Ivy Secrets (13 page)

She turned back to her work. A moment later, footsteps again. She looked up; it was not another Smithie, it was the professor himself.
Checking up on me
, Marina thought. She wondered if he’d just come from the men’s room.

He smiled at her with lingering eyes: She shifted her gaze back to her book without acknowledging him—the heartthrob professor, the flat-stomached, broad-chested, close-to-middle-aged man with the white-flecked temples and dusty gray eyes; the man probably accustomed to his austere British looks capturing the fantasies of every girl enrolled there.

Marina snorted and closed her book. No matter how often she caught Professor James ogling her, or how many boys she dry-humped in the backseat, there was only one man Marina hungered for.

They had almost done it once. She lowered her head now and studied the smooth edge of the wood library table as she remembered how close they had come. It had happened back home in Novokia. He had driven her to the country estate, where Marina was to be joined by her mother, her sister, and a few servants. It was to be an “all-girls weekend”—another of the queen’s never-ending attempts to bring harmony between Marina and Alexis.

The night, however, was stormy, and a call from the queen told Marina the bridge had washed out. Marina was left alone with Viktor in the huge, old castle in the woods.

In the reception room, Viktor built a fire. Marina said she was frightened to be alone in her room; Viktor suggested they stay up all night. She poured wine; he found canned goods in the pantry and heated them for dinner … baked beans, jellied ham, and soggy peas. It was the most delectable feast Marina had ever eaten.

After the meal, they sat by the fire, nestled under blankets. Marina asked Viktor if he thought she was pretty. He touched her face gently and said, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She had closed her eyes, expecting the taste of his lips on hers. When it did not come, she opened her eyes to see that Viktor had moved away from her and was stoking the fire.

He had never mentioned that night, and he had not come that close to her again. And Marina had spent the past year acting as though it did not matter.

She raised her head now and glanced up at the clock; Viktor was to meet her outside the library at nine o’clock, but it was only eight-fifteen. Still, she had to get out of here. She had to stop dreaming of what might have been.

Professor James walked past her again. She felt his eyes burrow into her back. In another second, he was bound to approach her and ask how her paper was coming. Right now, the Apache were the last thing she wanted to discuss.

She quickly stood and picked up her things, then caught sight of a Smithie virgin standing by the card catalog, hunched over a book. She looked at the girl’s stringy hair, her baggy corduroy jeans, her lint-flecked pea coat.
No wonder you’re a virgin
, Marina thought. Then she thought of Viktor again. Suddenly, her anger took hold.
It is not fair
,
she told herself.
I will not be another Smithie virgin. Not when there is a man I love.

Marina left the library with only one thought: Viktor would be in his apartment; Viktor would be waiting until just before nine, at which time he would descend the stairs, walk to the library, and wait dutifully for his charge.

“Not tonight,” Marina said aloud to the crisp night air. “Tonight is going to be different.”

She marched across campus alone, exhilarated by her freedom, driven by her decision. She was going to go to Viktor’s; she was going to profess her love. She would prove to Viktor that this was a new generation, and that the provincial suffocating mores of royalty not mixing with commoners was no longer appropriate, desirable, or necessary. Once she convinced him, Marina would, at last, get laid.

Leftover snow crunched beneath her feet; her breath burst foggy puffs in the icy air. For once, Marina was going to take charge. She was, after all, the princess. She was the one who should be in control, not her servant. He would love her; she would make him love her.

She went down the slope toward Morris House, and looked up to the window of his apartment across the street. A light burned.

She stopped at the curb before crossing and leaned against a tall oak tree for support. Just then Marina spotted movement in the doorway at the street, the doorway that led up to Viktor’s, the doorway that would give her entrance to the freeing of her spirit, the coming together of her life.

A figure emerged from the doorway. It wasn’t Viktor. It was a woman.

Marina froze. She watched the figure move up the sidewalk. When it passed under a streetlight, Marina recognized her. It was Dell Brooks, the woman who owned the bookstore where Marina had been a few times with Charlie and Tess. Dell Brooks, the friend of Tess’s mother, the woman who had befriended Tess. And who had apparently also befriended Viktor.
Her
Viktor.

