Sergey and Marina had been married for four years. They first met at one of the New Year's parties arranged by the holding 'Iterra' for the children of its employees. Sergey, at the age of twenty-seven, had no children, but his friends, Alain and Victor, married early and almost immediately gave birth to twins, Anya and Sasha. Now the twins were eight years old, and at their school there was a New Year's party at which the children made different performances; some recited poetry, some sang songs, both in chorus and solo. Happy parents dragged Sergey to this celebration of life. In exchange, they promised to arrange a party at home, where they could socialize, sitting in front of the TV and drinking rare drinks, brought back by Victor from his business trips abroad.
***
Sergey
I had no plans that evening, I was moping and kind of devastated. In fact, that evening my girlfriend Natasha and I were already supposed to settle down in a room at the five-star Imperial Hotel in Karlovy Vary, but just a week before the trip she announced that we were not suited to each other, and we should break up. The blow for me was painful, and most importantly, I could not understand the reason.
Before, everything seemed to be going fine, we even shared plans on further living together, and I was thinking about proposing to her, being in the Czech Republic. And the sex was awesome; Natasha was very hot, and with her athletic training (she was a former gymnast) we did some breathtaking things in bed...
I thought she was seeing someone, but lately the rumors about her behavior gave me no clues. In general, the mood was rubbish, and I did not want to be alone for the whole New Year's vacation. Then I was approached by Alain and Victor with a proposal to go with them to the school concert, where their twins would perform. "Why not," I thought, and agreed.
And here we are in the second school-gymnasium, beautifully decorated for the New Year.
Well, what can I say, kids are kids, their performances are not professional, but innocent and touching. Thus, Anya and Sasha sang a duet 'The forest raised a Christmas tree', and Anya played the piano. In general, it was childish, but very sentimental. And the rest of the concert did not let us down; the parents did their best, making children learn poems, songs and dances, which they are now presented to the public. All performances were received with great enthusiasm, and each of them ended with thunderous applause. I also clapped my hands with pleasure, feeling my spirits rise with each passing minute.
And then I noticed a girl a few seats away from me. She was sitting next to a short, overweight young mother, excited about her child, who was just reading a poem about Santa Claus. What exactly caught my attention, I did not understand at once. No, the fact that she is very beautiful, having delicate features, high breasts, no less than the second size, thick curls of blond hair framing the oval, beautifully contoured face, this is understandable, but what else?
Ah, yes, her smile... More precisely, SMILE. When she smiled, and now she did it especially often, it seemed as if her entire face was illuminated by a spotlight, making her even more beautiful, and illuminating everything around.
Just at that moment, the performance of the son of her friend, I suppose, ended, and in a flurry of applause, the silvery laughter of this stranger was heard in response to some remark of a neighbor. Her laughter seemed to have touched something in my soul, and it resonated like a string, causing an irresistible desire to get acquainted, so that, upon the concert ending, I mustered up the courage to approach the girl before leaving the hall, feverishly thinking of what to say to her.
"Tell me, didn't we meet at the last corporate party?" I said to the stranger.
Surprised, the girl looked at me, and something flashed in her eyes.
"No, you are mistaken. I do not work at Iterra."
"Then where do you work?" I was taken aback, being sure that all here were employees of our holding, but then I checked myself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Sergey, a manager of Silikavel JSC. However, it does not matter. You know, you're so young, I even thought that you might be a student at our university."
The girl smiled, and her cheeks showed very nice dimples.
"Well, Marina, are you coming?" her friend intervened in the conversation.
"Oh, sorry, I'm keeping you," I did not want to finish the conversation, but at the same time I didn't know how to continue it. "So, your name is Marina. I have a something interesting for you, and if you give me your phone number, I can surprise you."
The girl laughed and asked, "Is that how you get acquainted with everyone, or did you make an exception for me?"
"No, this is the first time it's happened to me. I'm usually as shy as a lamb and don't approach beautiful women."
"So I thought," she smiled slyly, but still dictated the phone number, and I quickly wrote it down.
The second meeting took place literally a day later...
***
My willpower wasn't strong enough, and a day later I called the number I had written down.
"Hello," I heard a friendly voice in the receiver.
"Hello, this is Sergey, we met the day before yesterday."
"Oh, it's you. Hello. And where is the promised surprise?"
"Everything is ready, but we have to meet for it."
"When?"
"I suggest we don't wait too long. How about tonight?"
"Well, that's fine. I'm working until 5:00, so if you can pick me up right after work ends, I'll meet you there."
"Deal!" I exclaimed. "And where are you located?"
Marina told me that she worked as an operating nurse at the clinic 'Expert'. I knew this clinic; we passed the annual checkup there. Its founders had Western capital, providing the clinic with excellent equipment and contacts with foreign colleagues using their expertise.
Entering the lobby, I asked the receptionist, where can I find Marina Viktorovna Tkachyova? She said that most likely in the nurses' room.
"And there she is!" The girl pointed to a couple coming down the stairs.
I immediately recognized Marina, and next to her there was a familiar tall thin man in his thirties, smooth-shaven, elegant suit and tie, talking animatedly to a smiling nurse. They reached the front desk and said goodbye, after which Marina turned her attention to me.
"Oh, who do I see, is it really that timid gentleman that does not have the courage to approach a beautiful woman?" Her laughter sounded like silver bells in my ears, and I felt that I was lost.
"And what was the promised surprise?" she asked, still cheerfully.
"Well, it's a surprise." I did not give in to the provocation and offered to go to my car.
Out into the street, we approached the silver Volkswagen Passat, bought by me a year and a half ago in a car dealership when I wanted to throw dust in Natasha's eyes. Opening the passenger door, I asked the girl to have a seat, which she did, without the slightest embarrassment and anxiety.
Much later, I asked her why she so blithely got into the car with a stranger, without thinking about the consequences, and Marina replied that from the first moment we met she felt that I was no fake and that she had known me for years. That's how she was thinking of me.
As we drove, I suggested that we get something to eat first, since the surprise was expected in about a couple of hours, and we would need to eat anyway. So, we stopped at a small restaurant nearby which I knew had good food and spent the next two hours chatting.
It turned out that we had a lot in common; we both love sports, sci-fi and the sea, and Marina also sometimes writes stories of time travelers, which interests me, and some of them have even been published.
After dinner I took her to the bank of the river, where the setting sun revealed a magnificent view of the frozen water surface, in which the reflection of the rays falling on the ice floes shimmered like sparks. The most interesting thing, which I found out quite recently, was that this place was where the light pollution from the city was minimal, and as soon as the sun went down, a scattering of very large stars appeared in the sky, which are not visible in the city.
We stood in silence for quite a long time until we finally froze, after which we went to the car. All the way back Marina was silent, and she said already near her house:
"I didn't think you were such a romantic, but I love it," and we kissed for the first time. That kiss was remembered for a long time, because it was the beginning of our life together.
From that day on we met almost daily, except for the days when Marina had evening duty, or when I had to travel on company business.
Our dates became more and more personal, we enjoyed kissing often, and after about a month and a half we ended up in bed. However, this term cannot convey all that we felt during our intimacy. Marina turned out to be a very sensual girl, and I hoped I hadn't let her down. At least I didn't disappoint her, and I was fascinated by her head over heels.
From that moment on we strove to meet closely as often as possible, and a month later I proposed to her.
As I remember it now, it was in the park, where we were taking our usual walks. Nature had not yet awakened from its winter sleep, but raindrops had already appeared in some places. My heart was beating so fast and strong that it seemed to get stuck in my throat as I offered her the ring, opening the case, and said in a breaking voice:
"Would you marry me?"
I saw her eyes flash, but she didn't say anything, just hugged and kissed me so tightly that we both almost fainted, suffocating. I realized that this was the answer, and exactly the one I needed...
The wedding was three months later, a small one, just immediate relatives and friends. We decided together that it would be better to spend the money we had saved on our honeymoon vacation, which we spent in Crete at the hotel, or should I say a holiday hotel, called 'Creta-Star'.
The hotel was right on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea, our accommodation option provided "all inclusive", and the hotel had an excellent animation team working on a regular basis, so, the time flew by unnoticed.
We swam and sunbathed a lot. A couple of times we went out to the nearby town of Rethymnon, where we walked along the embankment in the bay past the beautiful yachts, reaching the breakwater, and walking along it, admiring the sea perspective, where yachts argued with seagulls to fill the entire field of vision, buying souvenirs made of olive wood, plaids with Greek ornaments and the like.
Back home, we almost immediately moved into a small studio apartment almost in the center of city, taking on a mortgage. Our parents helped us pay the first installment and I had some savings as well.
The apartment was very conveniently located, because it was no more than a fifteen-minute walk to work for both of us, although we had to go in different directions.
Marina's work starts earlier but also ends earlier, so it so happened that I came back home with dinner already waiting but washing dishes and cleaning the apartment are part of my duties.
On weekends we'd go to the theater, to the cinema, visit my and her friends, or just go for a walk in the park when the weather allowed.
We enjoyed each other's company to the full.
***
Marina
During the four years I have been with Sergey I can't get enough of my man. We seem to understand each other from one glance. I just melt in his arms, and the sex is such that I have 'butterflies in the stomach'. In the last year, however, things have somehow gone downhill. Sergey complains of fatigue, began incomprehensible nosebleeds, and most importantly, he does not want to go to the doctor, saying it's all because of hard work in the company. They were just concluding new contracts for equipment, and he often had to stay late at the office, and therefore had to go to bed rather late. So, the kind of nights in bed that we had at the beginning of our family life could now be counted on the fingers. And nothing works with kids.
