Lust, Loathing And A Little Lip Gloss

“But I’m getting the house for hundreds of thousands of dollars below market, so it’s not like six of one, half dozen of the other,” I pointed out.

“Has Kane even transferred the utilities over to you yet?”

I swallowed and looked away. “He’s insisting on paying them until escrow goes through, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Sophie, you’re practically squatting.”

“Are you purposely trying to piss me off or do you really not get it?” I snapped. “I don’t want his $20,000. This is my house! I have always wanted to live here and now I finally do!”

“‘Always?’” Anatoly repeated. “‘Finally?’ Sophie you first saw this place five weeks ago.”

“Seven,” I said stubbornly, but I did see his point. Why did it feel like I had been fighting for this place for years? And why was I jumping all over Anatoly for pointing out the obvious? I did some quick calculations in my head, but that didn’t give me an explanation for my temper tantrum; I wasn’t due to get my period for another two weeks.

Anatoly considered me for a moment then lowered his gaze to the wine bottle as he shifted it from hand to hand. Something was bothering him, but instead of opening up he said, “So tell me, Sophie, how was the freak show?”

“What?” I asked, not following him at first. “Oh, the séance. Well, it was…weird—but I suppose weird’s normal for a freak show. You’re not going to believe this, but Jason Beck was there. He’s a bona fide member of the Specter Society.”

Anatoly looked at me blankly. “Who’s Jason Beck?”

“You remember Jason. One of Dena’s GBCs…you, know, Mr. Velvet Pants.”

“Right.” Anatoly laughed appreciatively. “How could I forget him? And GBC stands for…?”

“Glorified Booty Call.”

“Right. It makes sense that he would be part of that group, he was crazy enough.” He looked back down at the wine. “Did Scott give you any trouble?”

“No, he was fine. I still can’t believe he’s with Venus. I mean, yeah, she’s got money, but they’re such a mismatched couple. It’s like if Owen Wilson hooked up with Greta Van Susteren. It’s just strange.” Anatoly continued to study the wine bottle as if I hadn’t spoken. Something about his demeanor made me nervous. I took a few steps toward the window seat before changing my mind and converting one of the boxes closer to him into a temporary stool. “How was your stakeout?” I asked, grasping at the one question that I knew could get him talking again.

“Boring,” he sighed. “My client hired me to see if her ex is using. There’s a custody thing going on and she’s looking for ammunition. But as far as I can tell all his vices are legal. Women, alcohol, that kind of stuff. Nothing that will cost him his visitation rights.”

“It may be legal, but too much alcohol tends to hamper people’s ability to parent,” I pointed out. “That’s why I’ve chosen to remain childless.”

He laughed and I immediately relaxed. “Speaking of which, why don’t you open that wine,” I suggested.

“I can do that.” I waited as he went to fetch a corkscrew from the kitchen. My corkscrew and glasses were the first things I had unpacked. I had my priorities.

“Wine for two,” he announced as he returned with a couple of filled glasses.

I smiled gratefully. “Leah put some logs in the fireplace in case my guests wanted more ambiance. Shall we light it?” I asked, turning toward the fireplace as he came to my side. But then my smile froze on my face as I noted the photo above the mantel.

Anatoly turned to see what I was looking at. “What’s wrong?”

“That picture of me and my father…” I whispered.

“It’s new, right? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

“It’s new, but it’s also…straight.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It was crooked by, like, half an inch. And now it’s not.”

“Someone at your party must have fixed it for you.” Anatoly handed me the glasses before crouching by the fireplace and picking up the long matches that Leah had conveniently left there.

“I don’t think they did,” I said.

“Then perhaps it wasn’t crooked at all.” The fire sprang to life and Anatoly quickly closed the curtain as the sparks reached out for him. “Maybe you were just looking at it from the wrong angle.”

“No, I know it was crooked. Leah was the one who hung it and she was trying to even it out before she left.”

“And she succeeded.”

“No, she didn’t,” I said firmly.

“Sophie, what are you trying to say?” Anatoly straightened up and took his wineglass from me. “Do you think the picture was crooked and then it just magically corrected itself?”

I finally tore my eyes from the wall and looked at Anatoly. “No…no, of course that’s not what I’m saying.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “All I do know is that I’m going to need more than one glass of this.”

“You haven’t even started your first one.”

In three large gulps I downed my entire glass of wine.

Anatoly laughed appreciatively. “All right then, why don’t you take my wine and I’ll pour myself another. And then maybe I can talk you into a few more indulgences.” He tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear before gently nibbling on the lobe. “A full body massage? I’ll start here—” he carefully cupped my left breast and let his fingers graze my hardening nipple “—and work my way down.”

“You just assumed that I invited you over for sex?” I asked with mock indignation. “Maybe I wanted to talk.”

“So talk,” he murmured. He slipped his hand under my shirt and resumed the massage.

I smiled and took another sip of wine, this time from his glass. “All right, I will. How was your day, Anatoly?”

“I already told you it was boring,” he reminded me. “The night looks a lot more promising.”

I laughed softly and drank more of his wine. I thought of the séance, of what I had heard, but hadn’t heard at all. I could talk to him about that. But as his other hand began to work its way up my inner thigh, the warmth of his skin burning through my jeans, I quickly dismissed the idea. I didn’t really want to talk or think. Right now I was content to just feel whatever it was that Anatoly planned to do to me.

And just as I began to relax, the wine and his touch finally lightening my mood, the doorbell rang. It was a melodic chime, but it might as well have been the obnoxious scream of a smoke alarm for all the irritation it provoked.

“Were you expecting someone?” Anatoly asked.

“Just you.”

He furrowed his brow and then reluctantly removed his hands and went to see who had interrupted us. He peeped out the little leaded, textured glass window built into the top of the door and frowned. “It’s a woman. Italian, I think.”

“Sophie?” I heard a muffled voice come from the other side of the door. “It’s Maria Risso. May I please come in? I must speak to you.”