I must commend Timur and Vlad for their composure. The silence, which hangs in the air of the restaurant with a palpable tension, seems to bother me more than it does them. They calmly sip wine and savor their dishes while I can hardly swallow. Ultimately, I take a glass of wine as well. My hands tremble slightly. Fear, in a new guise, whispers in my ear that I shouldn’t trust them. Better to return to the familiar monster. It sings that I know what to expect from my father, while everything about them is the opposite. They are an unknown evil. At least, that is how their behavior and offer are perceived.
For some reason, only now do I hear the pleasant melody that fills the restaurant. The soft violin only heightens my discomfort. It becomes uneasy. The internal tension peaks.
I glance at the men through partially closed eyes, secretly trying to understand their desires, characters, and goals. Seconds turn into minutes, yet I cannot decipher anything from what they display.
I exhale. I set my glass on the table and firmly look at Vlad.
— Do you promise to protect my mother, brother, and me?
The Saint looks into my eyes with satisfaction. He nods subtly. Tilting his head to the side, he continues to scrutinize me.
— Red suits you.
I narrow my gaze.
— I want to hear the answer.
I hear Timur grunt.
— I promise, Yuliana. You don’t have to worry.
— I want guarantees. I need to know for sure that I am not abandoning my family to my own father! — I assert defiantly.
Vlad's eyes darken. The blue becomes almost black. He swirls the wine in his glass, and curiosity intensifies in his gaze. His expression is calm. Not indifferent, more so balanced to the point of envy. Even I can’t manage that. Over the years, I have learned to be submissive to avoid provoking my father’s anger, but complete control over my emotions is an unattainable dream. No matter how hard I try, a hurricane rages within me, spilling onto the pages of my sketchbook.
— You will become my fiancée. Isn’t that enough? — he asks tersely.
Timur wisely remains silent.
— It’s not enough.
I’m not sure where I find the courage. I think it’s the wine that fuels my determination. Or perhaps, with this man, I’m not afraid to say too much…
The Saint places his glass on the table, leans on its surface, showcasing interesting woven white gold bracelets. For some reason, I instantly notice them, as if the accessory enchants me. He clasps his hands together, supports his chin, and smiles, again revealing the lines on both sides of his mouth.
— It becomes more intriguing with every passing minute, Yuliana. Alright. Let’s formulate a contract where I promise to free your mother and brother after I achieve my own goals. What do you say?
— I agree, — I blurt out faster than I can carefully consider his words.
It’s too late to back down. I already agreed.
— I'll prepare everything for tomorrow, — he almost murmurs.
I’m amazed at how the Saint adeptly handles his voice and influence over people. He got what he wanted, and on favorable terms. Satisfaction reflects in his dark eyes with noticeable sparks. And whether Vlad doesn’t want to hide them or simply can’t, I don’t know, but I suddenly realize what this may lead to in the future. If I can read his mood through his eyes — that’s wonderful.
— I suggest we drink another glass of wine to our agreement, — Timur proclaims with a broad smile. In his gray-blue eyes is satisfaction and confidence that everything is going the way they both want it to, not me.
— Where will I live? — I ask tensely.
— With me, — Vlad cuts in. — Timur will not be a third wheel, — he adds mockingly. — Of course, unless you don’t want him to...
I throw a resentful glance at the man.
— No. I don’t want to. We only have… — I feel myself blush, turning the color of my own dress, — business relations?
Vlad’s expression softens, as if suddenly looking at a girl, not a woman: lost, hurt by life, wounded and sensitive to circumstances. He doesn’t know how much pain I’ve endured because of my father… He doesn’t know that despite my boundless patience, my fear for my loved ones, for whom I’m ready to do anything, I can still put up a fight!
— Business, — he confirms briefly with a nod.
Timur fills our glasses. He raises a toast to our agreement and drinks it all down. After that, he bids goodbye and leaves the restaurant as if he is late for some appointment. I stare at his back in disbelief, for a long time, until the man disappears behind the doors. It becomes uncomfortable. The feeling of danger intensifies. It is only now that I realize that Timur had simplified communication between me and the artist.
— Shall we go, Yuliana? Or do you wish to stay? Maybe grant me a dance?
I turn my head to Vlad in surprise. I fix my hair and ask:
— You like red, don’t you?
— Yes, — he nods satisfactorily.
— What is your relationship with Timur?
The Saint ignores the question, stands up from the table, and offers me his hand. His piercing gaze seems to penetrate to the bones, reaching somewhere no one has ever been. Enchanted, I place my fingers in his and rise. Submissively, as always. Vlad leads me to the center of the large dance floor. He sweeps his hand, and the music grows louder. He skillfully guides us into a dance, wrapping his arms around my waist. His palm burns a hole, I swear, where he touches.
My breath quickens. It becomes hot. The man presses my waist to his body, not too tightly, allowing me to distance myself, to decide what I want, but I… do not do that. Submitting to the power of the melody, I let him lead me.