I tried several times to talk to him seriously, but he kept turning everything into a joke. Sometimes during these arguments, he even found the strength to show me that it wasn't that bad. Nevertheless, I talked to Professor Dmitry Anatolievich Kramskoy in our clinic, who promised me that during the next routine check-up he would be thoroughly examined by all doctors, citing the new regulations for such examinations.
Our clinic in general has a wonderful team, everyone treats me well, however, because I look too young, few people call me the full name, many doctors, especially at an age, call me affectionate diminutive Marinochka. However, I like it, not feeling myself aged. But I do not allow the patients familiarity so as not to lower the prestige of the medical institution.
Dmitry Anatolievich, besides being a deputy Chief Physician, is also an amazing diagnostician, so I was sure that the examination would be all-embracing. And so it turned out. According to the results of the first tests, Dmitry Anatolievich convinced Sergey to undergo a full examination, saying that there was something he did not like, but what it was, he could not say, and will only say after a week Sergey spent in the clinic, where, he would receive a supportive therapy, able to cope with his stress and increased fatigue.
At the end of this period the doctor invited me into his office.
"Thank you, Dmitry Anatolievich", I rushed to him as soon as I entered the office. "Sergey feels much better."
But he somehow did not hurry to support me in joy, and asked me to sit down. "We need to have a serious conversation," he said. My heart ached, and I fell into a chair across from him. He hesitated for a while, and finally made up his mind.
"Marinochka," the gray-haired doctor began, "I must tell you that your husband has a very rare disease, which usually manifests itself in earlier stages, more often in childhood. I will be very frank now, but don't be frightened right away. In principle, it can be cured, but because of the rarity of the disease, the cost of treatment is just off the charts. You see, a huge amount of money has gone into researching treatments and developing medications, and to get it back it takes either a large number of patients, or... Well, you know."
It was like a blow to the head, and I was horrified to ask:
"What happens if you don't treat it?"
"Unfortunately, the situation will only get worse. In about thirty percent of cases, the disease becomes fatal. Even without that, it severely limits the quality of life. Most importantly, the sooner treatment is started, the better the prognosis. Right now, at the earliest stage it is possible to completely stop the consequences, and what will be, let's say, six months, no one can say for certain. In general, it is better not to drag it out. Our clinic has partners in Germany, and they are ready to provide such treatment. I have already contacted them."
"H...how much?" I mumbled with unruly lips.
"Ah, unfortunately, just the first course will cost a hundred thousand, and we need at least two more. The entire course of treatment will take about four months, and all the time the patient must be in the clinic."
"One hundred thousand rubles?" I perked up, feverishly thinking how soon we would be able to sell our apartment.
"Unfortunately, dollars. And that's just the first course. The entire treatment and rehabilitation could cost at least half a million."
I felt like the sky fell on me, everything went dark.
"Are you okay?" the doctor looked at me, alarmed. My face must have frightened him, and he placed a half-filled glass of water in my hand, with a distinctive smell of a well-known sedative.
"Here, drink this."
"Our apartment doesn't cost that much," I muttered, barely moving my lips, and drained the glass in one gulp, not feeling a taste
"Well, you can still try to get a loan or ask people for help. But time is running out. I'm afraid that in two or three months the prognosis will not be so comforting, not to mention the cost of treatment."
"I understand everything, thank you. But please don't tell Sergey, and I'll try to think of something."
I pulled myself together, trying not to cry, and left the doctor's office.
Still unable to keep the terrible news in my head, I staggered down the street of the sun-drenched city, full of people who, rejoicing in the warmth of late fall, enjoyed the weather. The only thought in my head was, "What do I do?" I couldn't imagine where to find such money. Our small apartment, especially if we sell it quickly, is unlikely to be sufficient for even one course of treatment, and we need the whole three. Borrowing from friends? Not an option. None of them had anywhere near that amount of money. And how were we supposed to pay them back?
My first thought was to go to the regional administration. After all, there are some funds, including charity, something else. Well, it's impossible to imagine that no one there can help!
For a whole week I was running around in different organizations, starting with the regional administration and ending with various charitable organizations, and everywhere I was met with sympathy, but they just couldn't find the money... Or they didn't want to give any, focusing on the fact that they don't have enough money even for children, so they had to beg for it on TV. By the way, as an option, they offered to apply to TV to raise money, but they explained that the main thing for TVs now was the children, who were obviously not to blame for anything, and they would give money for them more willingly.
Sergey knew nothing, was happy about the improvement of his health and was making plans for a vacation, suggesting a trip to Cyprus in the spring and heatedly discussing the details. I tried my best to support these discussions, but, unfortunately, I could not give out positive emotions on such a level, and Sergey began to suspect something and ask questions. I had to come up with a story that we had a severely ill patient whose life was in question, and that lately I was very tired from the operations.
"We'll have rest, and everything will be Ok," I exclaimed cheerfully, and Sergey believed, coming back into a good mood. Well, I could not put on my sick husband's shoulders an unbearable burden, but gradually my resolve was melting...
***
After another trip to the officials' offices, I sat in a café waiting for my order; nothing special, just coffee and croissant as a late breakfast, and my thoughts were gloomier than a storm cloud.
"Marina Viktorovna! May I have a sit?"
Raising my head, I saw Mikhail.
I met Mikhail four years ago, the day when he just came into the clinic for another checkup and immediately tried to hit on me. It was him that I came down the stairs with when Sergey first came to my work. I knew that he was the owner of the Itera holding company to which our clinic was allocated.
Handsome, suave, but I always thought that the oligarchs, and Mikhail certainly can be classified as such, do not look for a serious relationship with the staff, and becoming a rich man's toy is not in my rules. That is why I politely but firmly rejected his advances, and then I met Sergey, and everything else faded into the background.
Moreover, he did not have much time for courting, his work schedule was quite busy, requiring frequent long absences for business of his holding company. Not so long ago his name was included in Forbes' list of Russia's richest people, though far from being on the very first lines.
Soon after Sergey and I got married, he, to my relief, stepped aside altogether.
"To tell you the truth, I'm not up to the company now," I answered him harshly.
"Why? Did somebody hurt you? Just tell me, and I'll punish him up!"
There was a wave of optimism from Mikhail, which contrasted sharply with my mood, but trying to be polite, I still answered:
"Just a bad day. Problems, you know."
"And you try sharing them with, let us say, me. Who knows, maybe it's not so bad."
And then it was like something broke inside me. My optimism, multiplied by my black melancholy, blew the cork out of a bottle of warmed champagne. Tears came pouring down in a hail, and I burst into tears...
I came to my senses from the monotonous, soothing voice, and found Mikhail was sitting next to me, hugging and holding my face against his chest and stroking my hair.
"Now, now, everything can always be fixed. The only thing you can't fix is death, but that's not what you're talking about..."
"What if it's about this?" I pushed the comforting man away from me and straightened up, trying to stifle my tears.
"From that point on, please, tell me more details." Mikhail pulled himself up and stared at me watchfully.
And I, tired of all my unsuccessful searches and the need to keep everything a secret from my husband, told him everything. The words came pouring out; a little incoherent, jumping from one to another, I told him what diagnosis my husband had, how much treatment costs, and how I raced through my friends and knocked on doors, trying to scrape together the money for at least one course, and how got an epic fail everywhere. What I could scrape together was barely enough even for one course, and that included the sale of the apartment.
Mikhail listened carefully, without interrupting, but so that I wanted to tell him everything to the end. Which I did.
Deflated after the confession, I took out my handkerchief and began to clean myself up. At that moment the waiter brought more coffee for me and the man sitting next to me, who at some point managed to make an order.
"And now I just don't know what else to do," I finished with one last sob and wiped my eyes with my handkerchief.
Mikhail was quiet for a while, and then slowly said: "You know, Marina, as I think, it's not so hopeless. We just have to think about it, and then who knows, maybe I could be able to do something."
"Really?" Hope flared up in me, and I stared at the man.
"Really," he said confidently, and then added: "In the meantime, I suggest we get something to eat here, you obviously need your strength. And you know what, come to my office the day after tomorrow, maybe something will be clearer."
My heart was beating fast. I had been given hope, and I was willing to do anything to make that hope a reality.
***
Mikhail
Recently my holding had been booming; its high-quality metallurgical products were very popular both at home and abroad. There were some thoughts on expansion, but half a million bucks was easy to take-out and would have had little to no effect on the state of the company. Another question was, why would I do that? Of course, I was no stranger to charity. Not so long ago a charitable foundation established within the holding provided targeted help to children who were in need or in trouble. But here it is different.
I liked, one might even say liked very much, this sweet and cheerful girl, or rather a young woman. When I saw her today, I was just amazed at how different she was from herself a few months ago. Nevertheless, I did not want to part with the money for nothing either. After all, who is her husband to me? I even had a nasty thought in my head that his death would give me a chance to chase this beautiful woman, even despite her look today.
I pressed the intercom button:
"Nikolai."
"Yes, Mikhail Vasilyevich."
"Urgently gather all the information on Sergey Veselov, manager of Silicavel JSC. Especially about his illness."
"How urgent?"
"I think by tomorrow evening I would like to have the whole picture."
"It'll be done, Mikhail Vasilyevich."
