best.”
“It’s not that,” she mumbles, recognising that she should probably care that her mother’s marriage is breaking down but just not able to find the energy to care too much about the woman who has treated her with indifference pretty much her whole life, “it’s just … I really love it here … I don’t want to move out.”
“Ah, I see,” he nods seriously, “wipe your tears, Alinochka, I can assure you that you won’t be going anywhere.”
She accepts the tissues he hands her, dabs at the dampness on her cheeks and blows her nose, “I don’t understand, Sasha.”
“The divorce was finalised this morning. Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I thought it best to have the entire thing done with before we broke the news. Your mother decided she needed a trip abroad to recover from the whole ordeal, and we agreed that you would remain here with me for the foreseeable future.”
“Stay here? With you?” she asks, wanting clarification, not wishing to get her hopes up only to have them dashed.
“Yes, milaya,” he gives her a broad grin, “here with me. If that’s alright with you.”
Alina nods eagerly, almost afraid the offer will vanish if she doesn’t accept it immediately.
It is most certainly alright with her.
After her mother leaves, all the boundaries between Alina and Aleksander begin to disintegrate.
It is exhilarating and terrifying all at once, a series of events that she thinks has probably been inevitable ever since the first moment they met.
His lips pressed to her cheeks, her forehead, the crown of her head and even her shoulders, although he stops short of kissing her lips.
Her curling up in his lap after a long day, letting the comforting warmth of his presence envelope her and quiet the rushing thoughts in her head.
His hands touching her all the time, sometimes innocent and other times caressing her hips or brushing her thighs.
Her holding his hand as they wander down one of the piers to look out at the True Sea on a day trip to Os Kervo.
When she decides to take a bath one afternoon and forgets to lock the door (whether it is just an accident, or an unconscious invitation, she really can’t say), he wanders in, kneeling next to the bath and telling her all about a new art exhibit opening at nearby gallery. All the while, one of his hands skims through the water, sliding over her shoulders and then her bare breasts. He never goes lower, never puts his hands where she really wants them, and when he wanders back out of the bathroom, smirk on his face, she has to get out and take a very cold shower.
He cooks dinner almost every evening, making her sit and relax on the couch if he deems her too tired, or enlisting her help, asking her to stir this or chop that, ordering her to “open up, Alinochka, there’s a good girl” so that she can taste the pasta sauce or the soup and let him know if it needs more seasoning.
Aleksander continues in his quest to teach her Old Ravkan. She tries her best, although she tends to get distracted when he reads a familiar poem or extract out loud to show her the correct pronunciation – he has such a mellifluous voice that she always focuses on that, lulled into an almost-trance by the steady rhythm of his recital.
She wonders if he’ll be angered by her inattention, but he only seems amused at putting her into a stupor, pulling her into his lap and rubbing circles on her back until she falls asleep as he finishes reading whatever poem or passage he has chosen.
Summer comes to an end and her friends go off to school, some to Keramzin Community College, others to the universities in Os Alta or Adena or Os Kervo, and a few to one of the universities abroad.
Alina never got off the wait lists, but it somehow seems less important now.
True to his promise, Aleksander arranges for private lessons for her with a man called Gerasim, who looks to be about ninety years old but can still paint with the most exact, exquisite brushstrokes.
She always means to visit her friends, or even just video call them. There never seems to be time, though. Gerasim visits four times a week, Aleksander tends to work from home, and every hour of the day fills up almost without her noticing it.
It’s all so achingly intimate and domestic.
Alina still wants more.
Eventually, things come to a head one afternoon, about seven weeks after her mother and Aleksander’s divorce has been finalised.
Alina, pent-up and yearning for something she’s too scared to ask Aleksander for, is taking advantage of his absence at a long work meeting that is expected to last until the evening.
It’s ridiculously easy to get herself off using her fingers, head full of thoughts about Aleksander.
Easy, but still frustrating. Her fingers just aren’t big enough and she aches for something more.
Or, rather, someone.
Alina is far too distracted to hear the front door open and close, or to notice the footsteps on the stairs.
