He sighed heavily.
'We mocked the poor and the downtrodden, we destroyed purely for the pleasure of destroying. We'd go to restaurants and clubs and completely vandalize them. I mean tear them apart, cause tens of thousands of pounds worth of damage. At the end of the night we'd pay for the damages in cash, and just walk away.'
I gasped and he looked uncomfortable, but he carried on.
'Our goal was to be as profligate as possible. We did anything we wanted, took anything we wanted, because we could. Because there were no consequences for us. We could buy our way out of everything. As horrible as it may sound to you, our parents took the attitude that it was a good place where we could unleash potent, pent-up aristocratic testosterone. Boys will be boys.'
I inhaled sharply, disgusted that such a society could even exist, and shocked that Ivan had been a member of it. How was it possible that the very people I always held as more refined and civilized than the rest of society, should be members of such a horrible club?
Ivan ignored my shocked expression.
'There was another aspect to the club. It was very competitive. One time the club held a contest. Up for grabs were the words "The Terrible" affixed behind the winner's name. The rules. The member who impaled the most women in a one-hour period would be the winner and forever after carry that title. No using prostitutes. Of course, I couldn't let anyone else win. It would have been a slap in the face if someone else got the title that was so obviously meant to be behind my name. What was going to sound better than Ivan the Terrible. I wanted the title.'
He shrugged.
'While everyone else was running around trying to get drunk women to lie low with, I got twenty women-some I'd already fucked before, some whom I knew wanted me but I had no interest in, and some that I promised to go out with even though I had zero interest in doing so-to stand in a row and I literarily fucked my way down the line. At the end of less than an hour, my cock had dipped into every one of those women. I was crowned Ivan the Terrible during a drink until you vomit ceremony. So there, that's my dirty little secret.'
I have to admit the story sickened me. 'Awww … bless your little pea pickin' heart,' I said softly.
'Don't think I don't know that Southerners say that when they think someone is an idiot?'
'I don't know what to think,' I confessed truthfully.
'We were just a bunch of schoolboys, frauds, parading around pretending to be men. We didn't feel like frauds because everyone else in our little club was just as fraudulent. Some of us grew up, Tawny. I did.'
'Would you still do anything to win?' I asked softly.
He looked me in the eye. 'Yeah.'
'That's terrible.'
'I can't help it. It's just in me. Once I set my mind on something I have to win at all costs.'
I stared at him. I definitely would not want to be in competition for something he wanted.
'By the way,' he said, and reached down to the floor for his pants. He put his hand into the side pocket and brought out a small box. He opened it and dislodged a ring from its velvet base. Then he pulled my hand towards him and slipped the ring on my finger.
'That's your engagement ring,' he said flatly.
I looked at the ring. It was a baguette cut diamond ring, the biggest, showiest one I had ever seen.
I looked up at him. 'It's … big,' I murmured.
He shrugged. 'The bigger it is, the easier they will believe the lie.'
'It feels so strange to be marrying you.'
'It's just an arrangement, Tawny.'
'I know, I know,' I said quickly.
'Is there anyone from America you want to invite to our wedding? I can fly them over.'
I shook my head.
He frowned. 'Your grandparents?'
I looked down at the huge ring on my finger. 'They died in a car crash when I was fourteen.'
'I'm sorry.'
'It's all right. It was a long time ago. It actually feels like another lifetime.'
'No cousins, uncles or aunties?' he asked.
I looked him right in the eye. 'No, they all dropped away when my mother became a stripper.'
Then he said the most beautiful thing. 'How I wish I could have met your mother,' he said softly and sincerely.
My eyes welled up with tears. When I blinked to clear them away they rolled down my cheeks.
He wiped them away with his thumbs. 'Do you have a photograph of her?'
Unable to speak, I nodded.
'Can I see it?'
I nodded again and, uncrossing my legs, got off the bed and went to my phone. I came back to the bed and showed her to him.
He looked at her photograph carefully before raising his eyes to me. 'You look just like her.'
I sniffed. 'You really think so?'
He smiled. 'Yeah. Like an angel. When angels take their clothes off they make rainbows in men's hearts.'
I stared at him. 'Why Ivan, I didn't think you had it in you. You're a poet.'