I switched off and thought about it, resting my chin on the thumb of my right hand, my left hand tapping softly on the table. Sure, it's a lot of money, but I wondered how far a woman would go for the man she loved.
***
"How can you do that to me?!" Marina said dumbfounded in response to my proposal.
"And what's wrong? Why should I throw away so much money, without getting anything in return? Your husband and I are not friends; we do not even know each other. Are you suggesting that I'm willing to throw money away so easily just for the sake of humanity? Then look at how many sick and destitute people there are in this country... If I were to help everyone like that, my money wouldn't last long. I'm willing to help in concrete terms to your husband, and it's only fair that you get involved.
"What about...?"
"Barter. It's just a simple barter. Claw me and I'll claw thee. That's the way it's been done since the dawn of time. But I guarantee he'll be all right. I will provide all the necessary treatment, and even if the amount you mentioned is not enough, I will still see it through to the end. Moreover, since he will be treated in Germany and for quite a long time, I will ensure that you visit him in the clinic, providing my personal plane and accommodation in the best hotel, let's say, for a week after two."
Marina sat there as if frozen. Her face looked like a mask, but it was as if I could see her thoughts running wildly through her head. She had tried everything, nothing worked, and here is a chance. And what a chance. Gradually the expression on her face showed that she had come to a decision, and I stepped in:
"So, what is your decision? Shall we go over the details of the agreement again?" I asked and continued without waiting for her response:
"So, in a week, your husband and you will be issued visas to Germany, at the same time I will conclude a contract with the Charité clinic for the admission and treatment of your husband. My consultants have conducted preliminary negotiations, and the clinic is committed to putting him on his feet. They assure me that after that he will be completely healthy, but just in case he will be insured at my expense by Alliance SE in case of relapse, and if anything, Charité will do everything necessary to prevent a relapse in the future."
I looked intently at Marina.
"Is everything clear so far?"
The white as chalk woman nodded stiffly, and I continued:
"So, on Monday next week you fly with your husband to Germany by Lufthansa flight, and, having arranged him there, a week later you return on my private plane here, where you have to fulfill your part of the deal. And in two weeks, you will fly back to Berlin on my own plane. Your booking will be at the same Steigenberger Hotel, within walking distance of the Charité, where you will spend a week with your husband and then return to me. And so on until he is discharged. I think there's no point in telling your husband about a private charter, you can always say you flew Aeroflot or Lufthansa. And as for the money, feel free to refer to my charitable foundation, everyone will be warned there."
"And what will happen to me?" The woman said with trembling lips.
"Oh my God, no big deal. It's just that when you're here, I'll become a kind of deputy to your husband."
"But how will he...?"
"He won't know anything, and as soon as he comes back here, I swear I won't let him know a word, and I'll be out of your life forever. You'll have to put up with me just for about ten weeks in total. Besides, I promise I'll do everything I can to make those weeks seem less awful to you. Just make sure you keep your end of the bargain, too. I can understand that women sometimes have headaches, or they are in no mood at all. In that case, of course, I'm not going to rape you, but if you do it too often, it can lead to the termination of the contract, with all the consequences..."
"I understand", Marina exhaled. "So, how is it going to be?"
"Tomorrow, you have to give me your passports and photos for the visas, and then take care of your husband. Then come back here. You will be met by my driver, and he will bring you to my house. You don't need to take anything from your home, everything you need will be bought here," and I held out my hand to seal the contract, noticing that the girl's hand was icy.
"Now, now, don't worry so much, the main thing is that your husband will live."
***
Marina
The gentle rocking of the limousine lulled me to sleep, and my head was all jumbled up: the packing, the flight, Berlin, the clinic. So many things. There are two weeks behind us filled with bustle.
At first, I had this difficult conversation with Sergey. I had to tell him about the diagnosis, but I did not have the courage to say that this disease, if left untreated, is often fatal. I did not want to drive my husband into depression. But what I said was enough to completely knock him out of his equilibrium. Fortunately, the news that the charity foundation 'Partnership' is ready to allocate funds for his flight to Germany and treatment, and even promises to provide my flights to him for a week after two, returned his self-control to some extent. But most importantly, he is holding up.
I also had to make an agreement at work about short-term unpaid leave to have flights, but here Dmitriy Anatolievich helped, and everything sorted itself out by itself. Besides, he told me that the 'Partnership' foundation had transferred money to the clinic and my vacation would be paid. Then I had a talk with my parents...
And after that there was the actual flight and registration at the clinic.
There we were met and accommodated by a very good-looking doctor, Professor Stintzing, still young, but already inspiring confidence with his vast knowledge, confidence and detailed explanations. He gave us a tour of the clinic and Sergey was placed in a private room with a toilet, shower and TV. The fact that the room had high speed Wi-Fi was a big help, so we could stay in touch.
There were three meals a day at the clinic on a choice of three menus, and if that does not suit your taste you can order something customized that will certainly suit the discerning taste of any patient.
I spent all the time this day with my husband until the night, we walked around the university garden, remembering all the good things in our lives and being charged with optimism for the future. It was not until about eight o'clock in the evening that I went to my hotel, which was not far, a ten-minute walk across the Hugo-Pröyss-Brücke Bridge. Fortunately, my suitcase was on wheels.
The large double room with a bed of king size was rather ascetic. In addition to the bed itself there were two nightstands on its sides, a table with a chair on wheels in front of it and a TV on the wall above it. Another small round table with a wing chair and a floor lamp were nearby. In the bathroom, in addition to the toilet, there was a bathtub and a shower, so I could use whatever I wanted.
I took a shower and stretched out on the bed exhaustedly. I didn't feel like doing anything, my head was full of thoughts about the future. I could not find the strength to confess to my husband about the deal I had made with the oligarch, and I tried not to think about it. In addition, I was worried about Sergey and what the examination would reveal, what the tests would show. With this I fell asleep, and in the morning, I went back to my husband.
In the middle of the week all examinations and tests were done and Dr. Stintzing assured me that there was nothing super complicated and they would start the first course of treatment tomorrow. He assured me that the main symptoms would be gone by the end of the first course, i.e. in three weeks, and that after that it would just be a restorative treatment and subsequent courses to consolidate the results. He confirmed once again that if nothing unforeseen occurred, the entire treatment would take about three and a half to four months.
Now these words of his warmed my heart and gave me strength for the future.
***
A limousine stops, interrupting my memories.
Mikhail's country cottage in an upscale community was practically a palace. Three-story, more than three hundred square meters in plan, it contained eight bedrooms; a master bedroom and seven guest bedrooms located on the second and third floors. On the first floor there was a huge living room with an entrance hall, a big kitchen-dining room and two rooms for servants. And in the basement, there was a game room with bar and billiards, gym and indoor pool with access into the outdoor one through a plastic curtain. Next to the pool there was a sauna, so you can swim all year round.
All bedrooms are equipped with their own bathrooms.
I was met on the broad porch by Mikhail himself and the servants lined up beside him: the housekeeper, her husband the gardener, the cook and two visiting maids. I could also see the guards in the courtyard, but they tried to be inconspicuous.
"Okay, everybody," Mikhail said to the residents, "This is your new mistress, Marina. Follow all her orders as if they were mine."
Embarrassed and blushing, I looked reproachfully at the landlord, but said a polite hello, and hurried to follow him inside the house to escape the stares.
My host led me to a huge bedroom with a king-sized bed and a wardrobe-like closet that could be entered as a room. Mikhail pointed to the right side of the closet and said, switching to more familiar language, "This is where your stuff will be. I bought something for the first few days. If you need anything else, tell Glafira, my housekeeper, she'll take care of it."
I saw a couple of dresses and a pantsuit on the racks, and underwear in the drawers. Everything seemed to be my size, as the owner confirmed. "My secretary Ira is practically your size. She bought everything to her taste. If you don't like anything, we'll replace it."
"But why? I don't need all these, I have my own ones," I babbled completely embarrassed. "I'm here just temporarily."
"It's okay. The main thing is that you don't have problems with it. And now we'll have dinner. For your information, we don't really have a set meal schedule, but we usually eat together: breakfast around seven in the morning, lunch from one to two, and dinner at six or seven in the evening. However, if you suddenly feel hungry, you can always find something in the fridge in the kitchen. In the meantime, go change, and I'll go out so as not to embarrass you."
I nodded with gratitude, but I did not take a chance of changing into someone else's clothes, and began to unpack my suitcase. I took out a change of underwear, a pink blouse, and a dark blue skirt, and went into the bathroom to take a shower after the trip.
The bathroom was a lot better than the one in the hotel, despite its five stars, and had a window. It was about twenty square meters in size, and there was a large Jacuzzi tub in the center, near the window, and a shower stall to the right of it. The toilet itself, was placed to the left, behind a frosted glass partition. Various kinds of shampoos, conditioners, and other cosmetics not always recognizable to me, such as body milk, were shelved in rows near the tub and in the shower stall. To the left of the door was a large washbasin with a mirror above it, and on a shelf were two glasses of toothpaste and brushes. The one on the right had a brush sealed in cellophane and a new tube of toothpaste, and the one on the left, the owner's one, also had a safety razor and a bottle of shaving foam next to it. A touchless liquid soap dispenser hung on the wall between the glasses.