Her bedroom doesn’t have a lock and Aleksander never knocks, so there is no time for her to do anything but squeak in shock and blush furiously when he walks in on her as she’s halfway to another orgasm.
She expects disgust, or anger, or just cold, awkward silence.
Instead, he only tuts, gaze roaming up and down her body, naked save for a tank top that doesn’t hide much, “you look so wound up, Alinochka, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Part of her wants to snarl at his condescension, to tell him that yes, she knows how to masturbate, thank you very much.
The other, far bigger, part of her, just wants to ask for help.
“Please,” she begs, her voice almost a whine, “please, Sasha.”
He drapes his jacket on her chair and pulls off his tie, then sits down next to her on the bed and rolls his shirt-sleeves up.
He cups her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her lips, “you look so lovely when you’re flushed and desperate, malyshka.”
His hand moves then, down her body until two of his fingers replace hers, curving inside her and making her sigh.
Aleksander is almost languid in his movements. In and out, in and out, until she starts to rock her hips in the hopes of improving the angle.
“Shall we try another?” he asks quietly, sliding a third finger inside her wet heat when she nods, his mouth widening into a pleased smirk when she moans loudly.
Alina feels deliciously full, mind hazy, not quite able to believe what is happening, that this is real and not just the product of an overactive imagination.
When she tries to move again, though, chasing the orgasm that is starting to build, Aleksander uses his other hand to still her, “ah, ah, not yet, Alinochka. You’ve got to ask nicely if you want to come.”
“Please, Sasha. Please, please, please.”
“Good try, malyshka, but not quite right.”
She frowns, “I don’t … I don’t understand.”
“You’re such a clever girl,” he tells her, “you’ll get there.”
She tries to think, although it’s hard while she’s being distracted by his fingers pumping lazily in and out, never quite enough. Her brain feels fuzzy, mind like cotton wool.
And then she remembers.
The heated looks and dark eyes and lingering touches. But also orders for her to go to bed so she’d have a full eight hours of sleep; stern reminders not to stay out after her curfew; the way he always comforts her when she needs it, an arm wrapped around her so she can curl against him and feel small and safe.
The word that’s always been there, bubbling under the surface, that she’s never been brave enough to say.
“Daddy, please.”
Her words are barely a whisper but, when she sees his pupils dilate, she knows Aleksander has heard her.
His fingers crook just the right way, moving faster than before. His hand lets goes of her waist, leaving her free to rock upwards, and he presses the fingers of his now free hand to her clit, circling it and making her keen like some kind of desperate animal.
“That’s right, malyshka. Be a good girl and come for daddy now.”
His gaze is intent, focused entirely on her and the pleasure he is wringing from her body.
It is a matter of seconds before her orgasm washes over her, more powerful than anything she’s ever felt.
He coaxes her through the aftershocks, before withdrawing his fingers slowly and bringing them to his mouth, sucking on them with a pleased hum that makes Alina blush furiously.
She’s too tired to say anything as he gently maneuvers her pliant body to one side of the bed so he can lie down next to her, tucking her into his side and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
It feels nice, being held this way.
They should probably talk, she thinks.
After all, her ex-step-father, a man two decades her senior, has just fingered her through the most amazing orgasm she’s ever had.
And he’s still here.
Not leaving her alone, or trying to pretend like it didn’t happen.
But, of course, he’s always taken care of her, ever since the first time she met him. It doesn’t mean that what’s just happened between them means the same thing to him as it does to her.
“Stop thinking, Alinochka,” he murmurs, tracing soothing patterns on her arms, “just relax.”
“But –” she begins to protest, only for him to briefly cover her mouth with one large hand in order to silence her.
“Shush, milaya. There will be plenty of time to talk later. You need a nap now.”
It’s barely seven o’clock in the evening, darkness only just beginning to creep in. Alina closes her eyes, though, hastens to obey Aleksander’s order, which she knows comes only from a place of concern for her.
She drifts off to sleep almost immediately, mind full of pleasant dreams.
---
It is fully dark when Alina wakes up, probably about midnight or the early hours of the morning.
Aleksander is still laid out on the bed next to her, sitting up against a pile of pillows, tapping away on his laptop, the room illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp on her bedside table.
