Dirty Grovel: Chapter 23

The thunk that Prada bag makes as it hits the table sounds more like a guillotine blade slamming home.

I look up, squinting at the exquisitely dressed woman dripping in diamonds and haughtiness, her lips pursed with disapproval for the world to see.

God forbid that Oksana Pavlova appears to be satisfied, about anything, ever.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, already exhausted.

Her nose pinches. “Is that how you greet your mother?”

I rise to my feet in the only gesture I can make that doesn’t feel forced. “It is when you show up without warning.”

“Should I always inform you when I’m visiting my own house?” she snaps.

“Considering I’m the one running the place, yes. Besides, you didn’t come here for a getaway. You came here looking for me.” I arch an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

She harrumphs and crosses her arms instead of answering. “Is there a reason you’re hiding out here in Nassau?”

I don’t know exactly how much she knows, so instead of replying, I gesture to the empty seat beside me. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ve already ordered myself a latte,” she fires back, taking a seat and eyeing the menu on the table as though it’s just shouted a lewd innuendo at her. “Why wouldn’t you just go have lunch at Friedrich Colbert’s new place?”

“Because I’m not always in the mood to have a ten-course menu for hundreds of dollars that’ll leave me still hungry at the end of it.”

Oksana rolls her eyes and casts a disparaging look at the table next laughing happily to us—a young mother and her two noisy young boys.

“Honestly,” she sniffs, “if they don’t allow dogs in this establishment, why allow children?”

“You’ll make a great grandmother someday.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Maman. Nothing.”

Oksana clears her hands off the table as the waitress brings her latte with a smile that dies the moment she sees my mother’s sour expression.

The moment she disappears, Oksana turns to me, ignoring her beverage. “You don’t need to worry about what kind of grandmother I’ll be because clearly, I’m not going to be one any time soon.”

Something about her waspish tone has me doubling down. I’m not about to share details of my life with her if she’s going to judge every aspect of it.

Unfortunately, my family never learned that old adage that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

They live by the principle that, if you look hard enough, there’s always something to look down on.

“Excuse me.”

“I just sat down,” she snaps, frowning at me as I rise. “Where are you going?”

“Restroom. Or do I need your permission now to take a piss?”

“Must you be so crass?” she hisses with a long-suffering sigh. “We’re in public, for God’s sake.”

“Very well, I’ll save my crassness for when we’re in private. Now, may I go relieve myself or do I have to make a formal written request first?”

“Just go.” Her nose stays stuck high in the air as she looks away from me.

Stifling a laugh, I duck into the café but walk past the restrooms. I find a quiet corner to skulk in while I call Jesse.

“Yes, Mr. Oleg?” she answers almost immediately.

“Heads up, I’m coming home today with a guest. I’ll need you to get one of the suites ready for her.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence.

“Is there a problem, Jesse?” I ask impatiently.

“You’re bringing a woman here?” she asks coldly. “Does Sutton know about this?”

Great. Now, even my housekeeper is firmly set against me. And the hits just keep on coming.

“No, she doesn’t, and if she did, she’d probably try and stow herself away on one of my boats again. Oksana has that effect on most people.”

“Oksana?!” Jesse shrieks. I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“It’s still technically her house.”

“I haven’t had time to prepare!” Jesse cries, instantly panic stricken. “Ms. Pavlova is very specific about her meals. And the gardens. I haven’t been able to prune the begonias in weeks. And her suite!”

“What about it?” I ask, regretting making this call in the first place.

“Sutton is in the Ivory Suite!”

Oh, fuck me.

“Oksana will just have to make do with the Taupe Suite then,” I grit out.

“It doesn’t face the ocean,” Jesse reminds me. “The Ivory Suite is the only one that has a view of both the ocean and the garden.”

“Tough.”

She doesn’t seem amused in the slightest. “How long until she’s here?”

“As soon as I get my coffee down. Half an hour. An hour, tops.”

I hear a weird, rasping sound—a cross between a gasp and a grunt. And then the line goes dead.

That’s another woman I’ve pissed off in under ten minutes.

