there to give me a happy ending. But he was not. He had left me to the spa pampering as he had left me to work in the field. I sighed inwardly. At least this was better than breaking my back under the sun.
I donned a fluffy white bathrobe and went to have my mani-pedi in a perfumed room while sitting in a gently vibratin g massage chair. I chose silver-black polish to match Alexi’s chrome and black style. After the mani-pedi, I had a facial and had my hair done.
That morning consisted of the most spa pampering I'd ever received. While I went to have my hair and nails done with my mother once in a while, it was never really my thing. I spent most of my spare-time working out or secretly painting. My rebel heart tried to conceal itself under my mother's insistent feminization whenever possible, and I hated it.
But that day, I loved every minute of the spa treatment. My hair looked fantastic. It was expertly layered, adding volume and lift to my long, dark-blonde locks. I was getting a full makeover to show Alexi just how sophisticated and mature I could look.
Just when I thought I couldn ’t get any more pampered, a concierge arrived with a credit card, telling me Alexi sent it for me to go shopping at the local boutiques for anything I wanted. Spare no expense, the concierge told me. A chauffeured car waited for me outside the spa. I wore a short white sun dress, and silver sandals. It looked good against my nail polish and tanned skin.
The chauffeur took me to the Grand Voyage shopping center, credit card in hand. After the poverty I’d seen throughout the country side, to be confronted with the upscale boutiques threw me off. I felt small and confused for a moment. Not knowing what to do or what to buy. Would these people even understand my language? But I quickly regained my composer and upper middle-class, American attitude. Money talks.
Just as the last week had been a dream from another century, I now dreamed in luxurious Technicolor. I walked into the first boutique and began to fashion myself into an upscale Ukrainian woman. My nondescript hipster Seattle girl style didn’t exactly blend with the way even average Ukrainian women dressed. It was a different world here. The infrastructure was cracking and decayed, but people walked the street, stone faced, wearing designer fashions everywhere you turned. It definitely wasn't a Northface and Converse kind of culture.
I bought myself designer jeans, silky sun dresses, lingerie, sport clothes, tailored jackets, chic evening dresses, designer sunglasses, a new bag of soft black leather, sandals, and red bottomed pumps in black and nude. I didn't even pay attention to the cash register. It all seemed like a hypnotic haze. Just buy what you want , I told myself.
I was overflowing with bags when I saw Alexi standing in the crowded concourse staring at me. I felt a flash of guilt for my consumerism, and suddenly wanted to put it all back. I might be a rich girl, but my biggest passion was museum walking, not shopping. I mean, what woman doesn’t like a new dress, but I wasn’t the kind of girl who thought shopping was a super power.
“ Hi,” I said, approaching him, my face blushing.
“ I see you have been working hard.”
“ I… Thanks for this. I rarely shop like this. I just…”
He waved his hand in front of me to cut me off. “ I love your shopping, Lyubimaya. What good is money if you can’t use it to spoil a woman.”
“ Thanks,” was all I could say. I was relieved he didn't judge me or call me a Capitalist again.
He took my bags and I followed him back to the Range Rover we had driven to Crimea in. We arrived at our resort late in the night, and I fell asleep almost immediately with Alexi warm beside me. In the weeks we had been together, we had only spent a handful of nights in the same bed. Waking up in his arms, in the luxurious resort suite had been one of the best mornings of my life. I adored him, the way he stood at the window with
I donned a fluffy white bathrobe and went to have my mani-pedi in a perfumed room while sitting in a gently vibratin g massage chair. I chose silver-black polish to match Alexi’s chrome and black style. After the mani-pedi, I had a facial and had my hair done.
That morning consisted of the most spa pampering I'd ever received. While I went to have my hair and nails done with my mother once in a while, it was never really my thing. I spent most of my spare-time working out or secretly painting. My rebel heart tried to conceal itself under my mother's insistent feminization whenever possible, and I hated it.
But that day, I loved every minute of the spa treatment. My hair looked fantastic. It was expertly layered, adding volume and lift to my long, dark-blonde locks. I was getting a full makeover to show Alexi just how sophisticated and mature I could look.
Just when I thought I couldn ’t get any more pampered, a concierge arrived with a credit card, telling me Alexi sent it for me to go shopping at the local boutiques for anything I wanted. Spare no expense, the concierge told me. A chauffeured car waited for me outside the spa. I wore a short white sun dress, and silver sandals. It looked good against my nail polish and tanned skin.
The chauffeur took me to the Grand Voyage shopping center, credit card in hand. After the poverty I’d seen throughout the country side, to be confronted with the upscale boutiques threw me off. I felt small and confused for a moment. Not knowing what to do or what to buy. Would these people even understand my language? But I quickly regained my composer and upper middle-class, American attitude. Money talks.
Just as the last week had been a dream from another century, I now dreamed in luxurious Technicolor. I walked into the first boutique and began to fashion myself into an upscale Ukrainian woman. My nondescript hipster Seattle girl style didn’t exactly blend with the way even average Ukrainian women dressed. It was a different world here. The infrastructure was cracking and decayed, but people walked the street, stone faced, wearing designer fashions everywhere you turned. It definitely wasn't a Northface and Converse kind of culture.
I bought myself designer jeans, silky sun dresses, lingerie, sport clothes, tailored jackets, chic evening dresses, designer sunglasses, a new bag of soft black leather, sandals, and red bottomed pumps in black and nude. I didn't even pay attention to the cash register. It all seemed like a hypnotic haze. Just buy what you want , I told myself.
I was overflowing with bags when I saw Alexi standing in the crowded concourse staring at me. I felt a flash of guilt for my consumerism, and suddenly wanted to put it all back. I might be a rich girl, but my biggest passion was museum walking, not shopping. I mean, what woman doesn’t like a new dress, but I wasn’t the kind of girl who thought shopping was a super power.
“ Hi,” I said, approaching him, my face blushing.
“ I see you have been working hard.”
“ I… Thanks for this. I rarely shop like this. I just…”
He waved his hand in front of me to cut me off. “ I love your shopping, Lyubimaya. What good is money if you can’t use it to spoil a woman.”
“ Thanks,” was all I could say. I was relieved he didn't judge me or call me a Capitalist again.
He took my bags and I followed him back to the Range Rover we had driven to Crimea in. We arrived at our resort late in the night, and I fell asleep almost immediately with Alexi warm beside me. In the weeks we had been together, we had only spent a handful of nights in the same bed. Waking up in his arms, in the luxurious resort suite had been one of the best mornings of my life. I adored him, the way he stood at the window with
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