Page 48 of Devil's Vows
“Of course,” I say, then bite my lip. I’ve been making basic meals for us since it’s expected, and Yuri, being omnipresent, has eaten with us, but this is more serious. “I don’t have a big repertoire.”
“After months of ready meals, anything you make will be a treat,moya ptichka.If you need any ingredients, let Yuri and Kostya sort it out for you.I’ll see you later.”
He rings off, and as I hand the phone back to Yuri, irregular footsteps sound through the kitchen, followed by a crash and a“Blyad’!”
Yuri turns toward the noise, breathing a soft curse of his own.
“Yuri!” a woman’s voice calls. “Has Kostya gone shopping yet?” she asks in Russian.
If my Russian were better—and if I’m honest, there’s lots of scope for improvement in my speaking ability and listening—I would have picked up on it immediately, but I don’t. It’s only when Milana stumbles into the conservatory, an empty vodka bottle in her hand, that I realize she’s drunk.
I don’t know where she’s been hiding out, but I haven’t seen her since that first day. For all I knew, her existence was a rumor.
Now she’s here, in the flesh, her hair a wild, uncombed mess of brunette waves, with smeared mascara running down her cheeks mapping the route of tears. Her creamy silk nightgown is still the same one from the other morning when she tore into Ivan about her credit cards, except now it’s stained and ripped at the hem, her robe falling off her shoulder, spilled red wine looking like a gunshot wound that’s bled out.
She comes to a standstill as she sweeps her gaze over us, swaying on her feet. “Blyad’, what a cozy scene.” She’s reverted to English now.
“Milana,” Yuri warns as he approaches her, but she swings the bottle in his direction and parks the bottom on his chest, stopping him from taking a step closer.
Here comes trouble. With a hand on Katya’s shoulder, I bring her against my leg as I twist to protect Irisha from seeing her aunt like this. If the bottle was broken and she stabbed at him like that?—
“Nothing’s stopping me from drinking, Yuri. And fuck knows, the only way to get through the day is with my Russian friend here.” She taps the bottle on his chest to stress this fact and leans into his face. “My vodka might be done, but I’m not. Tell Kostya to stock us up, will you?”
Goodness. She’s worked through some wine and then moved on tovodka.
“You will give yourself alcohol poisoning, Milana,” he says as he closes his hand over the bottle and gently tries to pry it from her hand.
She cackles. “And what then, huh? Would be kinda hard to burn that body, wouldn’t it? Just imagine, do you think I’ll burn longer or will I just go poof like a petrol bomb? Stuffed full of cheap alcohol? Fuck me, imagine that mess to clean up, hmm?”
Goodness, this isn’t talk for little girls’ ears.
“Come, girls, let’s go play outside,” I say softly as I reach for Irisha’s hand and steer Katya by her shoulder.
“Oh, look. I’ve offended the sweet, innocent nanny. What does he call you?Moya ptichka?His little bird? Figured out you’re in a cage yet and you can’t get the fuck out?”
“Milana!” Yuri cuts in. His icy tone makes everyone cower, and the girls seem to freeze in fear. “Stop this right now. Think of the girls. Think of Ivan.”
I struggle with the door that leads outside but manage to push it open. We pile out and are hardly a few steps outside when Milana bursts out crying. As I rush the girls toward the playground, situated not too far off, I keep glancing back to see what’s happening.
Yuri has her in his arms, hugging her close as he rests his chin on her head. Sobs rake through her body, and I can almost feel each of them reverberating through my own. Something happened to Milana because she’s hurting deeply. It’s clear she needs help, but I’m not sure the men in her life—which seems to be limited to Ivan and Yuri—have realized this yet.
“Girls, are you okay?” I ask, making them stop just before they can clamber onto the jungle gym and make as if nothing happened back there. I crouch down and look them in the eye, one after the other.
Irisha stares back at me, bottom lip trembling. “Milana was never this sad.”
“She used to play with us,” Katya adds. “She watched movies with us, too.”
“Oh, sweethearts,” I say as I pull them in for a much-needed hug. I can just imagine how they must feel about Milana’s fit back there or seeing her disheveled and in pain like that. “What happened?” I ask softly as they burrow into my neck.
It’s cruel to ask these small kids, but there’s nowhere else to dig.
Irisha presses closer to me. “Dedyulyais sick. That’s what Papa says.”
Grandadis sick. Oh, gosh.
“And Dimtri is gone,” Katya adds as she wipes at her nose.
“Not Dimtri, silly,” Irisha says as she leans out to look at her sister. Her little pointer finger boops at the tip of Katya’s nose, stressing each syllable as she says, “Di-mi-tri. Dimitri is gone.”