Now, all I have to do is throw Sutton in front of Oksana and that’ll make a hat trick.

Guess I’m an overachiever, too.

I have to hand it to Jesse: She sure can pull out all the stops when she sets her mind to something.

The foyer, living, and dining rooms are immaculate, all decorated with fresh vases of flowers. Pink hibiscus of course, because Oksana is partial to them when she’s in Nassau.

Even the dining table is set up as though the president is coming for dinner. If Jesse can pull off a five-course menu in the time I’ve given her, the woman definitely deserves a raise.

“Something smells wonderful,” Oksana declares, turning her nose up to the ceiling.

“Jesse’s probably giving herself high blood pressure trying to put together a suitable meal for you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“High blood pressure usually is.”

She frowns. “You seem to be implying that my appearance here is an inconvenience.”

“A little notice would have been nice.”

“And give you time to clear out before I got here?” she says shrewdly. “I think not.”

“If you came here with an agenda⁠—”

“I came here to see how my son is doing,” she cuts me off. “We haven’t spoken in weeks. You were supposed to come to Nassau for three days and you’ve ended up staying for over a month. Every time I ask you or Artem when you’re planning on returning home, I’m ignored. You left me no other choice, Oleg. Just because you decide to hide out here doesn’t mean the world has stopped spinning. There are plans underway, decisions that need to be made.”

“You’re referring to the task I gave you a few months ago.”

“‘Find me a wife,’ you said,” she says curtly. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” She pulls out her phone. “And I’ve narrowed it down to three candidates. All immensely appropriate.”

I roll my eyes. “Truly the stuff love is made of.”

She throws me a side glare. “I’m not trying to find you the love of your life, if there is even such a thing. I’m trying to find you a suitable partner. Someone who can carry your name and bear your babies. Someone who can represent the family and uphold our honor.”

Gritting my teeth, I turn away from her towards the dining table. “It’s too early in the day for this conversation.”

“Is there a reason you’re being so cagey about this?” Oksana asks. “In case you need reminding, you are the one who asked for my help.”

“I recall perfectly.”

“Then what’s changed?”

“I’m a busy man with lots of different balls in the air,” I huff. “It’s my prerogative to change my mind.”

“Actually, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. It’s a man’s prerogative to listen to the women in his life. In your case, that woman is me.”

“Don’t you have it all tied up in a neat little bow?”

Oksana strides past me to the head of the table. “Really, Oleg. If you were a little boy, I’d put you over my knee. You’ve exasperated me right into a headache—” She stops short, her gaze flitting to the third place-setting at the table. “Is someone joining us for dinner?”

Do it.

Just rip off the fucking Band-Aid.

“As a matter of fact, someone is.”

The plan is to tell Oksana about Sutton. Then to excuse myself, track Sutton down, and break the news to her next.

But before I can do either, Sutton walks right into the living room…

Wearing loose hair, denim shorts that just about cover her ass, and a Grateful Dead t-shirt.

It’s the closest I’ve seen Oksana come to actual surprise. Her eyes flare as they run down Sutton’s laidback outfit choice.

Considering Oksana is decked out in a white cashmere dress and a black Dior belt cinched around her waist, she probably thinks that showing up for dinner in denim is as heinously offensive as spitting in the food.

“Ms. Palmer,” Oksana croaks, her voice not quite as silky smooth as it normally is, “what are you doing in my house?”

Sutton’s eyes go wide.

But she still doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Oksana.

“I wasn’t aware that this was your house,” she says carefully. “I thought it was Oleg’s. He’s the one who brought me here.”

Oksana turns her arctic gaze on me. “Is that so?”

As both women glare at me, I clear my throat and gesture towards the table. “Jesse’s slaving away in there. We should do her the courtesy of sitting down and enjoying her food.”

Silence.

It’s like a Western movie. Three gunslingers with fingers twitching toward their triggers.

Sutton is the first to sit.

Then Oksana, still clinging to her spot at the head of the table, does the same, her glare ping-ponging between Sutton and myself.

I can see the plethora of questions circling in her head. But I know my mother. She will believe that asking any of them will make her look uninformed, and by extension, weak.

