Page 124 of Koroleva

48

Tequila, salt and lime

There were hings about Nikita that drove me crazy, one of which was how she continually made me feel excluded from her life, as if there wasn't a commitment to me in her mind beyond having sex. And that frustrated me.

Now she intended to take my son to Saint Petersburg so that my mother-in-law could raise him. Was that why she wanted to change his last name, to rip him away from me? Adriano had already suffered enough, and he might not be my blood son, but he had become a part of my life, just as his father had, or Aleksa, or Dante, who weren’t blood relatives either, yet I felt them as part of my family.

It had been days since I last stopped by the bar to chat with Dante. I needed someone's advice, or just to vent, and as everyone knows, people who work behind a bar tend to be the best at giving advice.

"Blessed are the eyes," he whispered. "Has your little lady let you off the bed leg and allowed you to come to the den?" I gave him a smile.

"Yes, today she forgot to lock my ankle."

"You look thinner. That Russian is sucking the life out of you." He made an obscene gesture with his hand and tongue.

"That Russian is driving me crazier than she should. I needed some fresh air and a friend's chat."

"Well, you've come to the right place for that." He filled a couple of shot glasses with my favorite whiskey. "To the women who drive men mad." We clinked glasses and drank.

"What's the celebration?" asked a sharp voice from behind me.

Dante raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, giving a slight nod.

I turned around immediately because there, in front of me, with a conspiratorial smile, was the woman I had denounced the past two weeks: Irene.

I hadn't contacted her since the last night we spent together, not even responding to her WhatsApp messages, putting it off time and again.

"Hello," I greeted her, feeling a bit guilty for having so openly ignored her.

"Hello. I saw your motorcycle outside and thought I'd come in to say hi, but if you'd rather I didn't stay, I'll leave."

There was no reproach in her voice, she looked as beautiful as ever, the scar on her forehead had healed quite well. She seemed a bit unsure about my response.

"Shall I get you the usual?" Dante, with the cloth on his shoulder, gave me a complicit look.

He was giving me an opportunity to talk, and I owed it to Irene. She looked at me questioningly.

"Yes, the usual," I confirmed. The woman's face immediately relaxed and she took the stool closest to mine. It was strange because I felt like she was a stranger, even though she had been by my side for more than two and a half years. The Nikita hurricane had swept through everything, even the closest people who had always been there to support me.

"I don't even know what to say..." I muttered a bit embarrassed.

"You don't have to say anything," she sighed sadly.

"Yes, I do need to say something. I've been too absent and, at the very least, I should have replied to your messages; you don't deserve to be ignored. Sorry, it's been some complicated and very absorbing weeks."

"It's okay, I understand that it must not be easy to adjust. Don't take my words the wrong way, I wouldn't want to offend your marriage or your wife."

She fell silent.

"It's not being easy," I admitted, "you're right about that."

Dante placed two tequilas in front of us and continued drying glasses from the dishwasher.

"I wanted to see you," she admitted reservedly. "Not in a couple's way, because we were never that, but I did consider myself your friend, aside from us sleeping together, and I thought we were adults, that even if you didn't want anything more with me in that aspect, we could talk about it and not lose the friendship. Not replying after I sent you those photos and videos... I don't know. I felt ridiculous and a bit hurt. Because I would have understood a, 'Hey, Irene, this sleeping together thing is over because I want to try with my wife.' But the silence... The silence was as if you pushed me away completely, as if I didn't even deserve your response. It hurt, and I needed to tell you so it doesn't fester inside." She placed her hand on her chest.

It was early, so it was still a good time for a beer in peace. I approached the counter. Dante was drying some glasses when he saw me. He immediately dropped the cloth and slapped his hand against mine.

"Damn," I rubbed my face, "I've been an idiot, I'm sorry, I've behaved terribly and you have every right in the world to be angry with me."

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