— I’m not drunk, — I reply instantly.
The Saint hums and slightly grimaces. He tilts his head a bit and says:
— Where's your security?
I’m at a loss. Security? I completely forgot about the security. I remember there was some when I was going to classes. And then? There was no one under the academy. Not at the "Paradise" either.
— I don't know, — my voice falters.
— You don't know if they ran away? — he narrows his gaze.
— I don't know, — I repeat.
Vlad slowly gets up from the bed and continues to unbutton his shirt. He walks towards the door but stops beside them and, without turning around, says:
— I'll make breakfast. Wash up and come to the kitchen, I want to know how you spent these days and the reason for the depletion of my bar.
I blush. The color floods my face and neck. The heat of shame races through my body no worse than the heat of excitement. The tone Vlad uses is somewhat frightening. I know he won’t hit or shout, but…something will definitely happen.
— I’ll clean everything up and pay for it, — I throw at his back.
Saint’s shoulders tremble. Is he laughing or angry?
— No need, — his voice is dry. — I’ll pretend the bar was empty.
Left alone, I exhale loudly. Panic, fear, and nervous shock reign in my head. I definitely didn’t expect Vlad to show up today. I thought I would have a few more days, but…
I dash from the bedroom to the bathroom. My body sways a bit; the alcohol hasn’t worn off yet, so I force myself to step under the cool shower. The refreshment comes immediately. I wrap myself in a towel and stand in front of the mirror. My short hair’s tangled, my lips have turned slightly blue from the cold, and my eyes are filled with guilt. I brush my teeth, dry my hair, and quickly return to the bedroom. I put on jeans and a top and head to the kitchen. Vlad is already sitting at the table. The breakfast — scrambled eggs, cherry tomatoes, pieces of meat and cheese — is laid out on plates. Tea is steaming nearby. Everything looks appetizing and bright.
I sit across from the man and grab a fork. It turns out I’m hungry. Up until this moment, I hadn’t even recalled that I hadn’t eaten properly in the last days.
— Bon appétit, Yuliana, — he utters.
I lift my eyes to him. The Saint is clearly mocking. A lazy smile plays on his lips, and his eyes look at me with curiosity and mischief.
— Thank you. You too.
I return to my breakfast. For a while, we are silent. I eat, while Vlad simply savors his tea and looks me over. Every second reverberates with a rhythm in my chest, but I can’t look at him again. When I finish everything on my plate, he says:
— I’m glad your appetite doesn’t suffer even during a hangover.
I immediately look at the man:
— Hangover?
He smiles:
— Exactly, judging by everything, you’re still drunk. What were you doing?
I cringe.
— I was at classes.
— And today? Canceled?
— I couldn’t get up.
— Did you drink before in such quantities? — he slightly squints his eyes.
I shake my head.
— We were at the "Paradise," celebrating the start of classes.
— With your classmates?
— Uh-huh, — I mumble. Shame again flushes my face red.
— And then? — he pushes for more details.
— And then I felt sick from the drinks. We came here. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, they had emptied your bar. They said no, but I…
— Believed them?
— No, of course not; I just… brushed it off. I know, irresponsible, — I look into the Saint’s eyes. — I will buy everything. And clean up.
He laughs. He’s even mocking me. His amusement stems from my face drenched in red, guilty eyes, and quiet voice. He finds it funny that I still feel the effects of alcohol intoxication.
— Is that all, Yuliana?
The blue hues darken rapidly. He’s waiting, but I just don’t understand what for. The question hangs in the air like a heavy burden. I recall the kiss with Anton. I didn’t want to kiss him for real. I didn’t like it.
— That’s all.
— Alright.
— Alright? — I ask again. — You won’t scold me?
He hums thoughtfully:
— Why?
— Your bar… and me…
— I gave you freedom, Yuliana. I told you to live and enjoy. Some things happen earlier for some, you’re at nineteen. But you had to try. Just, — his eyes glimmer, — don’t play with freedom. We’re still married.
— Of course, — I nod too eagerly. — Is mom settled in? Is everything alright?
— Yes. The security is with them around the clock. Sorry, — he gets up from the table, — I need to make a call.
Vlad leaves the kitchen. I wait a moment and then follow him. I walk slowly through the living room and hear his voice from the workshop. I move closer and freeze in place. Even my breathing slows down, so curious I am to hear who he’s talking to.
— Hello, — a low voice sounds.
I don’t know who he’s speaking with, but that “hello” was said with an accusation.
— Where's the security? — a pause. The interlocutor, as far as I understand — Timur, responds or explains something. — So, they lost her? Which company did you contact?
I bite my lip. Now Timur will get a dressing-down for me being without security yesterday. But it’s not Timur’s fault. It’s the guards’ fault, who, apparently, “lost” me, or after bringing me to the academy, simply returned to work or home.
— She was beaten twice by that piece of shit, Timur, because of me! My decisions and actions! I left my wife under your responsibility, and what’s the conclusion? She’s drunk! She was at the "Paradise," did you hear about this place? No? Milana didn’t share her escapades?! Well, let me tell you! I’ll be at the office in half an hour! Are all the shareholders present? Oh, and even Dykov? Great! We need to talk!
Vlad rushes out of the workshop as if he knows I’m standing by the door. I instantly throw myself sideways and try to pretend that I wasn’t even close, but apparently, he understands everything. However, he doesn’t comment on my frightened eyes. He just fastens his shirt and sighs.
— Can I come with you? — I ask.
The Saint raises an eyebrow questioningly:
— Where to?
— To the office? You’re going there, right? I accidentally overheard…
— You want to see your father? We are expecting a serious conversation with the shareholders and Dykov, Yuliana. I’m working on making your freedom real. I’m sticking to the agreement. You can’t.
I exhale.
— I’m not drunk.
The man laughs.
— My Timid Doe, your eyes are sparkling, your speech is completely different, and your movements are neither precise nor measured, as always. You’re drunk. Therefore, if you’re skipping classes, trading them for sleep, make it worthwhile. Go to sleep.
— Alright, — I have to agree.
— I will tell you the details, alright? — he says thoughtfully.
Perhaps my gaze lights up because the Saint smiles contentedly.
— Yes.
— Wonderful. Until the evening.
He walks to the door but stops to grab the keys in the hallway. He turns back to me and leaves a soft kiss on my lips.
A bit stunned but satisfied and happy, I murmur something to him about a nice day and smile widely, more than ever before. As if we kissed for the first time… It felt warm, pleasant. A light touch, and my heart warmed up as if it had spent an eternity in the cold, and now summer had come.