28There were three very distinct things wrong with her plane ride:
The man next to her, who only spoke Russian, was most definitely fourty and balding, and definitely trying to stare down the front of her blouse at some barely-existant cleavage.
The hostess still had not come back with her water bottle.
She was heading to a town that wasn't even on a map.
Everlee was a fairly relaxed young woman, never losing her temper or shouting. She didn't have enemies, or hate towards anything. She had grown up in a relatively normal home, with a Labrador and a white picket fence. Everything about her was so quiet and unmoving she wanted to tear her hair out. But, even speaking something like that out loud was too dramatic for her.
To any passerby, her beauty was obvious, as with most pretty girls. She had hair that fell in slow waves of honeyed brown, and eyes so grey they mirrored a sad sky. She had a natural pink flush that touched the edge of her very prominent cheek bones. Lips that were turned for a smile, but usually sat there with no emotion at all.
The thing about the girl that was so intriguing and mysterious was her connection to her great aunt Helen. The woman had enough money to keep the entire Sharp family afloat. On a yacht no less.
She was so old that the skin on her face seemed to be tissue-paper thin and see through with blue veins vining through everywhere. Every bit of the woman was like some magic trick, and Everlee had loved her like a daughter. Of course writing in her will that she had one last wish for her "sweet deer" a nickname Helen had given her, was so something she would do to Everlee. Of course that wish would be for her to live in her mansion in freaking God's country Russia. Of course it was the middle of wicked-icy winter and Everlee was on a plane with the pre-paid ticket her aunt had booked for this exact plane ride.
The strangest part of the will, aside from her son finding out his mother had owned a home in Russia at all, was that she had requested specifically that Everlee, "sweet deer", "go there without being accompanied, I have a secret I've kept for you to learn deer, and I promised that I'd wait."
And long story short, nineteen-year-old, un-worldly, and very unaccustomed to the cold Everlee, was sitting on a first-class cushioned seat and feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"Uhm, excuse me sir." Everlee attempted to side-step a very tall man wearing a long black wool coat and grumbling something harsh into the ear of his phone. He was standing directly in front of the luggage belt. She could see her navy canvas duffle bag sailing toward him, and in her most polite but commanding tone, tried to shimmy her way through the anxious throng of Russians to clasp for her clothes.
Just as she brushed in next to the man, he ended his call, and brought down his elbow in a quick jerk.
It connected to the crown of her head, and the snap of bone on bone was a white-hot jolt of pain. Everlee hissed, and missed her bag completely, almost falling over into another woman in a red-fox fur coat.
The man, gasped in that gruffly boyish sort of way that is between a grunt and a sharp intake of breath, "дерьмо, извините." (shit, sorry)
Everlee gave herself a second to touch her head and looked up at the offender. He was much better from the front, with kind eyes and a sharply-planed face with a full mouth. He looked at her insta-pain watered eyes and immediately acquired a shocked expression.
"Иисус, я даже не видел Вас, Вы, хорошо отсутствуют?" (Jesus, I didn't even see you, are you alright miss?)
Even without knowing a word of what he had said, Everlee caught on to his expression and gave a quick smile, "I'm fine, just have to wait for my bag again," she pointed to the moving rope and shrugged with exaggeration, beginning to feel her smile become real as he watched her.
The man, Peter Krashnimov, loved the soft sound of her voice, and almost immediately wanted to know her more. Though his parents had spent thousands of English money to send him to boarding school to learn English, he had retained very little. He decided to give it a shot, the girl was so sweet with her open smile.
"You say not Russian? This is bad," he let go of a deep chuckle that Everlee thought sounded a little nervous, and she squinted again with her smile returning as she scanned to rope for her luggage, "Yes, it is very bad. I need to start picking up some more of the language," she felt herself brushing against his wool coat and straightened a little more, seeing her luggage finally wing through, and practically taunting her, "Anyway, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snuck around you like that, you didn't know some crazy American would be right underneath you." She snatched her bag quickly, not expecting it's weight to be so much, and almost dropped it before she hooked an arm underneath it. She blushed knowing he had seen her little stumble.
Peter had no idea what just came out of her mouth, but he did know when she said American she was referring to herself, and that when she rolled her eyes it was in humor at her own actions. He was so intensely riveted by her voice and face he almost hugged her right there. Except for the fact that she would probably scream,' псих!', (nut case!) he was considering doing just that. But, as he pondered her reaction, she was moving swiftly, her hair easily visible against all the winter hats everyone else had on. For a moment as she walked he wondered at how much the light captured the hues in her hair, it was lovely.
He looked back at the rolling line and saw his luggage coming toward him. With one defeated look in the pretty girl's direction he decided to wait and pick it up instead.