He puts his work to the side as soon as she shifts, turning his full attention on her.
“Hi,” she mumbles, not fully awake, very conscious of the fact that one of his hands is now inching forward, roaming over her mostly naked body, “I guess we should talk or –”
He cuts her off, leaning down and swallowing her words by slanting his lips over hers.
Their first kiss, hungry and fierce, his beard a pleasant scratch against the smooth skin of her cheeks.
Alina is breathless when they break apart, eyes half-closed, hands gripping Aleksander’s shoulders.
“Sasha … I …”
He kisses her again, quick and sweet, and Alina decides that words are not currently necessary. Instead, she tugs at Aleksander’s shirt until it has been thrown somewhere on the floor, and leans back against her pillow when he pulls off his trousers, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers.
The boxers are fitted, not really hiding anything, and it is that, more than anything, that brings Alina back to reality.
She’s kissed a few boys, endured some awkward fumblings. Sex, though, is something else entirely.
By the time her friends had started sharing stories about their first times, Alina was distracted by Aleksander, knowing that no boy could ever really hold her interest the way he did.
She wants him, more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but she can’t pretend that she isn’t a little nervous.
“Are you sure, Alina?” he asks her, fingers fiddling with the hem of her tank top.
She nods decisively, “yes, Sasha, I’m sure.”
This is true. She might be nervous, might have a fleeting thought or two about whether he can fit inside her, but she knows that she wants this.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” he murmurs as he drags her tank top over her head, leaving her entirely bare to him, “so beautiful, malyshka, a perfect girl for daddy.”
His words go straight to her core, making her tremble with need.
“Daddy, please, you have to touch me.”
She’s damp and needy and aching … wanting, wanting, wanting.
“It’s alright, Alinochka,” he soothes her by slipping two fingers inside her, his other hand coming up to pluck her nipples, making her writhe beneath him, “daddy will take care of his little girl, just have to get you wet and ready first.”
He’s certainly doing that, she thinks, head blissfully empty, only processing sensations and pleasure.
Aleksander makes her come in a matter of minutes, letting out a hiss as she clenches around his fingers.
“Ready now?” he asks her softly.
Alina nods. She’s not entirely sure, to be honest, but feels sure Aleksander wouldn’t let her do this if he didn’t think she was sufficiently prepared.
He discards his boxers, murmurs for her to relax when she tenses slightly at his size, “let me, Alinochka.”
She nods and he presses the tip to her entrance, rocking slightly so she can get used to the sensation before he pushes in slowly.
Inch by inch, he fills her, finding a place inside her.
In her blissed-out brain she thinks he fits perfectly, as if she were made just for him.
There is a brief pinch, but nothing worse than that, not like some of the horror stories she heard at school, and then there is only pure pleasure as Aleksander moves inside her.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” she cries out, gripping on to him, pulling him closer so she can kiss him, “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
She rather thinks he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. His movements, at first controlled, are far more erratic now, his eyes wide as a steady stream of semi-coherent praise leaves his mouth, calling her his good girl, his precious girl, his malyshka.
Alina loves this, cannot find the words to describe the closeness, the feeling of being entirely overwhelmed by one person.
She wonders momentarily if sex is like this for everyone. Or maybe it is just because it is him and her, the two of them together.
Her vision goes white when she comes.
If her earlier orgasms were intense, then this one is even more so. She lets out a high-pitched wail, a few tears dripping down her cheek as she tries to process the tidal wave of pleasure and emotions washing over her.
It is only Aleksander’s hands on her that keep her grounded, stopping her from floating away into unconsciousness.
Alina’s orgasm seems to be the push Aleksander needs, his hips stuttering as he comes and warmth floods into her.
His voice is hoarse and his face alight with an almost feral triumph as he shouts her name.
Alina thinks he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in this moment.
They both lie on her bed, breathing heavily, and Alina suddenly realises she has no idea what to do now.
Does she say thank you? Does she flee to the bathroom and try to make herself presentable? Does she close her eyes and succumb to the exhaustion? Does he expect round two immediately (she certainly wants to repeat the experience, but right now she’s got aches in muscles she didn’t even realise she had)?
