#mal is... bad but zoya's a whole new level

[alinastracker]

Infuriating: Part Two (ao3)

Part One was Mal and Alina’s camp love story. Now it’s Zoya and Nikolai’s turn.

For Zoya Nazyalensky, it was hate at first sight when she met Nikolai Lantsov at Kamp Keramzin. But as she learns who the spoiled blond really is through the years, Zoya has to sort out feelings she never expected having. 

Before

Zoya Nazyalensky hated Nikolai Lantsov.

She hated him before she had even known his name. Perhaps hate was a strong word for someone she had only one, brief interaction with. But Zoya had always been more inclined to feel more intensely than most children, and so she found it a perfectly fitting description.

Zoya was bouncing in the back of her aunt’s beat up SUV the entire way to Kamp Keramzin. Up until two weeks ago, she had been preparing to spend another miserable summer with her mother and her alcoholic boyfriend, hoping that her father would visit her in between business trips. Then one afternoon, Aunt Liliyana had stopped in for an unexpected visit. Zoya had hoped she would take her back to the tiny coastal town Liliyana called home, at least until school started up in the fall, but she had come with something even better: a registration pamphlet for Keramzin.

Her mother had scoffed. “You know I can’t afford that shit.”

But you can afford the drugs, Zoya thought but didn’t say. Despite everything, she loved her mother. She wanted to make her proud. But it seemed like nothing Zoya did was ever good enough for Sabina to turn away from the allure of the drugs and the liquor, or worse, the abusive men she brought home.

“I’m paying for it,” Liliyana said. “That is, if you want to go?”

Zoya had absolutely wanted to go.

Though now that she was here, hugging her aunt for dear life, she found herself filled with nerves. She knew Liliyana had scraped together nickels and dimes to send Zoya to camp. Looking around, she could already see, just from the state of their clothes, that the other children here had more than she did. Could she even survive a whole summer away from her family? Maybe she had been naive, hoping to escape.

“My little storm,” Liliyana sighed. “This is going to be so good for you. Free that troubled mind of yours.” She tipped the young girl's chin up, locking eyes with her. “Remember, you are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.”

Zoya tried to hold the thought in her mind as she walked past the line of other cars and parents dropping their children off for the summer, her duffle bag of belongings slung over her shoulder. A bored driver waited in a car near the front of the line as a blond woman who reeked of money patted the head of an equally blond boy who looked to be around Zoya’s age. The expression on his face was as sour as spoiled milk.

“It’s not fair,” the boy huffed. “Vasily doesn’t have to—”

“Your brother has his horses, and you will have this.”

“I was fine at home! I wanted to spend the summer on—”

“Yes, on your little gadgets.” The woman sighed. “And how well did that work out last summer? Mrs. Ivanov’s dog needs anxiety medication now.”

“The thing with Feliks was an accident!”

“Regardless, you are here because of your own actions, Nikolai. This is your last chance, or next year it’s boarding school. No more hijinks, do you understand me?”

The boy — Nikolai — pouted, but grumbled out a semi-respectful, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now run along.”

Zoya, realizing she had stopped to listen, picked up her pace as naturally as possible. Mentally, she scoffed. How privileged this boy was, huffing and puffing. Didn’t he know how much her aunt had sacrificed just to send her here? How thankful Zoya was, and she hadn’t even stepped foot in the place yet?

She decided then and there that she would stay far away from the spoiled brat.

So naturally, he was put into her group for orientation. There were six of them in total, and as they went around introducing themselves, Zoya wasn’t sure she liked any of them. One girl, Marie, seemed tolerable enough, she supposed.

“Nikolai Lantsov,” the blond boy said when his turn came. A couple of the others exchanged glances that Zoya couldn’t interpret. If Nikolai was surprised by their reaction, he didn’t show it.

Her turn came, and she tried to remember what her aunt had told her as she said, “Zoya Nazyalensky.”

One of the boys frowned. “Nazyalensky? That’s a mouthful.”

She was half-ready to show him what a mouthful really was when Nikolai said with a casual shrug, “I like it.”