I took a quick shower, appreciating the ability to switch the shower head, which allowed me to choose different modes of operation, to the "rain shower," wiped myself with a fluffy and soft towel, one of those hanging on a hook to the right of the door, and went into the bedroom. I tried not to think about what was going to happen here anytime soon, but the thoughts flashed through my mind. I couldn't imagine cheating on my beloved husband, but I remembered Mikhail's words about breaking the contract.
It wasn't that I didn't like him, but the very fact that I would have to sleep with him made his image, if not unpleasant, certainly not desirable. This evening, however, he did not encroach on me. After a sumptuous dinner, at which I could not even recognize all the dishes, he took me to the bedroom and left me alone, "to get used to it," as he put it.
Two weeks passed that way: Mikhail slept in one of the guest bedrooms, allowing me, the guest, to use the master bedroom. But he spent every evening talking to me, we watched TV or records of movies and TV series together, and Mikhail was always interested in what exactly I liked, as if compiling my psychological portrait.
In the evenings after work, I would go home and spend at least half an hour on Skype talking to Sergey, and then I got into the limousine and went to Mikhail's country house.
Despite the fact that our communication had become more relaxed, and by the end of the two-week period, not only the owner, but also I, were addressing each other on a short name basis, it was all quite stressful. I expected every minute to start pestering, and it did not allow me to relax and fully appreciate all the comfort provided in the mansion, despite the helpful staff. I kept feeling like I was being discussed and judged as a corrupt woman. And this tension only subsided on the flight to Berlin.
***
Mikhail
Marina's week with her husband was full of optimism, especially since she had learned that he was no longer suffering from constant bleeding and that his strength had recovered considerably, and, as the people looking after them reported to me, they often walked together across the river to the Spreebogen park, going there by a circuitous route across the Moltke-Bruges bridge and further passing the Swiss embassy. And having walked enough, they would take the shorter route back along Konrad-Adenauer-Strasse via the Kronprinzenbrücke Bridge.
By the end of the week her husband had more strength, and they were already going out to Platz der Republik, reaching the Reichstag, whose walls still bore inscriptions left by Soviet soldiers and carefully preserved by modern Germans, even such as: "Berlin is over!"
Her and Sergey's conversations usually revolved around procedures, the people around him, plans for the future, and how much he missed her. Marina was sharing news about how her activities at the clinic were going, the latest surgeries in which she took part, about the weather in our city and everything else. But not once did they touch on our agreement with her, which raised my optimism. She also missed Sergey and told him so with a pure heart, which always ended in kisses.
Marina returned home already quite calm. Apparently, it seemed to her that from now on everything would be the same. But this was not part of my plans, so in the evening, on the day of her arrival, I, as usual, took her into the bedroom, but instead of leaving, began to undress myself. Marina froze, staring at me.
"Wh-what do you want to do?" the girl asked in a trembling voice.
"I want to take a shower... with you," I answered cheerfully, as I stripped down to my boxers. "Why aren't you naked yet?"
"I... I... can't... I'm ashamed...
"Well, what nonsense, since we agreed that now I am your husband, and you should not be ashamed before your husband. You're not ashamed before Sergey, are you?"
Marina seemed to be numb. Of course, she knew that sooner or later it would happen, but it seems, she hoped that it would be later rather than sooner. And now the moment had come. I walked up to her, gently hugged her and pressed her to me.
"Well, well, calm down. Nothing terrible will happen," I said softly, stroking the young woman's head, whose heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my skin, and then I leaned down and pressed my lips firmly to her trembling ones.
"Well, imagine you're in Germany, in a sauna. You probably know that everyone there is naked, no matter what the sex. And here you and I are just going to take a shower together. I promise I won't pester you tonight. Do you hear me? I promise." I said firmly, and began to help the woman undress by unbuttoning her blouse.
Hearing my words and believing that the worst will not happen yet, she unzipped her skirt with a trembling hand, and a few minutes later she stood before me naked, covering her breasts with one hand and her pubes with the other one.
"Well done," I smiled, having already taken everything off myself, and, taking her by the elbow, pulled her into the shower cabin, which was quite large, one and a half by one and a half meters where I turned on the so-called rain shower head.
The proximity of my naked body with my erect penis obviously made her uneasy, but at the same time, she had to remember that she was bound by the contract and that she would have to yield to me for the sake of her husband, even if something inside her resisted. On the way to the cabin, she caught a glimpse of my dignity, and it seemed to make her tremble. I didn't have to be ashamed of my size; my cock was about twenty centimeters long and about the thickness of her wrist. I don't know her husband's size, but still don't think it is much larger. More likely even smaller.
Standing under the waterfall in the shower cabin, I began soaping her with the soft sponge, turning her back to me, and though she resisted a little at first, she relented, letting me soap her from behind. While I soaped her back and even her butt cheeks, she somehow put up with it, though she got the occasional chill, but when I turned her to face me and began soaping her breasts, she groaned and clutched my hands in hers, not letting me move.
"What is it, baby?" I asked softly, stopping the movements.
"Can I do it myself? Please!" there was a pleading sound in her voice, and I obeyed and handed her the sponge.
"But you still have to wash me. After all, that was the plan, I wash you, and you wash me. Do you agree?"
Marina nodded her head, turned away and began to soap herself from the front with relief, being forced by the back and ass to periodically touch my dick. Turning to face me was apparently over her head. She quickly finished soaping and rinsed everything off herself, twirling from side to side under the rain shower jets.
"Now it's my turn," I said as I handed her the soapy sponge and turned my back.
I don't think Marina hadn't ever showered with her husband, so, in principle, there shouldn't have been anything too much for her to do, so she rather deftly soaped my back, ass, and legs, after which I turned to face her just as she was standing, leaning over and finishing soaping my calves. And my straining cock appeared close to the young woman's eyes in all its glory. She straightened up abruptly and, trying not to look down, began soaping my chest, while I watched her with interest. After soaping my chest, arms and stomach, she had to move on to my horny flesh, and then I stopped her:
"Not with the sponge! Just with your hands."
Trembling even more, the young woman, taking more foam in her right hand, began to soap my dick, hardly closing her fingers on its shaft. As she continued, tightly gripping the shaft and went over the head, my knees trembled, and I exhaled. "More."
She ran her soapy hand over the head again... and again... and then she quickly ducked her hand under my dick, soaping my scrotum, and straightened up, saying with relief, "That's all!"
I paused, and then reluctantly said, "I guess you're right," whereupon I quickly rinsed myself under the jets, cut off the water, and slid the shower cabin doors open and was the first to get out.
When we dried off and left the bathroom, Marina hurriedly dived under the covers without even removing the towel folded like a turban from her head, and when I followed her, she squeaked in a trembling voice, "You promised!"
"I am a man of my word. We'll just sleep in the same bed, I won't even touch you," and then I turned my back to her and calmed down, pretending to fall asleep.
Marina tossed and turned for a long time, feeling the strange man next to her at arm's length. But after about half an hour, she couldn't take it anymore and slowly fell asleep. Later, I fell asleep, too.
In the morning I got up first and brought in a tray with 'breakfast in bed', already prepared by the cook. Nothing special: scrambled eggs, Viennese sausages, cheese and lettuce, black coffee, and a glass of orange juice.
"Sleepyhead, it's time to wake up," I called affectionately, kissing her on the cheek.
My words made the girl wake up and seem to remember everything that had happened the day before, and it made her blush, but the smell of coffee whetted her appetite, and she first drank the juice, and then feverishly pounced on the food. Her appetite seemed to be brutal, a result of the stress.
That's about how those two weeks went. We spent all our off-duty time together, except for her visits home to talk to her husband. And on weekends I arranged excursions to nearby sights. Marina, she said, had never traveled or walked so much before. At the end of the day, we would come round to restaurants, bowling, disco clubs, and other places of entertainment, so that by the nightfall she was physically and emotionally exhausted and would quickly fall asleep in the bed that she was forced to share with me. Before going to bed we often showered together. Marina was no longer so obviously embarrassed by washing my genitals, and she even let me do her the courtesy in return, but I did not allow any encroachment on her, and gradually it became a routine activity as well.
And Marina gradually got used to sleeping with me, being assured that it was safe for her morality, though sometimes she woke up in my arms in the morning, feeling my morning erection. At the same time, often she herself would roll over to me at night and snuggle up, apparently forgetting herself in her sleep. But I held myself in check, and she gradually relaxed, no longer expecting a nasty trick.
So Friday came, the day of her flight to Berlin.
***
Marina
Sleeping with another man in the same bed is still an ordeal. First of all, the joint shower already caused excitement and tension in my body, plus my dreams were mostly erotic, causing internal languor, with which I had to fight. Nevertheless, the owner of the house knew how to control himself, and everything somehow worked out.
Therefore, I went on my second flight to Berlin with a light heart: my sinning had not yet taken place, and I secretly hoped that everything would somehow resolve itself, and that I would be able to remain faithful to my husband. But my belief was irrational, for I knew that it would not last forever.
When I met my husband, I burst into tears of relief, seeing his refreshed appearance and the obvious gain of strength. This week we walked a lot farther, went to Tiergarten, the Potsdamer Platz Theater, the Brandenburg Gate, and even sat in the Prater, Berlin's oldest biergarten, drinking beer under age-old chestnut trees. It had been brewed there since 1837, and had sausages, pretzel buns, and potato salad as snacks.
