The ten minutes of small talk with CeCe and Tony are excruciating.
A socialite, a businessman, and an athlete walk into a dinner party . . . it’s like the beginning of a bad joke. They’re only here to see Stella, and I can tell they don’t want to be talking to me any more than I want to be talking to them.
“Maybe I should go check on Stella,” CeCe suggests when we get tired of staring at each other.
“I’m sure Petra has it under control.”
I can practically see her proverbial ears perk up under all those blond hair extensions. “Oh, your new nanny has started already?”
“No. Petra’s a childhood friend of mine and Niko’s, and she’s in town this week.” I do worry that if Petra decides to go along with this plan, having introduced her as a friend rather than as my wife will have been a mistake. But it’s what I agreed to, so here we are.
“Oh, how delightful.” CeCe’s words couldn’t be more at odds with the look on her face.
Petra’s husky laugh carries into the living room from the entryway as she and Stella make their way toward us. The sound of her voice does uncomfortable things to the knot in the pit of my stomach. Having her here is both a relief and a worry—a contradiction, just like the woman herself.
I’m still looking at CeCe when they enter the room behind me, and I see the way her eyes bulge and her mouth hangs open in shock. She’s never flustered, so I turn my head to see what she’s gaping at.
“Cecelia?” Petra says, every bit as in shock as CeCe.
“Oh my God, Petra!” CeCe says as she rushes out of her seat and toward Petra.
They give each other a kiss on each cheek, but Petra’s look is one of cool detachment. Even as I wonder how they know each other, I can tell she doesn’t like CeCe one bit. I don’t think CeCe can tell though, because she always assumes everyone adores her. I glance back at her husband Tony, who’s still in his seat next to the one she vacated, sipping his scotch. His eyes do light up when he looks over at Stella, who CeCe has not yet even acknowledged, though she stands next to Petra holding her hand. As if she senses Tony’s eyes on her, Stella scurries over to me and curls up into my lap, resting her head on my chest.
“You’re Stella’s aunt?” Petra says, practically stupefied. If she’s anything like the teenager I once knew, she’s hard to rattle. What is it about CeCe that has her so on edge?
“Yes, my older sister Colette . . .” CeCe trails off, as if it’s too painful for her to continue. In reality, Colette was five years older, they ran in different social circles, and hardly saw or spoke to each other. Neither Colette nor Niko ever told me what had happened between her and her sister, but I knew it was bad enough that Colette didn’t want her sister anywhere near her child.
“I’m so sorry about Colette and Niko,” Petra says, “I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you.”
“Well, at least we still have little Stella to remind us of her,” CeCe says, then glances around, looking for the girl who’s allegedly the object of her affection but whom she hasn’t deigned to notice until it suits her storyline.
“She’s a jewel, for sure,” Petra says, offering Stella the only sincere smile she’s seen since her aunt and uncle arrived.
From my lap, Stella glows. I hope I’m not making a horrible mistake bringing Petra into our life. Stella adores her. If Petra refuses to help us, even after getting to know Stella, my niece will be crushed. And I don’t know how much more loss she can handle.
Petra takes a seat in the chair next to mine, opposite the couch Tony is seated on, and CeCe returns to join him. The conversation is less awkward than before Petra showed up, because she can talk to anyone about anything, and make it seem like she cares. It’s either a gift or a practiced skill, because there’s no way she’s actually interested in all the gossip CeCe is spewing about people they both know—I can tell by the way her face doesn’t move, the way the small smile is plastered on her lips, the way she keeps glancing at me as if to say ‘is this over yet?’ Unfortunately, it’s only just started.
“What’s the matter, Stella? Why won’t you give your Uncle Tony a kiss?” CeCe’s nasal voice carries across the living room, where we’ve gathered with our plates of cake now that our catered dinner is over, but it’s her words rather than the annoying quality of her voice that has my head turning.
“No, thank you,” Stella says as she turns her head away from where he stands above her, dips her fork into her cake, and takes a bite. The game of Sorry sits forgotten on the small table between her and her aunt.
“I don’t bite, you know,” Tony chuckles.