Maybe the boy wouldn’t be so bad after all—

Nikolai had turned to her then, a frown tugging at his lips. “You have something on your shirt, Nazyalensky.”

Zoya looked down at herself and sure enough, there was a stain, likely from one of her grandmother’s meals that were almost always served with a rich sauce. Most of her clothes had some kind of stain or little holes from the sheer number of years she’d owned them.

She was back to hating him.

Their first summer had been more of the same. Nikolai would say something almost nice, only to follow it up with something that made her want to punch him. Zoya ignored him as much as humanly possible, but like any invasive species, he kept popping up.

Regardless of the ever annoying Nikolai Lantsov, Zoya loved every second at Keramzin. She wrote multiple postcards to her aunt with updates, and even a couple to her mother. Despite not being as well off as most of the other kids, Zoya always kept her aunt’s parting message close to her chest.

You are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.

And she quickly learned that half of being popular was believing that you should be. She walked through camp with her head held high, and if that made her a little intimidating to the others, so be it. At least when it came to her age group, Zoya found herself holding court. The girls wanted to be her, the boys (and some of the girls, too) wanted to kiss her — all the more so during her second year at Keramzin as she further grew into her looks. She was naturally gifted at most of the camp activities. Everyone wanted her on their team for games like kickball and tug of war. She could swim laps around everyone in the lake. Finally given the opportunity, Zoya simply thrived.

As the years went on, the only one who matched Zoya’s popularity at Keramzin was Nikolai, much to her dismay. But unlike Zoya, Nikolai hadn’t had to work for his level of adoration from the other campers. He wasn’t good at most of the activities, but everyone still wanted him on their team. He didn’t need to be good. Rather, Nikolai capitalized off of his good looks, his money, and his natural charm — though Zoya would dispute him having any of the latter. But she couldn’t deny his money. His father was some big shot in the business world, the Lantsov name apparently rather well known. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, he was attractive. Golden blond hair, hazel eyes that always held a wink of something mischievous. He was annoyingly smart and worldly, though she would never tell him that. She would never tell him most of her deeper feelings regarding him. For him.

Because despite her best effort, Zoya found herself by Nikolai’s side again and again every summer, like clockwork. Despite being well loved, neither of them had really bonded strongly with the campers in their year. It didn’t help that he was the only one who could handle her jabs and withering glares, laughing them off as if she couldn’t possibly mean anything she said. But she definitely meant every word.

Mostly every word.

Instead, they had found themselves entangled with a group that had formed in the year below them. Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev, the two most oblivious people to ever live. Genya Safin, so naturally gorgeous and put together that Zoya had let her jealousy convince her she hated the girl at first. But then Genya had shown her how to do her hair in more ways than Zoya's usual ponytail, and helped her make something out of her meager clothing selections, even going as far to stitch up holes in some of her more worn tee shirts. Why she looked at David Kostyk of all people with puppy eyes she would never understand, though Nikolai was rather obsessed with the genius boy, too. Nadia Zhabin, one of the funniest people she had ever met with an incredible amount of wit. Mikhael and Dubrov, two textbook definitions of himbos.

And if the group had looked up to Zoya and Nikolai as their cool older friends, at least for a couple years, they pretended like it didn’t go to their heads.

Zoya tried to explain to the girls why she hated Nikolai during one of the camp’s Sleep Under the Stars nights, ditching her group to pull her sleeping bag over to where Alina, Genya, and Nadia were camped out.

“He’s arrogant, spoiled rotten, and downright infuriating,” she’d said.

Genya had been the one to bravely raise a brow and ask, “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on him?”

“Absolutely not! I can't stand him.”

Zoya had kept up the same attitude, even as her traitorous hormones had begun to notice the strong line of his jaw, the hard muscles of his back when they were swimming at the lake. He was still an asshole — even if it was mostly accidentally. He was still spoiled. Cocky. Often deserving of a good punch to his pretty face.

Until her fourth year of camp, when everything in Zoya’s life changed.