Sergey had already improved in health so we stumbled into my room and recalled our youth, giving ourselves to each other with a fervor we had forgotten. It was something I had been missing lately, because everything that had been going on in Mikhail's mansion had kept me in a constant state of intense arousal, which, being unsatisfied, sometimes resulted in a pulling pain in the groin area. And the joy of sex with my beloved was encouraging and gave me hope that everything would somehow work out, and most importantly, that we would be together. Sex always brought us closer together, I had an orgasm every time, and I fell in love with my man even more intensely.
That night, which was the last one before I left for home, I cried in my hotel room, and my tears were a mixture of joy at the apparent recovery of the man I loved, and bitterness at the price I would have to pay for it.
When I arrived back at Mikhail's mansion, I didn't see him. Some business in the holding company demanded his departure, and Glafira said that he was not expected back until tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow. So, I had a quiet dinner, watched TV, and went to bed, reminiscing about the week with my husband. I fell asleep imperceptibly imagining the details of our last night...
The dream I had was so real. I could feel with the skin of my back my husband pressed against me, his left hand slipped under me and gently squeezing my breast, rubbing my nipple, while his right one stroked my tummy, periodically going up to my breast and caressing it as well.
Suddenly the right hand moved from my breasts down to my already wet pussy and began to play with my lips and clit. The simultaneous burning kisses on my neck and ears added passion. I let out a deep moan as I reveled in my lover's caresses. I wasn't wearing a nightie, and I didn't even remember when I'd taken it off. I wasn't aware of anything at all, reveling in the unity of passion with my beloved.
"Come on, honey, come on... I want you..." I moaned hoarsely, and finally, the head of his hard as a stone cock touched the entrance to my innermost place...
"Ohhh..." escaped from me as the love rod began to slowly slide inside, decisively pushing the walls of my hospitable, well-moistened vagina. For a moment it seemed to me that Sergey was especially big in this place today, and the delightful fullness made butterflies' flutter through my body.
Over several successive thrusts, the cock finally entered fully, reaching the bottom of my womb and touching something inside, making my whole body feel like it was electrocuted, and I moaned loudly again:
"Yes... yes... exactly, my love... you're so... big... and strong... I missed you..." Heavy breathing interspersed with groans escaped from my chest along with incoherent words, while his hands kept kneading my breasts, twitching and twisting my nipples...
At that moment, he began a steady progressive motion inside me, and I began to impatiently thrust myself toward him, trying to be in touch as tightly as possible with my lover.
His finger touched my clit and began to gently rub it in a way that stars lit up my eyes, and I mumbled frantically:
"Yes... yes... more... deeper... Yes, sooo... aaaahhh..."
Gradually, in the depths of my vagina, heat began to build up, flowing in from everywhere, sending sparks up my nerves and tingling all over my body. Hot male breath in my ear, strong arms and a strong torso led me to the real heights of pleasure, and I just melted in his hands like ice cream in hot morning coffee. There was a pleasant tension all over my body, similar to a faint tickle. It was very pleasant, languid, warm, and erotic.
It made me skewer myself on the cock even more actively, and my husband probably sensed my approach and began to move even more vigorously and powerfully. And then the hearth inside me, having grown to gigantic size, suddenly exploded with the most powerful dynamite, a convulsion ran through my body, and I twitched several times, thrusting deeply on the cock. My vaginal muscles began to contract violently, spasming around the cock and making it swell up even more and splash out inside in several hot jets. My eyes closed, everything throbbed, and waves of heat rolled through my body, my toes clenched and unclenched, and every cell screamed with pleasure...
I was lying in nirvana, feeling my husband's cock spasming inside me, literally firing my vaginal walls with his hot semen, and I even momentarily regretted that I was taking the pill, as the desire to conceive a new member of the family was so strong at that moment. I was bathed in the warmth of my husband's embrace, and I had no strength, not only to talk, but even to think about anything specific... My thoughts flowed unhurriedly and relaxed, although some worm did not allow me to relax completely, bothering me.
"I told you I would do everything I could to make these weeks seem less awful to you."
Mikhail's voice behind, who was hugging me, hit me over the head. There was a ringing in my ears, and my mouth went dry.
This was no dream! This is not a husband!! There's another man's cock deflating in my pussy right now!!!
***
"Did you like it?" He asked as he came out of me.
It was like if a frost had gripped me. I couldn't get a word out and I couldn't move. My mind was a jumble of thoughts: "how?" and "why?" and "where is Sergey?" Gradually, my mind began to clear, and what seemed like a dream began to be reality. Tears suddenly gushed from my eyes as the thought struck me: "Well, that's it. I cheated! But I didn't know. I couldn't have known. He wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow!"
"H-h-how did you... ended up here?" I managed to mumble through my tears.
"I flew in at night, and here you are lying, so tempting. So I caressed you, and took off your nightgown. By the way you didn't even resist."
"But... you promised..."
"When?"
"When you went to bed with me, that you wouldn't touch me," I said doomily, choking on tears.
"That was last time you were here, and I made no promises this time. And you know it was bound to happen sometime, so no complaints accepted. Tell me, did you like it?"
I said nothing, but I had to admit to myself that I hadn't had such crazy sex with my husband in a long time. Except at the beginning of our married life. And yet, my resentment burned; it would be better if he had told me directly what he wanted, than to do it thievingly, under the guise of a husband.
At that moment, I did not understand that Mikhail had no idea about what was going on in my head, about the erotic dream, and he was sure that he was the one who had inflamed me with his skill. I turned away from him and pretended to be asleep.
Mikhail sighed, put his arm around me, and gradually fell asleep, too.
I lay awake for a long time, the scenes of the recent intercourse were running through my head against my will, but no matter how hard I tried to disgust myself with what had happened, I couldn't. The only thing I decided was to try not to give away my excitement next time, and to give my body to him without obvious emotion. With these thoughts I fell asleep.
In the morning, I was awakened by a demanding kiss, and Mikhail began to insistently caress me, trying again to arouse the same emotions as yesterday. But I tried hard not to give in, and even though my body let me down as my vagina was wet and my breathing became heavy, and even with groans, I tried not to move, while Mikhail moved his cock assertively inside me.
I didn't have an orgasm this time, whether it was my involuntary protest in response to the violence, as I understood this, or whether I just wasn't in the mood, but when Mikhail came inside me, I hurried to the shower, to my landlord's displeasure, to wash off the traces of my sin.
"Yeah, it looks like I still need to work on you," he said as I came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a big towel. I didn't say anything and started to get ready for work.
***
Sergey
Six months have passed since I was discharged from the Charité clinic. It seems to be gone for good, no recurrence. I can't even imagine how I have survived all this. If it hadn't been for Marina, I don't think I would have survived. She was always there, she often came to see me and kept me optimistic. Although, according to Dr. Stintzing, who immediately promised a complete cure, there was nothing special. Still, the diagnosis seemed serious enough.
Marina's arrivals always lifted my spirits and gave me hope for a speedy recovery. We had a wonderful time together. But for the past three months something had been eating away at her, and she had a sad expression on her face, a kind of undercurrent of... guilt or something? I always attributed this to the fact that she felt sorry for me, being healthy herself, and tried my best to heal as quickly as possible to relieve her of this healthy person's guilt complex.
Most importantly, in the last weeks of treatment, and even more so after discharge, I had so much energy that our intimate relations reached a new level, became probably even cooler than when we started our family life. Marina always had an orgasm or two, and she looked at me with such love and tenderness that my heart ached. Sometimes she even cried out of sheer emotion, but she always said with a smile that it was from happiness.
About a month ago we finally decided to make a family, and Marina stopped taking the pills. Before, Dmitriy Anatolievich insisted that we take birth control, since the disease could damage the genome of the unborn child, but now he did not have even the slightest doubt that everything was okay, and we were happy to work on conception.
I must say that after my discharge Marina gradually thawed out, and there were no more of those mood swings that had distinguished her before. Apparently, my illness was hard for her.
"Sergey, are you coming to eat?" I heard my beloved's voice from the kitchen, where for quite a long time the breathtaking smell of supper came from, which she, as usual, managed to cook after work.
"I'm coming," I shouted back, and then my phone rang, announcing the arrival of a text message. Before I left the room, I decided to see what was on it.
Do you know everything about your wife? And who was she living with when you were sick?
I wonder who could this nonsense be coming from? The phone number was unfamiliar, and when I tried to call back, the machine said there is no such number. I decided it was some kind of spam and closed the message.
On the menu for today was Chicken Kiev cutlets with rice. In general, my wife is an awesome cook. It seems like a simple dish, but it's extremely delicious, and just the way I like it.
While I was eating, Marina was looking at me with her hand under her chin and smiling.
"And why don't you eat?" I wondered.
"I already grabbed some after work. You know that after six I try not to eat, God forbid to spoil the figure. You'll fall out of love."
At this, her eyes showed sadness, and I hurried to reassure her: "I'll never fall out of love with you, you're the best woman I've ever met."
"Well, well, don't say that; life is like that, anything can happen," and on her face there was that subtle expression that I sometimes managed to spy in the last months of my treatment. It evaporated right away, though, and I wasn't even sure that I'd really seen something.
That evening, as they say, something got into me, and as soon as we went to bed, I tried to prove to my beloved how wrong she was, and that she was the only one for me, the most desirable and the dearest.
After Marina's second orgasm, I finally allowed myself to cum, and there was so much semen that it seemed about to overflow the bowl, but, oddly enough, all of it, apparently, was absorbed, since there was no flood.
Now that we set out to have children, Marina did not wash herself after sex, but tried to lie down so that my entire load stayed inside her as long as possible. So, after catching our breath, we pressed against each other and gradually went into the gardens of Morpheus...
