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Chapter 82

I decidedI wanted to be a doctor when I was seven years old.

Dad was teaching me how to ride a bike. All my friends already knew, and I felt left behind. I was using my sister Nadia's bike, which had previously been my other sister Alina's bike until she outgrew it. The bike was white and once had pink stripes on it, but now, it was gray, with most of the pink worn away. Everything I owned had previously been owned by two other people and had that same grayish tinge.

Dad was doing that thing with me where he'd start me going on the bike then let go when I wasn't paying attention. I kept making him promise he wouldn't let go, but he'd do it anyway. In retrospect, I realize it was for my own good. But at the time, it was making me very nervous.

Each time I discovered he was no longer holding onto the bike, I'd panic and lose control and ultimately fall. One of those times, I fell right on a broken bottle. My bare leg was all cut up and bleeding, and Dad rushed me to the nearest emergency room.

I was fascinated when the doctor in the ER fished the pieces of broken glass from my leg and sewed up a particularly deep gash, from which I still have the scar. I didn't even cry. And what fascinated me even more was how much my father seemed to respect the doctor, almost to the point of being awed by him.

As soon as the doctor had left the room, I said to my father: "I want to be a doctor when I grow up."

Dad was completely floored. He came to this country as an immigrant, mostly working blue-collar jobs, and he always wanted something better for his kids. Especially me. He wanted me to reap all the benefits that this country had to offer.

I can still picture my dad rushing into the hallway of the ER and yelling to whoever would listen, "My daughter is going to be a doctor!" He told two doctors, three nurses, an orderly, and the guy selling hot dogs outside the hospital before we made it home.

My father may not have made it to my med school graduation, but he's watching over me. And I want to make him proud.

Okay,I admit it: I'm still sneaking off to the locker rooms with Mason.

What can I say? I'm lonely, and Mason is really hot. Why should I deprive myself? It's just casual sex. It's not like we're in a relationship.

Or at least, that's what I think.

"What are you doing this weekend?" Mason asks me as we button and tuck in our respective clothing.

"Studying," I say with a smile. "Why?"

"My parents wanted me to come over for dinner this weekend," he says, "and I thought maybe… you'd like to come with me…"

"To your parents' house?"

Whoa, that is intense. I don't want to meet his parents. We haven't even been on a date yet.

"Well, my mom wanted me to bring my girlfriend and…" He looks away, his face turning an endearing shade of red. "I mean, we'd just be going as friends, though. Just so you could help me get through the night. I mean…"

Ah, he's cute when he's embarrassed. He doesn't really think of me as his girlfriend, but this is another sign that this is a little bit more than casual sex for him. Maybe this all means more to him than it does to me. I can't help but feel flattered. And guilty.

"Come on, aren't you curious?" Mason says.

Okay, he's right. I am curious. What are the parents of a guy like Mason Howard like? So against my better judgment, I agree to go.

I'd die if Mason knew this, but I spend hours agonizing over what to wear for the dinner. I literally try on every outfit in my closet, which, sadly, doesn't take very long. At school, I always wear jeans. I want Mason to look at me tonight and think, Wow.

Unfortunately, I don't think there are any clothes in existence that will make him think that.

I finally settle on a fitted rose-colored blouse and lavender skirt that shows off a little bit of leg but isn't too slutty. I dust off my one container of eyeshadow and apply a subtle layer of makeup. I look in the mirror after I'm done and decide that I look at least respectable. Mason isn't going to wolf-howl at me or anything, but I'm hoping I at least don't look like someone he'll be embarrassed to be seen with.

Mason, on the other hand, looks amazing when he picks me up at my apartment. I mostly see him in T-shirts and jeans, so the khaki slacks and dress shirt are a stark change. He's got on a dark-green tie that makes his hazel eyes look greener. He's so handsome in his outfit that my knees get a little weak. But the best part is how his eyes light up when he sees me.

"Wow," he says. "You look… really nice, Sasha."

I look away, not wanting him to see how pleased I am. "Well, let's go."

The ride to the Howards' house takes about half an hour, and it's filled with easy conversation. We've talked so many times and had plenty of sex, but this is the first time I've felt any kind of spark between us. It's almost like we're on a real date. About halfway through the drive, Mason removes his hand from the gear shift while at a red light and takes my hand for a minute. It's such a sweet gesture that a tingle goes through my entire body.

But as soon as I see Mason's house, my excitement vanishes.

I knew Mason was wealthy, but I wasn't prepared for the enormous mansion that stands before me. It's three stories high and stretches out for the length of a city block. There's a gate to gain entrance, and I half expect to see a moat with a dragon guarding the front door. I can't help but think of the tiny apartment where I grew up, the three of us girls squeezed into one bedroom. As I step onto the walkway, I trip over my heels.

Mason gently places a hand on my back. "Are you okay, Sasha?"

"Fine," I manage, thinking that once the shock of seeing the house wears off, it will get better.

Except it just gets worse.

