Chapter Five : Estrangement
Corinne
“Literature?” I asked hesitantly, and although I understood the word she spoke, I never thought that this evening would end up with me seated at the table while Henla cleared up, leaving me to discuss literature with Madame Elise - the manager of a burlesque club, and Nina, Dimitri’s childhood friend.
“Yes,” she smiled, “what are you currently reading?”
“Enter the Black Oak.” The words tumbled from my lips, and even as I spoke them, I knew it was a mistake - that these women were not the type to enjoy that kind of literature - despite Madame Elise’s profession.
“Oh?” Nina quirked a perfectly manicured brow, and I recognised her intrigue as a wolf circling its prey.
Only I couldn’t simply curse her, nor could I escape and disengage, and herein lay the problem - my awkwardness in all its glory - the same odd habits that my mother despised.
“I haven’t heard of that one, who is the author?”
“Monique Edenwood,” I smiled through gritted teeth.
“What is it about?” Madame Elise interjected. “Perhaps I should add it to my reading list.”
The blush crept up from the back of my neck, crawling across my jawline as it highlighted my cheekbones.
“It’s kind of a second chance romance where the man is part of a secret society, he does some terrible things - pushes boundaries that make you cringe, whilst simultaneously rooting for him and the female lead tyo reunite.”
I kept my voice steady as I spoke, despite Nina’s scowl of absolute disdain at what I was reading.
“It’s a romance?” she spluttered.
There was no saving this situation, because these people were not my people. I longed for Zoey, Marie, Jesse, Maxine, and even brittle Brenna.
“A dark romance.” I nodded as I corrected her.
“You said it was about a secret society?” Madame Elise asked, her voice strained as she spoke. All the while, Nina glared at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
“Yes.” I jutted my chin out, refusing to cower at my choice in literature.
“Oh, Corinne.” Madame’s tone was now filled with something akin to sympathy. “I hope you haven’t romanticized Dimitri like the man in your book - I know that the Bratva is often compared to such microcosms of society, but I am not sure what depth of emotion Dimitri is capable of, and to characterize him as such would be a grave mistake.”
“Oh no!” I defended. “I haven’t done that at all. The character in the book is a completely different personality to Dimitri - and of course, it is purely fiction.” My blush deepened with each word I spoke, my embarrassment a tangible, living, breathing entity in the room, and I had to remind myself to exhale - to control my situation.
Her gaze weighed on me, and still more words tumbled from my lips. “In this book, the character does deplorable things, but his love knows no ends - and I suppose, could even be suffocating at times, so no - I am fully aware that Jack is not Dimitri.”
“Good.” Madame Elise conceded. “Perhaps the only similarity between the two is that they are both capable of deplorable things.” Her hand rested on my knee - a gesture of comfort and nothing more.
“It’s easy to romanticize this lifestyle - easy to read books where the hero is a mafia man, capable of deep emotions - unending love, but at the end of the day, it is simply fiction. I have been with a lot of Bratva men, and not one of them has shown that they are capable of anything more - even Dimitri.”
My mouth turned acidic and sour as I realsied what she was saying - she had been with Dimitri - had tasted him, fucked him. I wanted nothing more than to shove her and Nina away. Instead, I remained rooted in position as she turned towards Nina.
“What book has your attention currently?”
The ringing in my ears did little to block out Nina’s answer, and I was forced to sit there with a polite smile on my lips as she lamented about how wonderful fucking Tolstoy was. Nina made a point of throwing in the occasional jibe towards me as she said, “you Americans are so funny,” or “this is the problem with Americans, they would appreciate some romance author over the greats.” And when I asked her if she hadn’t been schooled in America, she simply scoffed at the very suggestion, correcting me with a swiftness that could be lethal.
“I received a proper Russian education in our home country. I only attended university here.”
Did my smile seem as strained to her as it felt to me? I could only imagine that it did, because I wanted to clutch that silver plated fork between my fingers and spear her fucking heart with it.
She and Madame Elise began talking about the art of dance, and it was soon revealed that Nina was a ballet dancer - because didn’t I know, the Russian Ballet was an art unrivaled by any other.
Nina the ballerina, whom I wished to stab.