The next day at work I again received a text message from an unfamiliar number, now a different one, but the text was just as strange and intriguing:
While you were in the hospital, your wife was living with an oligarch. If you're interested, follow the link...
Next was the link where I should follow.
For the sake of curiosity, I clicked it, and was thrown out to a site where there were various photos from some corporate party. Among others, I found a photo of my wife standing next to the owner of Iterra Belykh. Both were dressed formally, she in an evening gown, which I had not seen her in before, and he in a tuxedo. The party was clearly not a simple one, I wondered what my spouse was doing there. They were standing next to each other, half-facing, holding some kind of drink in their hands, and smiling. It seemed to be nothing special, but somehow my heart felt like it was throbbing in my chest and my mouth was dry.
At first, I wanted to tell my wife about it immediately, and ask her what it might be about, but then, calming down a bit, I decided to check things out more thoroughly before I confronted her.
That evening I tried as hard as I could to sense any falsehood in my wife's behavior, any unfamiliar scent, anything that might confirm or deny the information I had received, but I found nothing.
I agonized for a couple of days, not knowing how to solve this problem, not risking talking to Marina, but then I remembered that my classmate, Valentin Isaev, works in the security service of one of the banks. He certainly should be able to get information. I met with him, briefly explained the problem and asked for help. He agreed.
About a week later, Valentin called and made an appointment for tomorrow, in a café 'Viola', saying that he had some information.
All this time I was tormented by suspicion, and naturally it affected my relationship with Marina, and our sex life gradually went downhill. Marina was nervous, tried to find out what was bothering me, but I pretended that we had a backlog at work, and soon everything would be fine, but I felt like shit myself. "Could it be that my beloved wife really cheated on me? And at a time like that!"
Then I remembered all the inconsistencies that I had noticed before but attributed to her worries about me. Now her reservations, her strange behavior took on an entirely different meaning. But she could not be such a good actress that she could hide the appearance of a lover from me. After all, all her emotions, when she was flying to me, were so natural...
Tomorrow, though, it will probably be clearer.
***
The next day, Saturday, I told my wife that I had an important meeting, and went to 'Viola', where Valentine had already ordered us a shish kebab with vodka.
"You know, old man, it looks like the information is confirmed. I managed to find out that Marina lived for some time with Belykh at his country house, the neighbors of Iterra's owner saw it. Again, she was driven by Mikhail Vasilyevich's personal chauffeur in Belykh's own limousine. Finally, one of the maids testified that her boss introduced Marina Viktorovna as their new mistress. Is it true that she fucked him? No one can say for sure, because no one was a fly on the wall, but they slept in the same bed, that's for sure. So, I condole, and let's have a drink."
He raised a glass, and we drank vodka without clinking in one gulp, after which Valentin started to eat kebab. I couldn't eat at all. To be honest, I did not expect such a blow. Until the last moment I hoped that all this was a lie, just some spiteful person was trying to split us up, and suddenly everything turned out to be true.
My heart squeezed and ached, and I wanted to get drunk and fall into oblivion. Marina is my love but behaved in such a way. No one can be trusted!
Gradually, as I drank, anger began to grow in me. Well, what? I did not please her? What's wrong with me that I displeased her? Already the second woman leaves me. Of course, Marina did not say anything about leaving, but I am a man. I can't live with a slut who's tempted by money. And the main thing here is money, since mine and Mikhail's income just aren't comparable. It's obvious, because everything else we had quite on par.
I wondered when she was going to tell me to leave. No, that would not happen, nor would she leave me. The bitch who traded me for a hound dog who only needed her as a toy.
I don't remember how I got home. It seemed Valentin had taken care of me.
Sunday morning, the first thing I saw when I woke up were Marina's worried eyes.
"Sergey, what's wrong with you? What happened?"
"You happened," I thought, but muttered aloud, "I didn't calculate my strength correctly. Everything will pass soon."
I got up and wandered into the bathroom to clean myself up.
My head was pounding, and I wanted to lie down and forget myself somewhere dark. The images of my wife fucking that oligarch flashed in my head. Holy Hell! She was cheating on me at exactly the moment of my infirmity. I groaned, leaning against the sink, into which a stream of water pounded, which I finally stuck my head under.
After cleaning myself up a bit, I immediately got ready to leave, not even having had breakfast, unable to be around the cheater. Marina tried to say something, but I interrupted her:
"Later, in the evening," and quickly left the house.
I was walking like a zombie, until I discovered that I was in the neighborhood where Sveta lived, my subordinate, who had been make goo-goo eyes at me for a long time without success. She was quite a pretty girl, a few years younger than me, always trying to please, to make me talk, but until today I had never been interested, and today I wanted to complain to someone about the injustice of life, so, against my intentions I stopped at her place.
"If she's not home, I'll go get drunk somewhere," I decided, dialing the number of the apartment on the intercom.
Once, a long time ago, I walked Svetlana home after a corporate party, and that's how I remembered the number of the apartment. That time there was nothing, just a light kiss, and I ran home to Marina. That night she was on duty and could not be with me at the party.
This time after a couple of rings, a girl's voice answered. "Yes? Who is it?"
"It's me." I couldn't get anything more intelligent out of myself.
"Oh, Sergey Anatolievich! Come in," and the electronic lock clicked.
I took the elevator to the tenth floor, and in the door was already standing a girl in a light robe.
"Come in, Sergey Anatolievich. Is something wrong?"
"Well, I don't even know how to say it..."
"Come on in. Would you like some tea?"
"I will, and not just tea," I answered rather cheekily.
The girl blushed, but led me into the kitchen, where she immediately set the table and got a full bottle of vodka from the fridge.
"Isn't it too early?" she asked timidly, pointing to it.
"Just right," I assured her, quickly pouring the vodka into the shot glasses I had taken out of the sideboard and moving one to her.
"Oh, I won't," Svetlana blushed, but under my attentive gaze, still took it and asked:
"What are we drinking for?"
"For freedom!"
"What? What freedom?" The girl did not understand.
"For my freedom," I clinked her glass and quickly tipped out mine, immediately filling it again...
I came to myself around seven o'clock in the morning and found myself lying in bed with Svetlana naked in my arms. I wasn't wearing anything either. My memory gave out bits and pieces of information. How I poured out my heart to a girl; everything I thought about love and fidelity, constantly drinking new portions of vodka and demanding the same from her. How I decided to take revenge on my wife, and how Svetlana, blushing and crying, helped me to do it, saying that she would never... I never remembered what "would never", but what had happened in bed came back to me little by little.
I can't say that Svetlana was better than Marina, or that I was some kind of superman, but, nevertheless, I tried to be at my best and, judging by the moans and cries of the girl, I succeeded. She was snoozing now, her head resting on my shoulder, with her leg on my stomach, hugging my waist at the same time.
My heart was still aching, but slowly a plan was brewing in my head.
Trying not to disturb the girl, I got up and went into the kitchen to make coffee.
About half an hour later, when I had already fried an eggs and sausage found in the fridge, the alarm clock rang, and Sveta crawled into the kitchen, wrapping her robe.
"Oh, Sergey Anat... "
"Sergey, just Sergey," I interrupted her. "We've been intimate tonight so it would be foolish to use full name."
"Oops," she blushed sweetly again, but immediately corrected herself:
"Sergey, what will happen now?"
"I guess everything will be as it should be. I'll definitely divorce, and whether something will work out with you, then we'll see."
The girl nodded her head, and then asked:
"And what will happen to Marina Viktorovna?"
"Whatever she wants, that's what will happen. Let her go to her oligarch... if he accepts her. I don't care."
***
Marina
There was something wrong with Sergey these past few days. I couldn't figure out what it was, but I had a bad feeling. I tried my best to find out what was going on, deep in my heart connecting it to what had happened half a year before. I still didn't know what to do. I didn't have the heart to tell my husband everything, dropping to him the burden of information about events he could no longer influence. To say that he could have died was like making excuses, especially since it was not certain, and to use others, like Dmitri Anatolievich, as proof was to let the story out, which I did not want at all. I decided it was better to let it be my sin, and mine alone; he didn't deserve any of this.
The three months I'd spent with Mikhail left me with a fuzzy memory, as if it hadn't happened to me, but when I tried to imagine telling this to Sergey, I suddenly felt weak and nauseous. My stomach felt like something twisted and I had to run quickly into the bathroom, trying to restrain my rebellious stomach. Luckily, I didn't vomit, but my mood was below the plinth.
Yesterday, Sergey practically ran away from home without telling me anything. He still is not here, and itis already time to go to work. Where did he spend the night? What happened to him? Was that...? No, it can't be, nobody knows anything...
I went to wash my face and get ready for the new workday.
All day long everything fell out of my hands, even our surgeon, Alexander Mikhailovich, noticed it, and he said, "My dear, you are obviously out of shape today, is something wrong?"
"I just have a headache."
"Well, maybe you'd better take the day off, come to your senses, you're not much use today anyway."
"Yeah, I guess that would be better," I muttered, and went to the head of the department.
When I returned home, I kept thinking about what had happened. It was obvious that Sergey was affected by something strong, and I was beginning to suspect that he had gotten some information about me and Mikhail. My heart clenched and thumped hard.
So, without even making dinner, I sat in prostration until it started to get dark.
***
There was the sound of the lock being opened.
