Dancing in Her Webs | Yelena Belova [1]

Chapter 17

I just wanted to say, thank y'all so much for y'all's kind and supportive comments!! I love you guys <3
And, beware .  .  . super long chapter ahead!

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  "So, there I am ice fishing with my father," Alexei began, much to Yelena's annoyance and displeasure. She reached around Irina and grabbed the Vodka, drinking some. "It's very cold day in this little ice shed. Cold even for Russia, you know? 'Keep the Vodka by the fire,' my father would say to me."

  Yelena shook her head, the Lane that Irina was with moments ago completely gone, "Please stop talking." And the Widow and Dreykov's former partner went back-and-forth as Irina awkwardly turned around and scooted back to the side of the bed next to Yelena.

  "Please wait."

  "Please, no."

  "Please wait."

  "Please, I don't want to talk."

  "Please. Please," Alexei begged. "There is reason why I'm telling you this, okay? Trust me." Yelena stretched her arm out to place the Vodka on the bedside-table, but Irina tapped the woman's thigh and pointed to the bottle. "I am reaching for fish." Yelena passed the bottle to Irene as Alexei's breathing picked up and he began acting out his story, "Oh! I lose balance. AH! Splash! My hands go in the river."

  Irina sipped the beverage a few times —to allow her taste buds and tongue to become familiar with the clear liquid before she allowed more of it to flow— as Yelena arched both of her legs again, placing her arms atop her knees.

  "In this weather, frostbite sets in quick. My father, he go toilet on my hands." Irina choked on the Vodka in her mouth and coughed, spitting some onto the floor.

  "Oh my god .  .  ." Yelena groaned in disgust, fingerless-gloved hands on the sides of her forehead as she hung her head. "Oh my god, oh my god."

  "Urine is 35 degrees Celsius, staves off the frostbite!" Alexei finished.

  Yelena snapped her head to him, looking over Irene's head as the dark-haired woman used the bottom of Lane's tank-top to wipe her mouth and chin of the Vodka she spit. "How is this relevant?"

  "You know .  .  . fathers."

  Irina paused, her index and middle fingers under the white fabric as they stopped in the corners of her mouth. For a moment, she thought Yelena would give Alexei a chance, but she should've known —the exact opposite happened. Yelena looked away and scoffed as she shook her head, "No. No .  .  ." the last 'no' broke as she tried to hide her anger and how hurt and bothered she is. Lane turned around slightly, to face Alexei more comfortably so her neck's not craned. Her thigh and knee laid atop Irina's leg that's bent underneath herself. Yelena lifted her right-hand, speaking with it as she spoke, too, "You have done nothing but tell me how bored you were. I was the chore, the job you didn't want to do." She lowered her hand, "To me? To me, you were everything," the Widow admitted.

  After the revelation's out in the open, silence consumed the dysfunctional father-daughter duo as they stared at each other. Crickets and other night bugs played their musical songs as Irina kept her head inclined, slowly pulling one of the nearby throw-rugs to cover the Vodka mess she made.