When Zoya was called to the camp’s main office one day halfway through the summer, she assumed someone had ratted about her sneaking off into Maxim’s cabin last night. He was a year older and quite the kisser. But as soon as she had seen the look on Mr. Botkin’s face, she knew something was terribly wrong.

“Miss Nazyalensky, I’m so sorry to have to share this news with you,” he said in his thick accent, his face softer than she had ever seen it. “Your mother called. There was an accident involving your aunt.”

Zoya barely heard the next words out of his mouth. Drunk driver. It happened fast. Funeral in a couple days. Can’t afford the bus ticket for home and Novokribirsk, so—

She ran out of the office after that, all the way back to her cabin, ignoring other camper’s worried glances and calls for her. Of course, her stingy, selfish mother would only pay for one ticket. Zoya knew the woman expected her to stay at camp and use that one ticket to get home at the end of the summer. But screw that. Zoya would use it to go to her aunt’s funeral, even if she had no way home afterwards.

Zoya was in the middle of stuffing her bag, too frantic to care about folding her clothes or being gentle with fragile items, when the cabin door opened. She barely noticed. Zoya couldn’t stay here another second, the place she had come to love more than her own home, the place she had only been able to attend because her aunt had paid for her stay the past four summers.

Her thoughts were as panicked as her packing. Had Aunt Liliyana been driving home from an extra shift when she had been hit? Or from her first job to the second she had taken on? Would she have needed to do either of those if she hadn’t paid for Keramzin? Was her aunt gone because of her?

Zoya ignored the footsteps, assuming one of the girls was coming to grab a hair tie or change into a swimsuit. Or maybe one of them had seen her run from the office and had come to ask about her. She had no time for that.

But the hand that gently — albeit firmly — closed around her wrist, halting her movement, definitely didn’t belong to Alina, Genya, or Nadia.

“Zoya?” Nikolai said, his voice taking on a gentle tone she’d never heard from him before. “What’s going on?”

Zoya pulled away from him. “I don’t have time to pander to your needs, Lantsov,” she snarled.

Never deterred by her icy demeanor, he perched on the edge of her bed. “You’re quite capable of working and speaking at the same time, if all those insults you’ve thrown at me over crafts serve as proof.”

“Fuck off, Nikolai.”

He sighed. “Zoya, please,” Nikolai said, bringing her to a momentary pause. Please was not often found in his vocabulary, not in such a genuine manner. “The others are worried, too.”

The words came out in a tumble as she stuffed the last few items into her bag. “My aunt was in a car accident and now she’s dead and the funeral is in a couple days and I have to go but my mother will only buy me one bus ticket so I have to decide between going home or going to the funeral and of course I’m going to the funeral, I’ll fucking walk the miles home if I have to but I just have to go—”

Nikolai took hold of both of her wrists now, and only then did Zoya realize the zipper she was hopelessly trying to close was stuck. “Breathe, Zoya.”

She shook her head. Tears had been building behind her eyes since Botkin had said the words your aunt was in a car accident and at any moment they were going to spill over. She couldn’t cry in front of Nikolai Lantsov. “I can’t,” she whispered, and cried anyway.

Nikolai let go of her hands, taking a moment to carefully zip up her bag, before he pulled her into his chest. Later, Zoya would curse herself, but all she could do in that moment was let Nikolai hold her as her body shook with sobs.

“I’ll call my driver,” he murmured eventually. “He’ll take you to Novokribirsk and home to Pachina and anywhere else you want to go.”

“No—”

“Yes. I’m stupidly rich, Zoya. Let me at least do something good with it.”

The next morning, a friendly older man named Igor waited for her in a brand new Rolls Royce outside the gates of Keramzin. Botkin took her bag to the trunk while she said goodbye to the friends that had walked out with her. It was the most vulnerable she had been with them, and were the situation not so heartbreaking, she knew they would have teased her about it. Instead she only got hugs and promises of texts and pictures. To everyone’s surprise, she saved Nikolai for last.

