M For Moscow

29 | baker's son

After the identity of my mother's secret love affair came out, I couldn't sleep.

Like a bombshell had been dropped on me, I had left her whimpering by the balcony, slipped into my cosiest pyjamas and snuggled into bed with my three brothers but sleep was far from coming.

I couldn't even see it.

Maxim Ivanov.

Of all the desperate men my mother could have slept with, she picked Maxim Ivanov, only the kindest man to ever grace my broken family with his presence. He lived downstairs, owned a bakery and had a brainy son that could actually do and build amazing things one day — and my mother had to pick them. Like my family wasn't enough for her to ruin.

She had to ruin theirs, too.

I was angry. No, not angry. I was furious and outraged at how selfish she could be or anyone for that matter. I never knew anyone could be as selfish as her.

I debated calling Luka and ranting through the phone but I knew that in the state I was in, my voice would be loud enough to wake up the entire apartment block, including the Ivanovs. I wanted to talk to Lena but I knew she'd be asleep and unable to hear the fire alarm ring, never-mind a phone call.

Without any other options, I was left alone with my thoughts. My bashful, hateful thoughts.

First, scarring my brothers with the lack of know-how to dispose of her used undergarments and sex devices. Then, telling me she slept with the father of a boy I used to play tea parties with?

What was she going to do next?

Sell one of my brothers for drugs?

The thought sent shivers running up and down my spine and I held the boys closer than I ever did before.

Through the sliver of light from the gap in the door to the kitchen, I could make out the features on their faces. Each of them had thin lips, a button nose and the same coloured hair as I did. Almost as if we were bred from the same parents.

The only real difference between us was the fact that they had all their eyelashes still intact. I had pulled mine out when I ran out of pennies to throw into the mall fountain.

I didn't want them to pull their eyelashes.

I thought about bringing them to Moscow. Outsiders like me would only move to the big city when they were coming-of-age and those born there moved out until then.

Could they really make it out there?

I imagined them getting drunk off the liquor cabinet and then going club-bouncing with their overaged friends.

No, they'd have to stay here. But how could I keep them safe?

***

I had left twelve missed calls on Lena's phone.

Maybe twelve was one too many but after spending a night where blinking was my equivalent of sleep, I felt like it was necessary.

At the strike of eight, I had gotten up and taken a shower, completely forgetting about the absence of hot water and temporarily brain-freezing my entire body. Wrapped in a towel that was probably better fit for the boys, I tiptoed back into the room where I had laid out a white bralette and black jeans with matching bejewelled pumps.

It was a little bit extra than what I'd usually wear on the streets but believe it or not, it was the most causal outfit from my closet.

The boys were playing in the living room so I crouched to kiss them goodbye before heading out of the door, not bothering to address my mother in the kitchen.

Our apartment unit was on the middle floors and our elevator was broken. This meant I had to walk down the stairs from the fifth floor to ground in order to catch the bus downtown, which would be much easier if I wasn't in six-inched heels.

Slowly and cautiously, I took my first step down, making sure I had both feet on a step before I attempted the next one. I had managed three more when my confidence got an ego booster and I started walking like a normal person in flat shoes. So far so good, I made it down to the second last step of the first staircase without falling. A triumphant smile across my face and a stupid thought in my head that made me let go off the railing, I tried the last step but my heel slipped backwards and I found myself, probably not as slow as I imagined, plummeting towards the awfully painful-looking floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut for impact.

But it never came.

Two strong arms caught me from underneath, one was supporting my abdomen and the other was, unfortunately, pressed against my boobs.

I stumbled backwards in horror, almost falling on my behind but I caught myself before he could. Even if it was in the most embarrassing position ever.

I cleared my throat, straightening myself without daring to look in his eyes.

"I'm fine, thank you."

The man laughed. "With those shoes, you'd never be fine."

I knew that voice.

"Alexey?"

He looked so shocked as I did. "No way! Anya? It's been so long. How are you?"

Like a baker's son, he pulled me into a hug when I took note of how big his arms had gotten over the summer.

"I'm great! You know, I'm a model now." I enthused, suddenly frowning at how easily I could be manipulated by his radiance of positivity. Or did I want him to know?

"So my dad tells me! What is that like?"

Oh, you know. Busy." I shrugged.

"Just busy?" he remarked, cocking an eyebrow that I noticed had a slit in it.

I didn't know why I had to comment on it.

Alexey chortled and ran a hand through his hair. He caught me staring.

"I accidentally burnt it."

"You did?" I asked a little bit too excitedly.

He leaned down more than Luka normally did to whisper into my ear. "Between the two of us, my dad did it."

At the close proximity, I took the opportunity to laugh to take a step back, thinking about what Luka would've thought if he had spotted us this intimate.

For his sake, I changed the subject.

"Speaking of your dad, did you know?" I tossed my hair to one side, "About my mum and him?"

It must've been a mistake to bring them up because Alexey's goofy smile and overall friendly facade disappeared as he stretched his arms behind his back, flexing in the process, before placing them on his hips.

"Yeah, I knew."

When I spoke again, I tried to keep my composure without any voice cracks or stammers.

"And you didn't tell me?" I questioned, finding pride in myself when it all came out normal-ish.

Alexey pursed his lips together as if he needed to second-think what he was about to say next. "My dad sorta made me promise not to."

"What?"

***

Not the best cliffhanger I could've came up with but it was necessary for the book to go along. Everyone meet Alexey Ivanov, the baker's son!

I don't know about you, but something about baker's sons, like Peeta Mellark, made my heart swoon. If he can lift sacks of flour over his head, even better!

The next chapter will have a lot of dialogue so please bear with me. I will make sure to pick the right and enough words to move the story along without making it too draggy!

Thanks for reading, you guys!

Lots of love,
Mel