And Oksana Pavlova never, ever looks weak.

“So, Sutton,” she says, making Sutton flinch violently. “How are you enjoying Nassau?”

She plays with her salad fork. “It’s lovely here. It’s great waking up every day to a view of the ocean.”

Oksana’s eyelid spasms. “I’m sure it is. You do have a talent for being in the right place at the right time.”

“Is that why you and I keep crossing paths like this?”

I have to give it to Sutton. She’s handling this like a pro, almost as though she knew that Oksana was going to appear suddenly in Nassau and shake up the fragile peace we’ve got going.

Again, Oksana’s eyes flutter down to Sutton’s t-shirt. “The Grateful Dead,” she reads with obvious disdain. “Some sort of cult?”

“A band,” Sutton responds calmly. “A really good one, actually.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. I only listen to classical music.”

“How cultured. I’m afraid I wasn’t exposed to too much classical music growing up. My mother liked heavy metal. Or whatever music her flavor of the month boyfriend was into.”

Oksana’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Oh my… Did you also get your mother’s fashion sense?”

It’s a little bit like watching a train hitting a volleyball match. I want to look away, I want to step in—but I can’t.

“No, this is all me,” Sutton says, gesturing to her body. “My mother was more of a sequins and tassels kind of gal.”

Oksana’s nose pinches in discomfort. “You make her sound like a stripper.”

Sutton fakes a surprised gasp. “How’d you know?”

“Is she?” Oksana stutters, her well-honed composure fracturing in the wake of Sutton’s inexplicable decision to share her entire fucking life story with the most condescending woman in America.

“She is,” Sutton says with a bright smile. The minx—she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Or I should say, she was. She was forced into retirement.”

“By who?”

I shut my eyes as Sutton delivers the final blow with gusto. “The authorities. They arrested her when my sister and I were teenagers. Last I heard, she was still incarcerated.”

With that, Sutton Palmer has succeeded in doing what few others have: rendered my mother speechless.

“You… you cannot be serious,” she says at last.

Sutton simply shrugs. “Of course I am,” she promises. “The Grateful Dead really are a good band.”

I have to bite my fist to stop from laughing.

Oksana’s fluster doesn’t last long. She’s back on her acidic interrogation in no time. “I suppose living in a house like this must be a huge departure for you, then, given your… rough upbringing.”

Sutton nods wholeheartedly. “It’s definitely nicer than anywhere I lived growing up. But I’ve never really wanted to live in a mansion.”

Oksana snorts. “Everyone wants to live in a mansion.”

“Maybe the people you know,” Sutton counters. “But as for me, I only ever wanted stable parents, three hot meals, and a roof over my head. It didn’t matter if that roof was made of stone and concrete or clay and straw. As long as it was safe and dry.”

“You don’t ask for much.”

“Being homeless and parentless can really put things in perspective,” Sutton continues, matching Oksana’s haughty tone. “You value things that are really important.”

Oksana bristles at the pointed jab. “Is that right?”

“The people who live in mansions are concerned with things that don’t really matter—appearances, money, power. But me? I just want to be happy.”

“Then perhaps you should find somewhere else to live.”

“Mother—” I start to say.

But before I can finish my reprimand, Sutton jumps right in.

“No, it’s okay,” she says. “I would love to find somewhere else to live. But your son has made it abundantly clear that I’m not to leave this house. Or Nassau. So here I am. Until he says otherwise.”

Oksana’s eyes jump to me, the question bright in her eyes. I have half a mind to tell her, right here and now.

But before I can decide how to proceed, Jesse appears carrying a heaping tray that smells like heaven.

“Leek and onion soup, Ms. Pavlova,” Jesse announces, her usual cheery vibe completely diluted by my mother’s radioactive aura.

“Ah, Jesse, you remembered that it’s my favorite.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“And how is that boy of yours?”

“He turned six just last week. Your son was gracious enough to throw him a pirate-themed costume party.”

Oksana’s gaze oscillates towards me. “Is that so?”

“Teo was over the moon. It was a wonderful day.”