His hand reaches out, entwining with hers, “you’re thinking too much again, moya lyubov.”
My love. His love. The words make her heart sing.
“I’m just so happy,” she tells him, shuffling closer so that she can press against him.
Incandescently, deliriously happy. Not quite able to understand how her dreams have become reality.
“My Alina,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, “you’ve been so sweet for me.”
“Yours,” she smiles, rather enjoying the possessive way his eyes roam over her and how he pulls her closer to him.
“Going to keep you with me forever,” he tells her as her eyes begin to flutter shut, “my perfect little girl.”
Forever. That sounds nice.
Three days (and a great deal of time spent in their bedrooms) later, Aleksander tells her that they’re leaving Keramzin, moving to Os Alta in two weeks.
“I’ve decided it’s best to be back in the capital,” he says, “easier for work.”
She nods. He does most of his work from home, occasionally going on business trips, but it makes sense that he’d find it more helpful to be in Os Alta full time.
“I know it will be an adjustment for you, milaya,” he adds, “but I’ve found the perfect house in the city that I’m sure you’ll love. And there will be so many galleries and museums for you to visit.”
Alina has never been to Os Alta before. She knows, though, that the Ravkan Museum has a wonderful collection of old maps, and the Little Palace Gallery’s newest exhibition has had rave reviews from the critics.
Still, the idea of leaving Keramzin, the only home she’s ever known, is a scary one.
“Can I tell Marie and Nadia and the rest of my friends where we’re going?” she asks.
He looks conflicted now, pulls her down into his lap and cards his fingers through her hair, “I’m not sure that would be the best idea, malyshka. I’m only concerned for you, for what they might say when they realise the new … understanding we have.”
Oh. Stupidly, she hasn’t considered what her friends might say about her relationship with Aleksander. They’ve all giggled together in the past over older celebrity crushes, but she thinks it might be a bit different in reality, especially with a man they all know, one who was Alina’s step-father for almost two years.
“Not that I’m ashamed of you in any sense, Alinochka,” he hastens to assure her, “I just know that other people might misconstrue things and make what we have out to be … wrong or dirty in some sense. Not everyone is open-minded, moya lyubov.”
Aleksander is right, of course. He usually is.
It’s just, it will be so lonely in Os Alta, at least when Aleksander is working.
But she’ll adjust, she thinks. Aleksander will probably introduce her to his friends, and she can join an art class or book club to meet new people.
“It’ll be a new adventure,” she says with a smile.
His expression relaxes, pleased with her agreement.
“A new adventure,” he agrees, kissing her tenderly.
The day before they leave Keramzin, there is a private museum tour, a dinner for two on the empty museum terrace, a small velvet box with a gorgeous, glittering ring inside, and a question there is really only one answer to.
“Yes. Yes. Oh, Sasha, yes!”
The ring is on her finger when they leave the next morning.
She’d excitedly taken pictures of her hand, the ring a perfect fit, only to remember she doesn’t have anyone to send the photos to. There are half a dozen message threads she hasn’t responded to, invitations she’s left unanswered, friends she’s letting slip away.
It’s for the best, she reminds herself. They were all drifting apart anyway.
She falls asleep in the car, all her dreams full of Aleksander.
Sometimes, Alina thinks about her life before Sasha.
Teenage crushes. Sleepovers with her friends. Quarrelling with her mother. Painting in her room. Dreaming of art school.
She never thinks about the past for long, though – Aleksander prefers her to focus on their future.
On the house she is decorating with the paintings she’s completed in the art studio that he set up for her next to his study.
On the two month-long trip that they’re taking in a week – travelling to Shu Han, Kerch, Novyi Zem, the Wandering Isle and Fjerda – as a magnificent honeymoon to make up for the tiny wedding they had with Aleksander’s friends Ivan and Fedyor as the witnesses and sole guests (none of her friends attended, as she still hasn’t quite worked out how to explain about her and Aleksander).
Most importantly, on the baby that will arrive in about seven months, and on the true family they will be then.
After all, what else can she really want?