"Sergey!" I rushed to the door. But my husband silently walked past me, without a word. Just as silently he began to gather the suitcases, and my heart sank down, and my legs could no longer hold me, so that I fell on the couch in the living room.
"Why?" was all he asked, as he continued to throw his things into the two suitcases he usually went on business trips with.
What could I tell him? That I didn't want to put him in front of a terrible choice: to die or to become a cuckold? But even death wasn't guaranteed, so I'd only cuckolded him because of the likelihood of it.
I tried to say something, but my throat tightened, and tears gushed from my eyes.
"I... I... I didn't mean to... it just happens..." I tried to squeeze out, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the sobs.
"Ah, just happens," my husband asked sarcastically, and a contemptuous sneer appeared on his face. "I suggest we do not prolong the show, and just go together to the registry office and draw up everything by mutual consent. I can't live with you anyway, so there's no need to prolong the agony. I will leave the apartment to you, though you do not deserve it, but I am a man, I will earn my own money, but what will happen to you when he leaves you..."
After these words, my soul went to my heels, and my body froze, and I clearly understood that it was all over. All my emotions had gone somewhere. I understood that later it would still hit me, but at the moment my strength had returned to me, and I asked as calmly as I could, "When?"
"Tomorrow, at lunchtime, let's say twelve o'clock."
I said nothing, nodding silently.
When he left, I let the tears flow. Memory was reproducing all of our special moments, all of the joys and sorrows we'd experienced together. But at the same time, moments of sex with Mikhail flashed up from time to time. And each time it was like a whiplash, which made my soul ache even more.
The next day was one big nightmare. I remember how I signed the divorce papers, how I was walking somewhere afterwards, not thinking, but somehow, I still ended up at home. How I was coming to work, doing everything like a robot. Everything inside me froze like ice. But on the second day I threw up right in the office, and it somehow got to my boss.
"Honey, you don't look so good. What's the matter? I heard you were vomiting."
"I must have eaten something," I answered blankly.
"No, no, no, this won't work. Why don't you tell me what it is that's bothering you?"
"I feel nauseous sometimes, especially after meals, and lately I often have to run to the bathroom. I'm worried about cystitis."
"I wonder if you're pregnant."
"God, just what I was missing!" My head was all messed up. Not only was my divorce bad, I have a baby...
Not that I was against the baby, I just could not imagine how I could raise it alone, but to talk about it to my ex-husband seemed to me impossible. It was like trying to bind him by child, begging for forgiveness. No, it was decided that if I am really pregnant, it will be just mine.
A week later, the test clearly showed I was pregnant. That night I cried until I fell asleep, saying goodbye to all that I had with Sergey and getting ready to go on living alone. I was well aware that the single mother is unlikely to attract the attention of decent men, so I decided that I will raise the child alone, not asking anyone for help. The main thing was to hide it from my parents, otherwise they would tell Sergey everything, and he would decide that this was my ploy to get him back. Having set myself up for this, I gradually fell asleep, and in the morning began my new life: without a husband, but with a child.
***
Mikhail
As I had promised, when her husband returned, I severed all ties with Marina, although, to be honest, I did not want to. I was surprised at myself: I seemed to have gotten everything I wanted from that woman. I was not a monk at all, and after Marina I had had several affairs with women who were much more skillful than that nurse, but I still lacked something, and so I soon broke up with them in search of that something I could not express. I always broke up with my dates pretty easily, when I felt they were about to enter my life. Nevertheless, some worm bugged me. I must say that at times her image appeared in my head, but I drove it away by having another affair.
Shortly after Marina's reunion with her husband, I had to go on a long business trip outside Russia, to solve the problem of expanding the business by buying a plant that produces boilers. The matter dragged on, and I did not return home until about six months later.
Upon arrival, on the first day I was informed that Marina had recently divorced her husband. The reason is unknown, but I think it had something to do with what was going on during his treatment. I can't say that it upset me in any way, or that I felt some guilt, we are all adults, and how to live our lives we decide for ourselves. Nevertheless, I decided to visit Marina and ask if she had any needs. It was nothing special, a simple courtesy.
It was just about time for another routine checkup, so I went to the clinic in the morning, and at some point, I 'accidentally' met Marina. I must say, she somehow changed. She was no longer that active girl, always ready to laugh over an uncomplicated joke, but she did not look sad. Moreover, she had a distinctive femininity that made my heart tremble.
"Good afternoon, Marina."
"Oh, hello, Mikhail Vasilyevich. How do you do?"
"Well, why are you talking to me with full name, we used to be with the short one," I was surprised.
"Well, that was before. Truth is, who am I to call the almighty boss on short name," and she finally smiled, for a moment spotlighting her former self, but then returned to her serious incarnation. "Excuse me, they're waiting for me in the surgery room, there's a patient after a car accident." And she turned around and, tapping her heels, ran away from me.
"Well, okay," I thought, heading to the next office.
In the evening, I went with my colleagues to a party, where I got unexpectedly drunk, and woke up at home, where I had been taken by security, with a dry mouth and an unbearable desire to urinate.
Yes, it had been a long time since I had been this drunk, probably because of the nerves after the difficult negotiations.
I should go to the doctor, have him prescribe some pills, maybe they would help. At the same time, I'll have a look at Marina. Hey, that's not necessary. What do I need her for? Spent material. But in the depths of my soul there was a desire to see her again.
"What are you doing tonight, Marina?" I switched to short name, turning to a rushing past nurse.
"Why? - She stopped and looked at me with her green eyes.
"Yes, I wanted to invite you somewhere, let's say, a restaurant."
"No, I've had enough of restaurants," she grinned. "And what do you need me for? Spent material, isn't it? Or haven't you played enough yet?"
I felt as if I'd been struck with a whip, so much it was in tune with my thoughts the day before. The blood rushed to my face. Who was she to dare to behave this way? However, I immediately pulled myself together.
"I may just want to renew our acquaintance. Didn't we have a good time together?"
"You know, Mikhail Vasilyevich, there is no such thing as love from under a stick, and without love everything is not so rosy." She shook her head and added, "I think you should look for someone else, she would be happy." And then she took off again, this time to the nurses' room.
I pondered for a week, trying to understand myself. After all, there were so many young and beautiful ladies in the world that would be happy if I just condescended to them, but this one, look, builds herself. In another week I realized that I simply could not get this blond green-eyed girl out of my head, something had caught me. Moreover, I, a convinced bachelor, suddenly from time to time began to catch myself on matrimonial plans.
"Fight fire with fire," was a sudden lifesaving thought, and I threw myself into a binge again. Thanks to a certain stagnation in the holding company, all things were spinning, not requiring my participation at the moment. Wine, beautiful women, but after a couple of weeks the frenzy subsided, and again my heart was unaccustomedly sore. It was as if a veil had fallen from me. I realized I needed this woman. I needed her so much that I threw myself on the attack, like a boy, ready to lay at her feet everything I had. And I was simply dumbfounded when I finally realized that all of this had no such value in her eyes.
Nevertheless, I somehow managed to invite her to talk to me in a café that serves ice cream, which I knew she was crazy about. It was there when I suddenly, unexpectedly to myself, asked her to marry me.
She looked at me for a long time, thinking something over, then shook her head and asked, "Mikhail Vasilyevich, why do you need someone else's wife, albeit an ex-wife, and besides, pregnant?"
"How?!"
"Like this. Did you think that if nothing happened between us, it's because I'm barren? I was just on the pill, but I stopped recently. Sergey and I decided to make a family and that's how it turned out."
"Does he know?"
"No, and you don't tell him. Since he divorced me, he doesn't want to have children from me, why should I impose on him? It's just my child, no one else."
"Do the parents know?"
"No one knows yet. There's no need for that. Otherwise, Sergey might get the idea that I'm tying him to me this way. So, I'd better not."
"All the same, all will be revealed in time.
"Then I'll think what to do."
I just shook my head.
"Tell me, Marina, don't you like me at all?"
She paused, and then said seriously:
"Oddly enough, but no. I have thought a lot about everything. After all, in fact you raped me, even if not physically. That 'deal' of yours left me no choice, and I should probably hate you, but I don't. After all, it was MY decision, and you only took advantage of the moment. That doesn't excuse you though, so let's stop dating. You know, I have a lot to do. Now I have to think not just about myself."
It's taken me a whole month to persuade her, knowing that gifts other than flowers are don't interest her, I tried to replace them with signs of attention. I enlisted the help of the best consultant psychologists in an effort to somehow get some interest from the woman I had once offended.
Fortunately, I succeeded, and she finally accepted my marriage proposal. By this point, her belly was already noticeable, not too much, but quite to the experienced eye. So, when we began legally married, the local tabloid press said that she had deceived the 'oligarch', making him knock her up. But both she and I didn't care about that; we knew very well who had deceived who.
We spent our honeymoon in the Maldives, where we flew on our private jet and spent two weeks there (we couldn't do more) in an oceanfront bungalow with azure water and the cleanest sand beach. However, Marina didn't sunbathe too much, worrying about the baby, but she bathed a lot, thinking that it would be good for our daughter (we already knew it was a girl).
Six months later, our Anechka was born, who immediately and forever won my heart. And a year and a half more she said her first word in my arms, and that word was: "Dad"! For the first time in my life, I wept and swore that I would do anything to make our baby girl happy, no matter what it cost me.