“Thank you, Lantsov,” she murmured into the crook of his shoulder. Were she not so miserable, she might’ve noticed how good he smelled for a sixteen year old boy in ninety degree weather.

“Don’t be a stranger, Nazyalensky.”

To Zoya’s surprise, she wasn’t.

  Now

Zoya Nazyalensky still hated Nikolai Lantsov.

At least, she pretended to, because admitting the truth was much more terrifying.

“Are you even paying attention, Zoya?” Genya sighed.

No, she wasn’t, because she was watching Nikolai bend over to tie his shoe, marveling at his ass. How he had only managed to get hotter through the years was a sin, and nineteen was already looking to be his best year yet.

Genya shifted, purposely blocking her view of Nikolai’s tight behind. “Focus! This is only going to work if we’re all on board.”

Zoya waved her off. “Yes, yes, I’ve got it. I’ll send Oretsev into the shed for you when the time arises. I still don’t think this is going to work. Both of them are too stubborn for their own good.”

“I don’t know,” Nadia countered. “They’ll never get over their problems if they keep avoiding each other. Never underestimate the power of forced bonding.”

“Exactly!” Genya said. Out of all of them, Zoya knew Genya wanted this plan to work most of all, convinced that Mal and Alina were destined lovers. And sure, the feelings between those two had been obvious — until last summer when they’d shown up hating each other. Personally, Zoya thought love and fate and all that sappy nonsense was utter bullshit. But she cared for Alina, too, so fine, she would help with this silly plan, even if she didn’t believe in it.

When they finally pulled it off a week later, however, Zoya couldn’t regret it more.

“Find somewhere else to sleep, I want the room to myself tonight!” Alina had barked as she stomped away from the activities shed, Mal grumbling off in the other direction.

“Wonderful,” Zoya deadpanned. “How long until she cools off?”

Genya bit her lip, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think we should give her the room tonight.”

“We should what?”

Nadia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we can sneak into the boys cabin. I can probably con Mikhael out of his bed.”

“I’ll just sleep with David,” Genya agreed.

“And what about me?”

The two of them gave her quizzical looks. “You’ve shared Nikolai’s bed before, Zoya. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Nadia said.

They were right, of course.

The dynamic of her relationship had changed with Nikolai after the year her aunt died. She had spent the rest of the summer in bed most days, barely able to get herself dressed. Surprisingly, her texts with Nikolai had been the bright spots of her days.

The service at Keramzin was horrible, so he must have been sneaking into Botkin’s office — the one building with wifi on the grounds — to send her stupid photos and relay all the goings-on of the day. Lost tug of war, again he’d captioned a photo of himself covered in mud. Another day he wrote, Group is discussing Alina and Mal’s “ship name” which is apparently something people do for couples????? (which they still aren’t, btw) Idk, Genya and Nadia are pushing for “malina” which is just so lazy to me. Oretskov is much more sophisticated, and as a woman of taste, I think you’ll agree.

For the rest of that summer — no, for the rest of that year, most of her laughs and smiles had been brought on by Nikolai Lantsov, which was absolutely fucking mind-boggling.

nikolai: nazyalensky you will not BELIEVE

zoya: this better be something actually unbelievable, lantsov

Nikolai proceeded to send a video of his brother, Vasily, getting absolutely yeeted off of one of his prized horses with the caption “MERRY FUCKIN CHRISTMAS TO MEEEEEEE.” Zoya only responded with you are going to HELL, but she laughed so hard her stomach hurt, so she supposed she’d be joining him.

Zoya worked her ass off during her junior year to be able to afford Keramzin in the summer. It felt good to be back with her friends after the painful year she'd had since losing her aunt, and she had found herself being excited to see Nikolai most of all. Though nothing on the outside had changed — Nikolai was still a pompous rich boy and Zoya still took jabs at him at every opportunity — there was plenty changing under the surface.

A week before the start of holiday break during her senior year, Zoya's phone lit up with Nikolai’s stupid face. She had made his contact photo one she'd taken over the summer after Dubrov had smashed an egg over his head, yolk dripping down his face. Zoya had a policy of not answering unplanned FaceTime calls. But for whatever reason, she made an exception, answering with a scowl on her face so he at least understood the offense.

