Page 5 of Unwritten Vows

Liza

A few days go by as I try to forget the disastrous dinner with Derrick Stepinov. I ignore social media and tabloids to the point that I’m almost able to forget about his wicked smile, and the ghost of his touch on my thigh at the dinner table.

A few days later, all is right in the world, as my father and I sit in comfortable silence while he eats his breakfast before heading into his office.

There’s some politician on the TV screen, maiming his way through a vitriolic speech and spitting out the word “very” after every few words, as if this is a convincing embellishment.

I roll my eyes and continue to focus on the textbook in front of me for my social sciences class.

Daddy makes a face and shakes his head. “No fucking self-control. That’s what causes them to lose and our taxes to sky-rocket.”

I turn the page and shrug. “They all do the same things, Daddy. They just say different words.”

I feel his gaze on me for a beat too long and look up mid-word to see him staring at me appreciatively. “What?”

“You remind me so much of your mother.” He smiles. “Beautiful and caring, but smart and precocious, as well.”

I feel tears spring to my eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He clears his throat as soon as he sees me starting to get emotional.

The only thing that ever causes him to lose his hard, practiced edge is me.

I know he doesn’t like it, but I do. “Yes, well, you’re wrong, little love.

If the others get what they want, they will tax us to take our money and give it to others who haven’t earned it. ”

He says this to dry my tears before they fall, and it works.

“With your connections, Daddy? No one is taking your money away. Even if they did take a little more, I have a solution for you: just buy a few less ice sculptures for the next holiday party. They’ll give you something for free later on to make up for it anyway, I’m sure. Problem solved.”

He simply grunts, which is something I absolutely love about him. He doesn’t try to argue or deflect with me the way he does with everyone else. At least with me, he only argues when he has an important, relevant point.

“Don’t forget about your outing tonight.”

I internally wince. Even when he doesn’t get the last word, he still often gets the better of me in conversation. I’ve been trying not to think of it all day. “Of course not, Daddy.”

“You know, if the politicians continue to blow it, there’s only so much I can do to protect you, Solnyshko .

Especially after I am gone. You’ll want to have someone as wily and strong as Derrick Stepinov in your corner.

Even his father is quite cunning, like a fox who is always waiting and watching.

So many in the upper ranks these days are too quick to trust. A desirable trait in a soldier, perhaps, but not in a business partner.

” His eyes dart to me and then away quickly, but I catch it.

“Or any other type of partner, of course.”

I almost gag, but hold myself back. You promised Daddy you’d try. Give it a week or so. Derrick Stepinov is bound to screw up . I paint on my most enthusiastic smile. “Of course, Daddy. If he’s just what you are looking for, we’ll know. And if he’s not, we’ll find out.”

*****

I’m not making the same mistake I made last time.

I wear a modest knee-length frock and simple flats for dinner with Derrick.

I’m not looking forward to this, but it’s only polite to show him around New York, since he has had so few chances to come out here.

He is here to see me , after all. I would do the same for any other visitor, but I also know I must do this because I absolutely cannot let my father down.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. My father knows how I feel, but I will play this silly little game anyway.

Derrick shows up, dressed to the nines, as I would expect.

But it’s certainly not in the formal attire he wore for dinner last week.

He wears what must be extremely expensive designer jeans, new Jordans, and a Lacoste T-shirt with some kind of paint splatter design.

Everything is perfectly tailored to his body, of course.

His T-shirt is rolled up slightly over his defined biceps, and just the hint of a complex, black and white tattoo peaks out.

You hate tattoos. Don’t forget you hate tattoos . My brain is screaming at me, because for some strange reason, it’s not so bad where it is, highlighting the curve and definition of his arm.

I rip my eyes away and focus on everything I don’t like: his predatory gazes, his social media presence, and whatever scheme he’s probably cooking up this very second in that manipulative brain of his.

I decide to fill the space with words instead of frustration. “So, I was thinking we might go to the theater, unless you’re too uncultured for such an outing, in which case I suppose we could go to one of Daddy’s pubs —”

“I have a reservation,” Derrick says, grabbing my wrist and steering me toward a beautiful black Town Car. “And we can be discreet. I made sure we were riding in this old thing.”

I actually get driven to school in a black Town Car each day, so I take exception to this, but allow him to pull me inside out of sheer curiosity. “You said you’ve never been to the city.”

His grin widens. I don’t want to like the mischievousness in it, but it’s contagious. Still, I school my expression into one of slight dubiousness.

“Well, dear Liza, I didn’t say I’ve never been to the city. I said I’ve only been here on business. Which is… mostly true. Scoping out the nightlife is part of my image after all, and that’s part of my business.”

“I suggested a pub…” I say slowly.

“Not a pub, little princess. It’s a club . Have you ever been to one? Please say no.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. He’s such a condescending little prick. So, I lie. “Of course.”

He studies my face for a moment and I know he realizes I’m lying. There’s a real-life twinkle in his eye when he says, “Great. We can have as much fun as I want, then.”