Her Russian Beast: 50 Loving States, New Mexico by Theodora Taylor

day.
    Thank goodness she’d heeded the advice Natascha—one of Alexei’s pets—had given her five years ago, the first and only time the woman had come on one of Alexei’s visits to Germany.
    “Sirena, that is a good name for an opera singer,” she’d said at the expensive restaurant Alexei had invited them to. A fairly new hot spot that, like all the places Bair’s brother had ever invited them to, he owned. Supposedly Alexei had taken over the backroom of the restaurant to celebrate Bair finishing his first Wintersemester at Berlin University. But judging by the number of business contacts who’d also been invited to this “little celebration,” it also served as a good excuse for Alexei to show off to his German associates.
    Because she and Natascha were two of the only people in the room who didn’t speak German, they had naturally gravitated toward each other over the course of the evening.
    “I hope it turns out to be a good name for an opera singer, but it’s not my real one,” she had confessed to Nastascha. She’d been so young and naïve back then. Following The Russian Beast to Germany had still felt like it was the best decision she’d ever made. Even if her brain was still reeling from being thrown into an opera program back in January, halfway through the first of the two semesters that make up the typical German school year. Despite their late starts, both she and Bair were thriving in their individual programs and opera felt like nothing less than the music of her true soul. The kind of music she’d always been meant to sing, not the dramatic R&B and gospel standards she’d messed around with back in high school.
    Back when she’d met Natascha, everything with Bair had still felt like a honeymoon. And she only barely acknowledged the small town girl she used to be, before Bair found her and swept her up and away into a new life and name.
    “Even better that this is not your real name,” Natascha said with a twist of her perfectly painted lips. Not quite smiling as she asked, “Does Boris know your real name?”
    Boris. That was what everyone called him. His family, his classmates, everyone. She’d yet to meet one other person aside from herself who called him Bair.
    “No, I guess he doesn’t,” she answered. “But it’s not a secret. I just don’t like it.”
    She would never forget the sudden bitterness that overtook Natascha’s expression at that point. Or the shadow in her voice as she said, “Take my advice, Sirena. Do not ever tell him anything you don’t have to. These Rustanovs are, how you say, ‘generous but not kind.’ Anything you give them, they will use against you. Especially your heart.”
    Natascha was in love with Alexei. Anyone could tell by the way her eyes softened as they followed the large Russian businessman around the restaurant’s back room. Which made her words all the more confusing for a young and stupid girl from Virginia.
    But the next time she’d seen Alexei at a similar intimate (but not really) get together at an even hotter restaurant to celebrate the end of Bair’s Sommersemester , he’d had a new pet on his arm. This one much more uptight, without any of Natascha’s inner warmth to offset her frosty Russian looks.
    “This is Alexei’s way. When he is done with a pet, she is gone,” Bair had answered with an indifferent shrug, when she brought up his half brother’s lack of fidelity as the town car ferried them back to their apartment later that night.
    “But she was in love with him.”
    Another shrug. “Her feelings do not matter.”
    Wow. That was cold. But still she couldn’t resist asking, “So if I fell in love with you, what would you say?”
    The car was too dark to see his face, but his body went rigid beside hers. “I would say do not give me something I cannot give you. Love. It is not the Rustanov way. Not my way. I will give you flowers and jewelry if you wish it, but there can be no love between us. Do you