“I’m sure it was,” she says dismissively. “Can you have the pool boy take up my bags? I will need a long shower after this dinner.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Jesse answers, inclining her head. She gives me a nervous glance before continuing. “I’ll have your bags sent up to the Taupe Suite.”

Oksana is about to take a sip of her soup when she double takes. “Excuse me? Did you say the Taupe Suite?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“Is this some kind of joke, Jesse? I’m sure you remember that I always, always take the Ivory Suite.”

Sutton’s eyes widen as she tenses, her fingers digging into the armrests of her chair. “That’ll be my fault again,” she chimes in. “I’m in the Ivory Suite.”

Oksana turns to her so slowly that the effect is downright sinister. “You’re staying in my suite?”

“I wasn’t aware it was taken,” Sutton says, betraying not even the slightest bit of fear or regret.

It’s enough to make me want to burst into applause.

“Relax, Maman,” I sigh. “I’m the one who gave Sutton the Ivory Suite.”

“Well then, you’ll have to correct your mistake. That is my room.”

“There are five other suites in this bungalow,” I say. “You’re welcome to choose one of them.”

Her eyes narrow. “This is my house, Oleg. Why should I⁠—?”

“You’ve mentioned that a couple of times now,” I interject, my tone hardening like concrete. “That this is your house. It may have been once, but as you’ll recall, after father died, he left it to me in his will. Which makes it my house. And given that it is my house, I will dispense with the rooms as I see fit. You will take the Taupe Suite.”

Oksana looks like her head is about to explode right off her neck.

Sutton senses the impending violence and rises to her feet. “It’s okay, Oleg. I don’t care so much about the room I stay in. If she wants the suite so badly, she can have it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite.”

Without another word, she turns on her heel and walks out.

“There,” Oksana says with a haughty little sniff. “That’s settled then.”

I turn my fiercest glare on her. “You have some fucking nerve.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“And I don’t appreciate you coming here uninvited and throwing your weight around. I’m not a child anymore, Maman. And this is no longer your house or your staff to order around as before.”

Her eyes darken as she leans in towards me. As a boy, I used to stiffen in my shoes, praying that whatever sentence she passed down would be one that I could withstand.

It’s been a long time since those tricks worked on me.

“The woman betrayed you!” she hisses. “She sold you out to your enemies. She was working behind your back.”

“She was a pawn,” I reply, feigning boredom. “Nothing more.”

“Is that what she claims?”

“It’s what I know.”

Oksana slams her palms down on the table and rises, leaving her soup untouched.

I’ll have to apologize to Jesse later. She cooked for nothing.

“I expected more from you,” Oksana snarls. “I thought you were stronger. I thought I raised you to be smarter. Not to follow in the footsteps of every other man on the planet and be led around by your cock.” Her glower becomes even more pronounced. “People are talking, Oleg! This woman… she’s not fit to be your wife. She’s not fit to wear the Pavlov name. She has no idea what it takes—and who can blame her? She’s the derelict child of an absentee father and a whore mother.”

“Stripper.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her mother was a stripper. Not a whore.”

Her jaw clenches. “I see no difference. You need a real woman by your side. Not some cheap bitch off the street. Look at her, Oleg. Look at the clothes she wears, the company she keeps. Look at⁠—”

“Enough!”

I don’t raise my voice, but the command is unmistakable. Oksana’s lips seal shut, her eyes widening as I rise to my feet to tower over her.

“You’ve said your piece. Now, allow me to say mine: Sutton Palmer is my choice. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oleg—”

“You forget yourself, Maman,” I growl. “I respect you. I have always respected you. But things are different now. I am a grown man and I can make my own decisions. You can disagree with them all you want—but you will disagree in silence. Don’t mistake my respect for weakness.”

She starts to talk, but I hold up a hand to hush her.

“You will take the Taupe Suite. If you would rather not, then feel free to check into whatever five-star resort or one-star shack in Nassau that you like. I’ll gladly foot the bill.”

I’m walking towards the open terrace when Oksana calls out to me. “Where are you going?”

“To the boatyard,” I call back over my shoulder. “And whatever happens, I am not to be disturbed.”