He laughed and, imitating my accent, said, 'Honey, I am many things, but I ain't no poet.'
CHAPTER 25
Tawny Maxwell
Nothing suited Ivan's mother less than the nickname Bobo. She had straight black hair like him and the same sensual lips, but her eyes were dark chocolate and her skin was carefully preserved and tended to, and despite her penchant for sun and heat, kept a delicate share of pale. She was wearing a grey turtle-neck jumper, a knee-length pencil line black skirt, and a pair of black kitten-heeled court shoes.
She stood up to receive me and it was immediately obvious that she must have been a great beauty once. Even now she was attractive, elegant and as narrow-hipped as a snake. Robert once told me that when he met her she was a drop-dead beauty. He called her a free spirit who could never be tamed by a mere man.
Her marvelously painted eyes watched me with vivid interest.
'Hello, Tawny,' she greeted. As I had expected, her voice was cultured and clear.
'Hello Ma'am.' I realized that I had unconsciously scrubbed the Southern twang out of my voice.
She smiled charmingly. 'Do sit down,' she invited, and vaguely gestured towards the sofa next to the one she had been sitting on.
'Thank you,' I said in my normal voice and perched at the end of the sofa.
She rang a bell and a woman in a black dress with a white apron appeared at the door.
'You may serve tea now, Betty,' she said.
The woman nodded and disappeared.
She sat on the sofa diagonal to me and crossed her smooth legs. 'So you are about to marry my son.'
I smiled. 'It would seem so.
'Yes, I can see how my son would adore you, but you don't seem to be Robert's type,' she observed shrewdly.
'Well, I must have been. He married me,' I said coolly. You were right Robert. Still she ain't gettin' no secrets from me.
'Well,' she exhaled. 'He must have changed a great deal since I knew him.'
'He always said wonderful things about you.'
'Did he? He was a sly devil.'
I smiled. 'Yes Ma'am, he was that, but he changed a lot in the last years of his life.'
'I didn't go to his funeral,' she admitted softly.
I gave a little shrug. Looking out of the window at the rolling green landscape I remembered Robert. 'I know. We played him Gustav Mahler's Adagietto, 5th symphony.'
'Yes, I remember now he told me he wanted me to play it for him at his funeral.'
An awkward silence descended on us. I brought my gaze back to her. 'It doesn't matter that you didn't go. He knew you wouldn't.'
She tried to frown but the Botox wouldn't allow it. 'Really?'
'In fact, he said, if you came he would be disappointed.'
Her eyes were alive with curiosity. 'Why?'
'Because it would mean life had finally beaten you into doing things you did not want to do. He admired you for being, in his words, wildly and fiercely independent.'
She took a deep breath. 'Are you in love with my son?' she asked archly.
I bit my lower lip. She was far too intelligent for me to lie to her. 'I hope you won't think me rude if I don't answer that question. I find it almost impossible to talk about my private life with someone I have just met.'
She leaned back and regarded me with a frown. 'So you're not in love with Ivan and yet you are marrying him. My son is no fool. Why would he marry you? Is it to protect you?'
'You'll just have to ask him that. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say.'
'I wondered about you. Everybody said you were a gold digger, but you're not, are you?'
'What makes you say that?'
She smiled. 'Because, my dear, I'm a gold digger and you're nothing like me.'
My mouth dropped open.
She lifted one elegant shoulder and dropped it. 'It's not a secret. I married Ivan's father for his title, but he was an impoverished Lord other than this place, which had been heavily mortgaged. He was, what is that charming saying you Americans have for a person who has nothing?'
'Doesn't have a pot to piss in?' I said.
She smiled. 'No, I was thinking of something else, but that will do. I left him shortly after I conceived Ivan. I always wanted my child to have a title. They're so useful. Then I married Robert for his money, but he was … too headstrong and too selfish. Too much like me, I guess. I divorced him and married my current husband who is perfect.'
I stared at her, stupefied by her honesty. She was an awe-inspiring woman. The way she totally owned all her actions was impressive and empowering. She knew what she wanted and went out and got it, and in return for her unflinching honesty she seemed well adjusted and totally at ease with all her decisions.