M For Moscow

20 | the penthouse suite

"About?" I questioned, narrowing my eyes and tensing my back.

She noticed my change of movements and played her words carefully. "Luka and...you."

"What about Luka and I?"

I was getting heated up. Not deliberately, of course, but something about my mother infuriated me every time. When she didn't reply, I repeated it again in a colder, stricter voice.

"Does he—does he know your age?" she whispered the last part as if it was my biggest secret alive. I blinked back at her as she carried on. "You know, you're a minor and h-he's an adult."

Even though I could see the fear, I could hear the tremors in her voice, it didn't make me any less angry. What was she accusing me of, being a sex baby?

"I just don't want him to use you that way—"

"Mum!" I screamed, a sudden jerk of both uncomfortableness and anger making me climb to my feet. Next, I calmed my voice, not for her but for the three little piglets outside. "He knows my age, and did it ever occur to you that I wouldn't be used? That I know how to protect myself from being used?"

My mother looked at me, teary-eyed. She wasn't crying yet but the slow forming redness told me she was going to. Her hands trembled on her lap and for the first time since I've been back, she looked older than before, much older.

I instantly sat back down and apologised.

"I'm sorry for lashing out like that, but you just gotta stop thinking of me like... some weak girl. You know, I've been living in Moscow now for six months and I have a job and I have a shared apartment." I sucked in a deep breath when I knew the next thing I was going to say was probably the most important thing I've ever said. "You don't have to hit me anymore."

Her broken-up expression disappeared. She now had the same appearance on as someone would have when they'd found out that their identity had been exposed, just like I had been on the plane ride over here.

"Anya, I-"

"You don't have to apologise, Mama. It's some sick old parenting that women in Moscow never use on their children but I finally get why you did it. You wanted to teach me that life doesn't always turn out great and that there are consequences. Some larger than ourselves. And that when you make mistakes, these consequences count. Only they're not really consequences but lessons. Cold, hard lessons."

Yulia started nodding her head frantically when I was done with my monologue. For the first time in our relationship, she looked passively at me, like I was the one she had most respect for.

However, I felt the opposite.

"Sorry. I have to, um, I have to talk to Luka."

Just as I jingled the curtains, she stopped me short. "Anya, wait. I forgot to tell you, he went to put your bags down at the hotel. You'll find him there."

Like in a real-life Moscow action film, I nodded firmly at my mother before hurrying into the living room. I kissed all three of my brothers' fluffy cheeks, grabbed my handbags and rushed down the steps to haul a taxi to Rosen Gold Sakhalin — ironically, the only hotel we were allowed to stay at.

Even when I tipped the driver an extra thousand roubles, which was the same price as gold here, to go faster, the traffic jam didn't take any money. There was only one thing left to do.

"How far more?" I asked in fluent Russian.

He shrugged slowly, exaggerating his lack of knowledge with a hand. "Maybe two? Three?" he replied with three fingers up.

"Two, three what? Miles? Kilometres?"

He looked back at me, dead-serious. "Metres."

I dashed out of the cab ten times faster than the words came out of his mouth. Sure, running in a pair of crystal-lined boots wasn't exactly my plan for the day but nor was Luka hopping onto his jet and leaving me stranded on an island without a boyfriend and a thousand roubles short.

Something in my naïve, innocent heart told me he had to know. He had to.

If this was Moscow, there would be a rolled red carpet under my feet and cameras on both sides, taking in my every angle, as I raced for the fight for love, but alas, this was Sakhalin and all I got were a few dirty looks from homeless people and one small clap from a grandma on a balcony.

I almost ran past the hotel if it wasn't for the gigantic sigh pointing to it. I glanced up, and in all eighteen years of my living here, I had never noticed the astonishingly tall and elegant building draped in perfect gold and embezzled with diamonds to make out the wording. It looked ten times fancier than the one in Moscow and ten times fancier than the ones around the world.

"Holy hell." I mumbled before clearing my throat and straightening my high ponytail.

Confidently this time, I walked in head-high, all the way to the nicely suited man behind the desk.

"Good evening," I greeted him, hoping my watch was already adjusted to the right time. "You probably know me but just in case, my name is Macy Rhodes. I have a booking here under Luka Gold."

He bowed his head by a fraction and I glowed in satisfaction. I was even more satisfied when he started typing on the computer. "Mr. Gold checked in a half hour ago. Would you like a key?"

"Yes, please." I replied, beaming.

"I'll just call Mr. Gold first and ask if he's expecting company." he informed me, reaching for the phone and dialling the number.

"I'm sorry, company? I'm not a—"

He cut me off. "Hello? Hi, good afternoon, Mr. Gold. I have a, uh, Macy is it? I have a Macy waiting for you at the lobby. Should I send her up?"

He couldn't actually be serious.

I watched as he expressed his gratitude through the phone before placing it back down and turning knowingly at me. He smiled a sadistic smile and handed me a black key, different than the gold one I had in my purse.

I snatched it from him and wondered if it would be immature to blow a raspberry but from the day I had, I thought it was fitting.

When the elevator pulled open for me, I realised the man at the desk forgot to tell me what floor Luka was on. If he actually forgot. So I punched in the key and pressed every floor until one lit up.

I was surprised when the button indicating the thirtieth floor changed to gold.

The Penthouse Suite.

***

Back in Sakhalin and already the drama starts! What do you think will happen next on M For Moscow?

Lots of love,
Mel