Even from across the room, I can see the way Stella’s shoulders bunch up as she shrinks into herself. Next to me, Petra stiffens. “What the fuck?” she whispers under her breath.
Does Tony not see how uncomfortable he’s making Stella? Or does he just not care?
“It’s just a kiss, Stella-Bella,” CeCe says.
“I just don’t want to kiss anyone, Aunt CeCe,” Stella says less audibly.
Petra looks at me pointedly, as if to say Why aren’t you doing anything about this?
I shrug, because as much as I want to punch Tony in the face right now, I know I can’t do anything to antagonize him or CeCe. Tom warned me about how tenuous my guardianship is. One wrong move could give them the ammunition they need to get custody, and I can’t give them that. Instead, I grind my teeth together, thinking I should probably tell Stella it’s time for bed. I suspect she’d go willingly, even though it’s early.
The look in Petra’s eyes lets me know my shrug and lack of instant action are not the response she was looking for.
She’s on her feet and heading across the room when Tony starts making smoochy kissing sounds and leaning down toward Stella. Petra’s hand is on his shoulder, pulling him back before I can say anything to stop this.
“The appropriate response when someone says they don’t want to kiss you is to back off,” Petra tells him, her voice steady and possibly louder than is absolutely necessary. “Not to use your superior size to force yourself on them.”
Tony takes one look at her hand, then eyes her like she disgusts him. She looks back at him like the feeling is mutual. Good, let her see how horrible they are. I don’t want my niece to suffer, but it’s necessary that Petra see the shit that makes the idea of Stella living with them so repulsive.
“I just wanted a kiss from my niece,” Tony says. “Don’t try to make it sound like something it’s not.”
“I’m sorry,” CeCe says to Petra from her seat at the table, “but why is this your concern?”
Petra’s look conveys exactly how pathetic she thinks CeCe is for not only being married to this piece of shit, but for defending him as he makes her niece uncomfortable.
“Any time a child feels powerless to stop an adult from touching her in a way she doesn’t want to be touched, it should be everyone’s concern.”
Her words trigger a memory in the back of my mind, but I can’t grasp hold of it because I’m too distracted by CeCe’s nasally voice as she says, “Oh Jesus, Petra, get over yourself,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s just a kiss.”
Petra glances over her shoulder at me as I lean forward in my seat and begin to stand. Her look tells me I’m reacting quite a bit too late.
She turns back toward Stella. “Ready for bed, sweetie?”
Petra reaches out her hand and Stella is out of her seat and has her arms around Petra so quickly it’s like she has the ability to travel at warp speed. Petra wraps her arm around Stella’s small shoulders as they turn back toward the wide doorway to the entryway.
“Thanks for coming over,” I say to CeCe and Tony as Petra leads Stella out of the room. “It’s been a pleasure, as always.” I doubt they miss my sarcastic tone.
“You do always have the most interesting friends, Alex,” CeCe replies. “Careful you don’t let people like her have too much influence over our girl. I’d hate to have to bring the fact that you hang out with lingerie models to the court’s attention.”
Oh, the icy notes of jealousy.
There is so much I want to say and it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I know she’s baiting me and I won’t fall into her trap. Petra has more integrity and drive than most people I know, and having walked down the catwalk at the world’s most famous and controversial fashion show years ago doesn’t change that. And in the few short days she’s known my niece, she’s shown her more love than Stella has ever seen from her aunt and uncle. But letting CeCe know any of that might do more harm than good. So instead, I walk them to the entryway and wait for the elevator to arrive. And when those doors finally close behind them, I breathe a deep sigh of relief.
I head down the hall toward Stella’s bedroom. When I arrive, Stella is already kneeling in front of her nightstand like she does every night. Petra sits next to her on her bed, observing the ritual we created together to help her continue to honor her mother and father. I join Stella on the floor, trying not to think about what it means that I’m letting Petra into this extremely private part of our lives. That I’m literally on my knees in front of her.
We recite the Russian prayer for the dead as Stella takes each of the wooden nesting dolls and places them inside of each other until there’s only one large doll on her nightstand. In the morning, she’ll take them apart and set them up individually so that we can repeat this moment again tomorrow evening.