Marina kept her hiding place behind the tree. Betrayal did a slow burn into her. Betrayal and loneliness. Viktor was having an affair with Dell Brooks, a woman who was free, a woman who was not a princess, and did not have to answer
to a king and a country, when she wanted to follow her heart.

She choked back her tears and plodded back to the library, in order to resume the only role to which she was entitled, and to be there when Viktor arrived.

    “Why so quiet?” Viktor asked as they walked toward Morris House.

Marina hugged her coat more closely to her. “I have a headache.”

“It is cold tonight.” He raised his wool collar around his neck.

Marina said nothing.

When they reached the porch, Viktor opened the door, looked inside, then allowed Marina to go past.

“I will see you in the morning,” he said.

The ache in her heart stopped her once again from responding.

She climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and slowly went to her room. Inside, she sat on the edge of her bed and let the tears flow quietly, the way a princess had been taught. She hated the feeling that would not go away, the feeling that there was another person inside of her, wanting to spring out, wanting to be part of the world. The world where people could talk about their feelings, could share their hopes, their dreams, where their destinies were not preordained. She hated that her emotions were tangled with complications, squeezed between oppressive layers of obligation, of duty. Above it all, Marina longed for Viktor; she ached for love. She held her stomach and bent forward, trying to push the torment away, willing her tears to stop.

“Marina.”

Marina looked up. It was Charlie. And Tess.

“Marina, what’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing.” She stood, wiped her tears. “I have a dreadful headache. And cramps.” There was no way these two girls—blue-collar Charlie and odd, artsy Tess—would ever understand her life, her pain.

Tess walked into the room and sat at Marina’s desk. “I hate cramps,” she said. “My mother calls it the curse.”

“I have a heating pad, Marina,” Charlie said.

“Do you want some Midol?” Tess asked.

“Have you started yet?”

“I got cramps so bad when I was a kid I used to throw up.”

“My mother always made me ride my bike,” Charlie went on.

“Yeah. The exercise thing. Mind over matter, and all that crap.”

Marina slouched back on the bed. She could no longer hold back her tears. “It is not my period,” she said. “It is Viktor.”

Her friends were silent.

Marina put her face in her hands and wept. It hurt, it ached, it throbbed inside her heart. She had never—ever—cried in front of anyone. But as she tried to get control of herself, the sobs grew more intense. She struggled to stop crying. She could not.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. A gentle hand. “Marina?” Charlie asked. “What happened?”

Marina could not take her hands from her face.

“God, Marina,” Tess said, “what did he do?”

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she sobbed. “Absolutely nothing.”

The girls were silent again.

“It’s okay,” Charlie said finally. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. You can tell us.”

“You’ll feel better,” Tess added. “Honest, you will.”

Slowly, Marina’s sobs eased. She sniffed for a moment, then set her hands on her lap. Through her watery eyes, she saw that Charlie sat beside her; Tess had moved her chair a little closer.

“He does not understand,” she said. “He does not understand how much I love him.” She stood and went to the window, not wanting to see their reactions. She yanked down the window shade. “There. I said it. I love Viktor Coe. I am in love with my damn bodyguard who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”

Charlie cleared her throat.

“Jesus,” Tess said. “But you have so many boyfriends.”

Marina almost laughed. “Boyfriends?” She turned back to them. “Boys, you mean. Boys. That is all they are. Stupid, juvenile boys.” She stepped forward and clenched her fist to
her heart. “Viktor is a man. He holds the pride of my country. You don’t understand. You cannot possibly understand. I am supposed to rule Novokia one day. I will be the queen. I need a man who is strong. Viktor is strong.” She barely heard her words. For the first time in her life, Marina was speaking her mind. And her mind was racing too quickly for her to stop the sounds from coming out. “I love him,” she said. “And it is impossible. He is a bodyguard. I am a princess. Neither of you has any idea how that feels. You can fall in love with any boy you meet. It does not matter. The future of a country does not matter.” She flopped back on the bed. Her limbs ached, her eyes ached, her heart felt as though it had been shattered, and scattered, into thousands of pieces.

