"What's wrong?"
What's wrong? The fact that he's acting like nothing happened, like he and I didn't make love, that we didn't have a connection. The fact that he's just talking to me like I'm his sister who's helping him solve a murder case.
And then I feel his hand on my knee, groping up the bare flesh, and a shiver of calm goes through me. My eyes flutter and my shoulders relax. When I open my eyes again, he's grinning.
"I didn't figure you'd still be so pent up. Aren't you sore?" His lip quirks, his eyes so dark and dangerous that I can't look away.
"Yea," I answer honestly, but the idea of more sends a thrill through me that I can't deny. Just having his warm hand on my body is enough to send the butterflies in my stomach to fluttering and I lose my appetite.
He squeezes my leg, caressing it with his thumb as his expression softens for the briefest moment.
"I didn't want to overdo it."
And with that, all my worries about what happened simply fade into the background, and I smile at him earnestly.
But deep down, I know I can't go to a boring charity dinner. No one there will confess to me that they killed Rebecca, of course, and any lead I did get would be smoke and mirrors. A woman like Rebecca pisses people off, and I'm sure that high society will be looking to point the finger at anyone they had a bad feeling about.
The night would be spent listening to people tell me that they think so-and-so killed her because they say Rebecca fired her, or what have you.
I have a feeling this goes a little deeper into a side of her I rarely saw. She hid it so well with her fancy clothes and her fake smile, but she married my dad before my mom's body was even cold. She'd been working him over like a professional, but I'd let it go out of respect for him.
So what I'm wondering now is: who she was trying to work before she died?
"Earth to Sarah," Dimitri says, squeezing my knee again. "Where'd you go off to?"
"Nowhere. Was just thinking about what I'll wear to the charity thing."
"Here," he says, moving to the bartop and grabbing his wallet, opening it up and handing me a black credit card. "Get what you want. Something to make you fit in. Look extravagant and appropriately in mourning."
"So... black."
"Da. Black. Go to Manhattan, to Bergdorf Goodman and ask for Natasha. She knows me and will help you find something suitable."
I put the card in the breast pocket of the shirt I stole from him, nodding.
"Sure. Uh, pricewise?"
He raises his brow before just laughing.
"Nothing you can buy will put a dent in that," he says with a wave of his hand before returning to his breakfast.
"Dimitri," I start in protest. I've been poor long enough that it makes me uncomfortable to not have a spend limit. When I lived with dad, he spoiled me, sure, but I was too young to know any different. My needs have changed since then, and a no-limit credit card wasn't high on my list of priorities.
"Sarah, do this thing. Get some nice dresses. Not just for the event, but for dinners. I want to take you out. Show you off."
And he can't show me off as I already am?
He must be able to see the discomfort still on my face, because he strokes my leg again.
"Mother took from you all your father would've wanted you to have. It's time to get some of that back. Time for me to start righting the wrongs I turned a blind eye towards, or even worse, the hurt I gave you."
I lick my lips and let out a sigh. I don't know what I'm going to do about this new shopping trip, but my mind is already on something else. How I'm going to follow him and find out who he's interrogating.
I know he doesn't want me there because he's trying to protect me, but I don't need protection anymore. I already know what he's done and who he is, and I haven't run scared.
"Don't you dare try to come up with a way not to spend that money, Sarah," Dimitri scolds. "If I don't see an offensively large number on my statement, I'm going to drag you down there myself."
I roll my eyes, but don't put up a fight, and he immediately knows that my mind is elsewhere.
"I promise, Sarah, it's not dangerous at all. Just talk to mom's associates, see if there was anyone holding a grudge or seems to be happy at her absence. We'll take it from there."
"While you're doing your own interrogation?"
He stares for a few heartbeats before he nods.
"Da. Yes. While I do my own interrogation."
"Where?"
His jaw clenches for a second before he pushes himself up from the table.
"That's not for you to worry about."
"But you want my help, Dimitri. You're gonna have to play straight with me."
His eyes sparkle with mischievousness before that quickly fades away.
"Just trust me on this, babe. You gotta stay away from what I'm gonna do."
"Well you already came up with busy work for me, so of course I will."
He throws his hands up in the air and for a second I think he's going to snap. There's that brief flicker of anger that turns his mouth into a sneer and his gaze like daggers, and then he looks at me and it fades.
"Of course you will. But it's not just busy work."
"You asked for my help, Dimitri, to find Rebecca's killer. But now it seems you know something you're not telling me that's taking you in a direction you don't want me to follow."
He takes in a deep breath, and when he speaks, his Russian accent is even thicker with his anger.
"Sarah, you will do this thing I asked of you, and you will tell me all you learned. From there, we'll decide our next move. Together."
I know better than to argue with him now, and even as I nod, I'm thinking of ways I can find out where he's going. I remember his words from the last time I followed him, that they would have killed me before I even had a chance to regret spying.
I remember how angry he was when I lied to him.
And yet here I am, planning on doing it again.
Chapter 15.