We're greeted at the door by Mason's mother, although I had been half expecting a butler. Mrs. Howard is beautiful. I mean, she is really, really beautiful. She has the same chestnut-colored hair as Mason, wide hazel eyes, and a slender but shapely figure. She looks much too young to be the mother of a twenty-two-year-old medical student.

"And this must be Sasha," Mrs. Howard coos as we step inside.

Even though she's beautiful, I can see in her eyes that Mason's mother is no dummy. And that she's extremely protective of her son.

"That's right," I say, wishing I could run away. I might have bolted for the door, except at that moment, Mason puts his arm around my shoulders. The gesture shocks me but also eases my anxiety. I look up at Mason, and he smiles and winks at me.

Mrs. Howard insists on giving me a tour of the house while Mason goes to put our coats away. As I follow the older woman upstairs, I feel ill. I wish Mason were with us—I feel lost in this enormous house. I'm worried that if I get separated from Mrs. Howard, they'll find me days later, trapped in a closet somewhere.

Mrs. Howard leads me down a long corridor, lushly carpeted and dimly lit. I point out a room filled with bookcases and antique furniture, which she says is "the library." They have a library. I'm hooking up with a guy who lived in a house that has a library. Then we pass two guest rooms and, finally, Mason's old bedroom.

I like Mason's bedroom best out of every room on the tour. It's by far the least pretentious room in the house. It looks like any teenager's room, with a single bed, a computer, stereo equipment, and music posters on the walls. My eyes rest on one shelf of his bookcase, which is packed with trophies. Naturally. But it isn't the trophies that catch my attention—it's the framed photo in the middle of the shelf, featuring Mason with his arm around a stunning blond girl.

"That's Sienna, Mason's girlfriend from college, during their trip to Switzerland," Mrs. Howard says.

"Oh," I say.

I wonder why Mason has a photo of his ex-girlfriend featured so prominently on his shelf but then remember he hasn't been in this room in months. Quite possibly, his mother put the photo there. I could tell from her voice that she thinks very highly of this Sienna girl.

"Sienna went to Paris to study art for a year," Mrs. Howard says. Because obviously, I want to know all about Mason's ex-girlfriend. "What did you do after college, Sasha?"

The question catches me off guard. Like I've said, I look young for twenty-six. Most people think I'm straight out of college or usually even younger. How did Mrs. Howard figure it out?

"I worked as a nanny and took classes," I say a little defensively.

"And where are you from, dear?" she asks me.

"Brooklyn," I reply, lifting my chin to look her straight in the eyes.

She narrows her eyes at me. "I mean, originally, where are you from? Where were your parents born?"

"Russia," I admit. I am guessing that Mrs. Howard and her parents and their parents were all born in this country.

"Interesting," Mrs. Howard murmurs. She raises her eyebrow. "How long have you and Mason been seeing each other?"

Seeing each other.She grimaces as she asks the question as if she's just said a dirty word.

"Not that long," I mutter.

"Mason and Sienna were together for two years," Mrs. Howard says.

Is that so?

"Oh?" I say politely.

Please tell me more about Sienna, will you?

"You should probably know," Mrs. Howard continues, looking straight into my eyes, "that before Sienna left for Paris, Mason gave her a ring."

My jaw drops open. I try to hide my reaction because I hate to give Mrs. Howard the satisfaction, but she can tell I'm upset. And the thing is, I don't even know why. I'm not Mason's girlfriend. I don't want to be his girlfriend. What do I care that he gave some other girl a ring?

Except maybe I do care after all.

Damn it.

After the "tour" of the house is over, I find Mason sitting at the dining room table. He's staring down at the place mat, a glazed look in his eyes. For a moment, I remember all those dopamine capsules I've been slipping him and wonder if they could be having any effect. Probably not. He's probably just tired from lack of sleep.

I slide into the seat beside him. "Hey."

He startles, even though I'm sure he must have heard me come into the room. For a moment, he looks at me like he has no idea who I am. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it and offers me an uneven smile.

"Hi," he says.

"I saw your old room," I say.

"Yeah?" Mason grins. "God, I haven't been in there in… a while, I guess. Hey, did you see if my Green Day poster is still on the wall?"

"Um, I don't remember," I say, "but I did see the picture of Sienna."

Why did I say that? Oh well, too late to take it back now.

"Who?"

Okay, he doesn't know who she is. That's a good sign.

"That girl in the picture from Switzerland," I remind him.

"Oh, her." He rolls his eyes. "Christ, is that photo still on the shelf? I think my mother is in love with her."

"Your mother says you gave her a ring…" I study his face, watching his reaction.

"Sienna and I broke up before college ended." He lifts a shoulder. "I never gave her a ring."

"Oh."

But before I have a chance to be relieved, he narrows his eyes. "But so what if I did? What's the difference to you?"

Mason has never spoken to me that way before, and it feels like a slap in the face. Maybe I'm not his girlfriend, but he's always at least treated me with respect. This is the first time he has ever made me feel like he's just using me for sex.

And when I look into his eyes, I realize even that part of our relationship is over for good.

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