Slowly, I lift my head and meet dark blue eyes. They watch every movement, every expression, every glance. Vlad captures everything as if reading me, like a book. The only question is, what does he expect from this story…
Smoothly, first tentatively, then more boldly, I place my hands on his shoulders, pulling us closer. I cannot tear myself away from the blue oceans. They are so deep, so interesting, so different… I have never seen anything like it before. I didn’t have the desire to decipher what exactly is hidden there, masked by its owner… Now I do. This man is the first one I want to look at. And it seems he doesn’t mind. Vlad allows me to see that he has many secrets. In the dark corners of his soul lies danger. At the same time, he demonstrates patience and calmness, balance, strength… This only further disorients me. It entangles my thoughts. There’s a feeling that deliberately, so I wouldn’t guess, wouldn’t read more…
I take a deep breath. The air between us vibrates. I feel the scents of a summer night, grass, oil paints, expensive fabric… And something dark. A forest inhabited by wild beasts. Dark alleys where it is dangerous to walk…
It’s strange that the Saint doesn’t emit the aroma of strong, bright, sharp perfume. It’s expected that he should smell just like that… But no.
The man smiles at the corner of his lips. Briefly, barely noticeable. He leans in closer, touching my cheek with his. Velvet mixed with almost imperceptible stubble. On the verge of tenderness, influence, power, and pain…
— I’m glad you’re not a timid doe, — he smoothly whispers in my ear.
With breath laced with the taste of wine, he brushes my skin. I forget about the dance, about everything in the world surrounding us. I don’t even hear the music.
Meanwhile, Vlad, on the contrary, controls every second of time, every piece of space. His hands expertly lead me in the dance, under the melody of the violin, which becomes a distant echo.
For me, this moment exists between space and time. It alone matters. And I cannot explain why. I cannot ask the question of why I react this way. It feels as if I’ve been enchanted, ensnared, and expertly manipulated. But it’s too late. I have agreed… Especially since I have no choice. Between the familiar evil and the unknown, I chose the latter. I took a risk. Now, I must not regret it.
The violin falls silent. Vlad releases me from his embrace and even bows slightly, with a sly smile on his lips. Completely inappropriate for his last name. It becomes sad; it must happen. As if my body loses some vital part, needed like oxygen for my lungs.
— Shall we go, Yuliana? It’s time.
He asks but crosses out any semblance of choice with an assertion. It’s like a choice without a choice. No matter what I say, it will still be under his rules. I’m used to this, so I nod. The Saint offers his hand, picks up my purse, and leads us outside. Amid the silence of the staff, the absence of music. Just silence. Dead silence. My heart disagrees with it. It begins to thump its own rhythm, full of fear, doubt, tension. The wine-clouded brain tries to find the catch in everything that’s happening, but nothing comes to light. So, all that remains is the taste of wine on my lips.
The street greets us with a summer coolness, distant sounds of the nighttime city, fresh air, and a nearly black sky. I lift my head, gazing at the silver stars. Vlad withdraws his hand, and I immediately feel cold. I hug myself and shift my gaze back to the man. He is looking. Standing by a matte black sports car and watching me.
— Do you often look at the stars? — he asks.
— Quite a bit, — I reply briefly.
— What do you see? What does the sky show you? — he continues with interest.
Vlad leans against the car, holding the keys between his fingers. One hand is tucked into his pocket while the other flips a keychain* that disturbs the silence around us.
— Asking like an artist?
— Are you curious if I want to know my fiancée better? — He smiles. Lazily, like a predator that has caught its prey but isn’t ready to swallow it just yet.
I become flustered after the question. A pause ensues. Tension hangs in the air between us.
— Am I a fiancée? — I finally squeeze out.
The man raises an eyebrow in mockery:
— Does a marriage proposal imply anything different?
— We have an agreement, — I stammer.
— It doesn’t exclude a status.
— Are you implying that I am no longer Vladimir Diky's daughter but Vlad Svyatyy's fiancée and can use that?
— Do you want that? — it sounds boldly.
— Did you leave me a choice when you invited me here? — I ask dryly. — At home, there’s my father who believes he has temporarily sold me to Timur. And here… you.
— Me?... Go on, I think you want to describe me in more detail.
I shake my head. I didn’t notice how I switched from “You” to “You” in a more familiar form. It’s strange…
— Can we go? — I quietly ask.
Vlad becomes serious. He opens the car and gestures for me to get in. I obediently sit, immediately feeling the aroma of forest moss, freshness, and luxury. A moment later, the man is behind the wheel, and we speed off at a wild pace. Surprisingly, I am not worried. It doesn’t bother me that the speedometer crosses the mark of one hundred ten kilometers per hour. I look ahead indifferently, analyzing everything that happened today. But fatigue prevents me from seeing the whole picture, while a strange joy from escaping my father’s influence dulls other feelings. The only regret lingers in my chest — the sketches under my bed at home.
*Keychain (from French breloque — «amulet») - an accessory, decoration, made in the form of a pendant on a chain.