I don't get to Manhattan much anymore, and I like to keep it that way. Ever since I lost everything I had, I've hated seeing all those people going in and out of the high end stores as if it were just something they casually did for fun.
Walking out with bags and bags of clothes that cost more than my yearly rent? Yes, it makes me jealous.
So when I get off the subway at 57th Street, I'm already feeling a little uncomfortable. Dimitri acts like this is the easiest thing in the world, just walking into a store and having a personal shopper pick out lavish outfits for me, but this isn't a part of my life anymore.
And, unlike Carolyn from that TV show, I don't really long to go back to that world of high society.
The buildings tower around me, juice and cigars and espresso bars lining the streets, each giving off a fragrant aroma that mingle with the smell of car exhaust.
I match the quick pace of the other pedestrians, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. What have I gotten myself into? It's one thing to try to work and earn this money, but just having Dimitri give it to me like this is cheap.
But it's not like he's just my step-brother any more. That ship has sailed, I guess. We don't even have any parents left binding us together, and after last night...
What does that make us? Lovers?
Or just steps with benefits?
It's not like I haven't wanted and dreamed of it for a long time. Even before our ill-fated attempt when I was eighteen, I was spying on him and crushing on him hard. Snapping pictures of him in the buff when I really, really shouldn't have.
And now what am I thinking? When he's stealing from his own company and involved with Slava again? I know he's dangerous as hell, so why am I so attracted to him, and willing to spend his ill-gotten cash?
Because he told you to, and you don't say 'no' to a man like that.
But I've said no to him twice, and he's respected it both times.
I'm shaken from my reverie by a tall, broad shouldered man passing by me too close, knocking my arm. I latch onto my purse, fear jolting through me, and I glance over my shoulder but the sun is in my eyes and I can't make him out.
At least he never stole my purse.
I quickly slink into Bergdorf Goodman, smiling at the greeter before heading down to the beauty floor. It's a guilty pleasure still, and I can't afford any of my old favorites that dad used to get me. If I'm going to treat myself, it's going to start here, without a personal shopper looming.
The sales associate glances at me, giving me a smile before veering off to help someone else and I let out a sigh of relief. The music, the gorgeous decorations, the atmosphere... it's all so familiar and strange to me at the same time. Like I'm an intruder on a world that isn't mine anymore.
Opium perfume hides behind one of the glass cases, and instantly I can smell it, brought back to my thirteenth birthday and the beautiful gifts from my dad. Among the presents was that perfume. As he said it, I was now a lady and should smell like one.
I smile, the memory bittersweet, and inhale deeply before heading towards the nearest sales associate.
"Hey, I'm looking for Natasha?"
The curly hair brunette smiles the biggest smile I'd ever seen, offering out her hand.
"You found her! Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
She's so formal, but chipper at the same time, and instantly I'm set at ease.
"Sarah. Hey. My br-" Don't introduce him as your brother, Sarah, I chide myself. "Dimitri Brokov recommended you to me, said you could help me find a few things?"
Her eyes light up, dimples appearing in her cheeks.
"Of course! Where are we starting? The perfume you were eyeing?"
I flush, having not realized I was being watched, but I nod anyways.
"To start, yea. My dad... that was my first perfume. I haven't worn it in a while."
"Well I'm sure it'd be like putting on an old glove," she says before retrieving it, along with about a dozen samples. "Anything else? You'd look amazing in Femme Rouge Velvet Creme Lipstick."
I look at the color, and even though red is not my usual, I give her a nod. If Dimitri wants to see his money drained, it's definitely going to happen with Natasha at my side. "And I guess, like, a smoky eye set? I don't really have a lot of makeup at home other than eyeliner and mascara, and both are running dry."
A few minutes later, and I have enough makeup to last me years, and she's guiding me up towards the gowns.
"It has to be really nice," I say. "Black, something... I mean, it can't be scandalous."
She giggles, and sizes me up. "Sure, hun. I can definitely work with the sleek and elegant look. Especially with those red lips and that platinum hair. Black will be really striking against your milky skin too. What size are you? 4?"
Oh, she's good.
"Yea."
"And about... 5'4"?"
"5'3"."
"Okay, we'll likely need to hem it up a little, but that's fine. Oh, did you want me to grab you some champagne? We might be here a while."
It's like having a sea of clothing just washing over me, held up to my chest and quickly discarded. It's not that they're not nice - they are - they're just not me.
Natasha, however, is being really sweet and not seeming annoyed with me in the slightest, which is a relief. I take another sip of the champagne as she flicks through another rack of designer dresses.
"So how long have you known Dimitri?" she asks, giving me a look that tells me she knows, well... She knows he sent me to get some fancy and expensive clothes, so I must be someone of note.
"A few years." I don't really want to get into this. I've been trying to remain blissfully unthinking about the fact that we just slept together and I have no idea what that means.
"Oh? He started coming in here a year or two ago, and he's always been exceptionally generous."
"Is that so?"
"Sure. Always knows what he wants, but always makes sure to grab me so I can get my commission. I helped him the first time he came in and since then he's always taken care of me. Between you and I, he's the reason why management likes me so much."