“Does he know you love him?” Tess asked. “Have you told him?”

“There is no point. It would only cause more problems. Besides,” she added as she hung her head. “He has someone else now. I have waited too long.”

“He has someone else?” Charlie asked. “Here?”

“Yes,” Marina said and cast a sharp glance at Tess. “Your friend, Tess. That woman. Dell Brooks.”

Tess blinked. “Dell? God, she’s my mother’s age.”

“Viktor is not much younger. He is in his thirties.”

Tess blew out a puff of air. “Are you sure, Marina? I can’t believe that Dell—”

“Believe it. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Maybe they’re just friends,” Charlie said.

Marina laughed. “Americans are so naive.”

“I think you should tell him,” Tess said.

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can. The problem is you won’t.”

Marina studied Tess. What could this teenage misfit possibly know? Or Charlie—the Goody Two-shoes who thought angora sweaters were the key to happiness?

“You won’t tell him because you’re afraid,” Tess continued. “You’re afraid he doesn’t feel the same way about you, and then you’ll be hurt.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Charlie said.

Tess shrugged. “It only makes sense. We may be naive Americans, but we know that hurt’s part of life. Maybe
Novokia-ites—or whatever you call yourselves—don’t realize that.”

Marina laughed. “I believe we are called Novokians.”

“Novokians, schmovokian. I think you should tell the man. Get it over with.”

“You might be surprised at his reaction,” Charlie agreed.

Marina looked at her closed shade. Viktor thought she was tucked in for the night, he thought she was safe. He had no idea that he was the one inflicting her pain, not the strangers that he anticipated were lurking behind every bush.

She turned to Charlie and Tess—her friends. This was, she reminded herself, part of why she had come to America. She had wanted friends. She had wanted to feel like a normal girl. Maybe Charlie and Tess were more “normal” than she thought. And maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Will you help me?” Marina asked. “Will you help me figure out a plan?”

    They decided Marina should wait until Sunday. Her paper for government was due on Monday: she would cram to get it done but lie to Viktor and say she needed to go to the library at UMass. “Smith is very limited on its research of the Apache,” she would say. They hoped he wouldn’t suggest she go to Dell’s.

He didn’t. Marina spent an hour in the tower library, thumbing through books, making imaginary notes. It wasn’t easy: Viktor insisted on staying close behind her. UMass, after all, wasn’t Smith, and Viktor sensed increased danger around so many people.

When Marina announced that she was finished, they strolled to the car in the late-afternoon sun. Instead of climbing in the backseat, she told him she wanted to ride up front with him.

Viktor frowned.

“I am tired of viewing the world through black glass,” Marina pleaded. He opened the front passenger door without comment and Marina got in.

They followed the road out onto Route 9 in silence. As Viktor turned right toward Northampton, Marina began to cry. She was surprised at how easily the tears came.

“I miss Novokia, Viktor,” she said. “I miss the mountains.”

Viktor hesitated, then slowly nodded. “It is natural to be homesick. We’ve been gone a long time.”

Marina said nothing, but let the tears fall. The car rolled quietly past the parking lots and strip malls, past nurseries and farmstands, and white-steepled churches. Then, Marina spoke again. “I would like you to take a left onto Route 47,” she said.

Viktor stared ahead. “This is the right road for Northampton.”

“I know. But I want to see the mountains.”

He glanced at her, then looked back at the road. He was not as handsome as many boys she’d been out with, he was not as clean-cut, not at all American. But he was Viktor, and he was finally going to be hers.

“The girls told me about a place where I can see the mountains. It is called the Summit House. At Skinner Park.” She paused, then added, “Please take me there.”

As they approached the intersection, Marina held her breath. She could not be certain Viktor would comply: it was entirely possible that he sensed her trap. She did not breathe again until he put on the signal, then turned left onto Route 47.