And yes, we didn't stop with her alone, and our family was joined by another girl (Ilona) and a boy (Oleg). And you know, I'm happy and proud. Proud of my children and, of course, of my wife. I don't know for sure if she loves me the way she once loved Sergey, we just never talked about it, as if afraid of something, but I feel that she does deeply care about me, and I am head over heels in love with my wife, the mistress of my home and the main bond of my family. Our family.
***
Sergey
Two years. Two years as I am trying to forget my cheating ex-wife. And for two years she's been coming to me in my dreams. I've done everything: I've been partying, screwing others, "chopping wood," all in vain. Still, I don't regret leaving her, even though I haven't met, hopefully only for now, someone who can replace her.
Naturally, I was informed right away that she had married her oligarch, and I was even surprised. It seemed to me that he had played around with her and would have forgotten her. After all, he had a proper reputation, more than one woman had tried to catch him in the net of Cupid, only no one had succeeded before. And here they even quickly made a baby for themselves. I read somewhere that she was pregnant before they were married. She didn't seem to grieve long after she divorced me. Well, that's her business. Let's see how long her lauded fidelity lasts.
Today, we have a Christmas gathering with my friends, Alain and Victor, at their summer house. The twins have grown up and are already in the ninth grade. Anya is seriously studying music and is going to a music college to study the cello, and Sasha is fascinated by sambo and is already in the junior league of the city. Victor has just returned from another business trip again, this time to Indonesia. He brought me souvenirs, including so-called 'wind music' by feng shui. If it is placed, say, on a balcony, then at the slightest breeze, it emits a pleasant, measured sound. The tubes and beater are made of bamboo, and a monkey figurine made of coconut shells is placed on top.
He gave his wife and daughter a necklace and beads made of red coral, and gifted Sasha a boomerang, assuring that if he practiced, the boomerang would surely come back into his hand. Later we laughed a lot, watching the kid's attempts to achieve this. The boomerang flew anywhere but back to its owner. Victor and I also tried it, but with the same invariable success.
In the evening, sitting by the fireplace, sipping mulled wine, we reminisced, and then Alain suddenly remembered the concert where they invited me six years ago. This memory once again scratched my soul, and Alain managed sarcasm, asking:
"Did you know that Marina got married when she was already pregnant?"
I grumbled, but still, I answered, "You know she started cheating on me long before our divorce. So I guess she didn't stop."
"You mean, with Mikhail?"
Friends, of course, were aware of the reason for our divorce, so I did not hide anything from them.
"Naturally, who else?"
"No, he didn't return from a six-month business trip until about a month after your divorce, so the child is definitely not his."
"It's interesting, she was with someone else, wasn't she?" I wondered.
"I think that did not happen," Victor joined in, "or obviously someone would have found out. And Marina is not like that either."
"Yeah, not like that! And to have a lover, when I lie in the hospital, is it like that?" I heated up, but immediately fell silent.
That turns out what? The baby can be mine? I immediately started calculating, and all things considered, the conception must have been around the last days of our life together. And yes, it didn't look like Marina had anyone else at the time. After all, we wanted children so badly.
A hot wave ran through my body. My friends were silent, looking at me.
"What are you going to do now?" Alain asked.
"I don't know, but I want to participate in my daughter's life," I said firmly. "If necessary, through the court will demand recognition of paternity."
"Slow down," stopped me Alain, a former lawyer, "the girl was born in wedlock, so that any court will recognize the paternity of Mikhail Vasilyevich, even without regard to his influence and money."
But I was already on the edge. Up to the time I thought the girl was the daughter of the oligarch, I didn't care, but if it is my blood, I wanted access to communication with her with all my might.
The first thing I did the very next day was to head for the Belykh mansion.
Strangely enough, I was admitted without any problems. The guard, having contacted the owner of the house, escorted me to the living room with the fireplace, where the head of the family was, who first welcomed me.
"Hello, Sergey Anatolievich. Is everything Ok with your work? What brings you here?"
I did not even say hello and immediately attacked:
"You knew that Marina is pregnant from me?"
"Oh, so that's the reason." Mikhail rubbed his chin and suggested, "Do you want something to drink?"
"Let's," I decided not to make it worse.
"Wine, beer, cognac or vodka?"
"Let's have a cognac."
Mikhail poured into low glasses from a bottle marked "Hennessy XO," and put a saucer on the table with sliced lemon, sprinkled with sugar and coffee.
We took glasses, and he asked:
"What shall we drink to?
"To faithfulness," I couldn't resist teasing him.
He grinned a little, but he supported the toast, and we drank. Then he asked me, "So, you are interested in my daughter."
"Or mine," I couldn't stand it.
"No, just mine. You abandoned her, leaving Marina."
"I did not abandon the child; I just did not know anything about it."
"Were you interested?"
I didn't say anything. Indeed, at the time I could not think about anything but my wife's cheating. And to boot she did it with him.
"That's what it is," Mikhail concluded and poured us some more. "You still don't know why she cheated, do you?"
"It's as plain as day. She wanted money. I bet you gave her gifts, no match with mine. That cocktail dress at the party was worth something."
"So that's where the wind is blowing from, the photo from the party..." the counterpart drawled when we drank. "No, she was indifferent to gifts, and that dress she wore only because I asked her to, after all, the dress code, you know."
"So enlighten me, the dark one, what else did you take her with, if not that?" I asked sarcastically.
"You know, even though Marina and I have not talked about it, I still think it is unethical to put you in the know, but I can't forbid you to ask Dmitri Anatolievich about it. So, he who seeks may find. And as for the daughter, accept the fact that she's mine. Or rather, mine and Marina's. And if anyone ever claims otherwise, I'll make sure he regrets it," and he threw me a hard look. "And another thing, I don't know how my wife feels about you now, but I wouldn't want to put her to any unnecessary tests, so please don't look for meetings with her. So far you have behaved quite correctly, keep doing so."
At this, I understood, our meeting was over, and I left the house without another word.
***
Meeting the professor, the very next day, it was like pulling the support out from under my feet. I couldn't even imagine that it turned out that my illness was fatal. It was only now that the puzzle was beginning to take shape for me. But I just couldn't understand why Marina hadn't said anything to me. We surely had to make a decision together, and I was even more angry at my ex-wife, for depriving me of the opportunity to participate in my own destiny.
"I wonder what decision you would have made if you had known," Victor told me when I ran to them that night in indignation, pouring out all that I had heard. "Would you have agreed to save your life at such a cost?"
"No way!"
"No way." Victor was silent, and then added, "And what was she to do? She knew you well."
"But why didn't she say anything later?" I asked after thinking, calming down a little.
"What was she supposed to say? Fall on your chest and, as in Indian soap operas, tell you how she bought your life at the price of her body? Do you think it would have been better?"
He stood up, looked at his wife sitting next to him, and continued, "So you finally found out, well, what was your action?"
"Well, I didn't know that, did I?"
"But did you WANT to know?" He interrupted me. "Or was your inflamed ego more important? Well, she was betrayed, and no matter what the reason was, right? And now it's too late. Just leave it alone, stay out of their lives. Build yours."
We talked for a long time that night, remembering my life with Marina, and my "successes" on the personal front afterwards. But in my head came a stubbornly matured determination at all costs to assert my rights to paternity.
Unfortunately, the court did not accept my claim. They said that the main thing for them is the fate of the child, not my emotions. That the girl was born in marriage, knows her father, and who (and if) is her biological father is of secondary importance. I tried to insist on a DNA analysis, but the answer was that it is done when a child grows up without a father, and then only if the mother insists on it. None of this is the case here.
My trips to lawyers led to the same result, as long as everything is fine with the child, no one would bother with the test, and that even if I managed to secretly conduct such a test, it would be of no importance to the court. In other words, I would never get paternity.
Frustrated, I spit on the threats of Mikhail, tried to meet with my ex-wife, which took a whole week, catching her at last in the mall and offered to drink coffee and talk.
I must say, Marina looked stunning. It is understandable; both clothes and body care - everything was at her service...
Or maybe I was biased, and just forgot, what my wife looked like.
When she saw me, she didn't show any emotion and agreed to sit at a table in a café. Ordered ice cream, which she always adored, carefully taking off portions of the sweet treat with her spoon and silently sending them into her mouth. So, I was the first to speak.
"Marina," I tried to take her hand in mine, but she took it away softly, but adamantly, and said in a voice devoid of emotion:
"I'm listening to you."
"You know that Anya is our daughter, don't you?"
"You mean you're her biological father?"
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No, you said she's our daughter, and she's not. She's my daughter and Mikhail's daughter, and you're just her biological father."
"But I want to be her real father."
Some elusive emotion ran across Marina's face, and then she said:
"It's too late, Sergey, two fathers are too much for her."
"But I can somehow participate in her life, can't I?"
"Immediately. no," said Marina. "Anya knows and should always know only one father, the one who raises her... And loves her."
"But I also love her!"
"Really?" she answered with an ironic smile. "You did not know anything about her until recently."
"It was you who deprived me of that knowledge."
"That's right. You didn't want to know anything, you didn't want to live with me, and therefore you didn't want to have children with me. Even if only for that moment, but it was very important to me."
We sat in silence for a while, while Marina continued to feast on frozen cream with a small spoon. After which I asked:
"Why?"
"Why what? Why did I decide to buy your life? Or why didn't I tell you about it?" She was silent for a while. "If you didn't understand the first one, you won't understand the second either. But I must be going."
She stood up, and her heels clattered to the exit, taking Marina out of the café and out of my life.
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