“Okay,” I say, kissing the top of Stella’s curls. “Time for bed.”
“Is it okay if I want Petra to tuck me in?” she asks me.
“Of course it’s okay,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, “if Petra doesn’t mind.”
Petra swallows. “Of course I don’t mind.” Is it my imagination or is her voice even thicker than normal?
I head back to the living room to give them some privacy. I’m on the far side of the room looking out the window and across the terrace, wondering what will happen if Petra doesn’t agree to help me get citizenship and wondering how long I should wait before I press her for a decision, when I hear the clicking of her wedges on the wooden floor. She moves across the rug silently, but I feel her approaching the same way you feel a storm coming on: the temperature drops a few degrees and the air feels calm and thick, but you can hear the thunder in the distance and feel the electricity in the air. I brace for impact, because if Petra is upset—really and truly upset—that’s not good.
She stops with her shoulder next to mine, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t look at me, just gazes out the window as she says, “How could you put her in a position like that, Aleksandr?”
What is she accusing me of, exactly? “I don’t have any control over how Tony acts.”
She spins toward me and pushes her finger into my chest so fast I almost stumble backward. Almost.
“Bullshit,” she spits the word at me like it’s a bullet. “How can you love her like you clearly do and then stand by and watch her languish in a dangerous situation? Why didn’t you stop him when you saw how uncomfortable he was making Stella?”
“She wasn’t in any danger,” I remind Petra. “I was right there.” I want to give her my real reason, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“What you just witnessed was your niece being conditioned to accept unwanted attention from men. She very clearly said she didn’t want to kiss him, but he didn’t let up and the other adults who should have protected her made it seem like she was being the unreasonable one.” Her voice is frantic and high-pitched and I don’t know what to make of it. “How many times do you think that needs to happen before she finally stops pushing back? And once she does, what else will he—or someone else—try?”
I take in her wild eyes, the absolutely livid expression on her face, the fact that her finger has pounded into my sternum so many times it’s going to leave a mark. This is about Stella, sure. But it also feels personal. “What happened to you?” I ask, keeping my voice as calm as I’d keep it when I talk Stella out of a temper tantrum.
“None of your fucking business. You need to focus on Stella. Protect her, Sasha. Teach her to be strong and to demand that other people respect her boundaries. Don’t set her up to get taken advantage of over and over again.” Her voice breaks and she turns away, then starts walking across the room toward the entryway.
“Wait!” What the hell is she talking about? “Where are you going?”
“I have plans tonight. I told Stella I’d stop by tomorrow afternoon to say goodbye.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I told you I wasn’t staying in New York. I told you I have a life. I told you it wasn’t fair of you to ask me to stay,” she says, but I’m not sure what that means. Is she not willing to help me get citizenship? Or she will, but not by living in New York? “I hope you do right by Stella, Aleksandr. She’s perfect—feisty and innocent and beautiful. Let her stay that way.”
“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” I tell her. I hate the raw consistency of my words, the way they fall away, peeling back pieces of my armor and revealing just how helpless I feel.
She turns back toward me but keeps walking backward toward the elevator. “You do. You’ll figure out what she needs.”
“You’ve known her for three days and you understand her better than I do.”
“That’s because once upon a time, I was her. But I’m not her parent, you are.”
“Your instincts are great,” I tell her. “You’re going to make an unbelievable mom someday.” I shouldn’t feel a pang of loss at the statement. But suddenly my head is filled with images of her and Stella, together. And knowing those are dreams and not reality hurts more than it should.
This is what my father warned me about, the infatuation that only ends in self-destruction. Let her walk away so you can save yourself.
“I won’t be an unbelievable mother,” she says. “I decided a long time ago that I’m not having kids.”
“I don’t see how someone who’s such a natural with kids could not end up with kids of their own.” My thoughts spill out before I can think about holding them in.
“Luckily, I make my own decisions about my body,” she says, and spins on her heel to push the elevator button.
I stand there like an ass, unable to form any words at all, let alone the ones that will keep her here. Because I remember a time when I used her body as an excuse to push her away. And I wish that were the only betrayal that happened the night we said goodbye for the last time.