“What the hell are you FaceTiming me for, Lantsov?”

“Hello to you too, Nazyalensky.”

Nikolai looked to be in the treehouse in his backyard. When he had first called her from the place, she had laughed, because what eighteen year old still had a treehouse? Then he had showed her around the place. It was more workshop than treehouse, a number of little inventions and other products of his mind scattered around the wooden structure. Couldn’t you have found a room in your mansion for this stuff? she had asked. Nikolai had shrugged. “I like being outside. And away from everyone.”

“Only psychopaths FaceTime with no warning.”

“Noted,” Nikolai said, entirely unbothered. “Anyway, what are your holiday break plans?”

“I’m working and finalizing uni applications.”

“Can you . . . not do that?”

Zoya’s glare would send most people running, even given through a screen, but Nikolai only waited for an answer. “I need the money for Keramzin.”

“What if Keramzin was taken care of?”

“Why are you even asking?”

“Ah, right. I was hoping you would come on holiday with me.”

She laughed, because surely he must be joking. But his face was serious. “What?”

“My family is going to Bora Bora. Sort of a work thing for my father. Anyway, all the families are going, and I got my mother to agree to me taking a friend, so . . .”

“You’re seriously asking me to go to Bora Bora with you?”

“Uh, yes?”

Zoya shook her head. “I have to work. And do my uni shit. Why are you even asking me of all people? You have other friends.”

“None of them are as pretty as you, Nazyalensky.”

“You know flattery doesn’t work on me, Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned, bringing the phone obnoxiously close to his face. “Please, please, please? I’ll go absolutely mental if I have to spend the whole week on my own with these privileged, white assholes.”

“Nikolai, you’re a privileged, white asshole.”

“Exactly! So you’ll come along then?”

“No.”

Naturally, Zoya went.

At first, she thought it might actually be a good decision, going with Nikolai. They sat next to each other on the plane ride there — in first fucking class — sharing Nikolai’s AirPods as they scrolled through stupid TikTok videos. It was strange, seeing him at this time of year when she had only ever seen him during the summer months. But it was nice, too.

And god, Bora fucking Bora! It was beautiful and warm and somewhere she never would have visited on her own. Certainly not staying at the fancy hotel that they were at, a stretch of the beach rented out for this company thing of his father’s. Privileged white asshole friends had their purposes, it seemed.

But she too quickly realized exactly why Nikolai had chosen her to come along.

She’d come back out from using the restroom on their second day there to find Nikolai standing with his father, another older man, and a girl that had to be around her and Nikolai’s age. Zoya had just decided to wait for him at their beachside table, having no desire to get caught up in whatever rich people things they were surely discussing, when she was waved over.

Had they not all turned to look at her, she might have ignored him. Instead, she put on her best friendly face as she joined the group.

“This is Zoya, my friend from camp.” As casually as if it were normal for them, Nikolai slung an arm around her. “We’ve been close for years now. Zoya, this is Rose, and her father, Ruslan.”

Rose glanced between the two of them, looking slightly disappointed. “Oh, I thought . . . Well, nice to meet you.”

Zoya smiled, seething on the inside. Nikolai’s father didn’t look too happy, either.

As soon as she got Nikolai alone, Zoya turned on him. “What the fuck was that, Lantsov?”

Nikolai sighed, “Look, Zoya—”

“You brought me here to what? Be the pretty thing on your arm?”

“No! I mean, that’s a benefit, yes. My father wants to set me up with that girl and I’m just not interested, so I thought—”

“So you thought, bring your poor camp friend! She’ll have to be grateful to live the rich life for a week!”

“That’s not it!”

Zoya shook her head. “To think I thought you actually wanted me here.”

“I do!” Nikolai stepped toward her, and damn the rocky wall at her back for not allowing her to move away from him. He took both of her wrists in his hands, just as he had that day in her cabin. But this felt different, intimate in a way that sent heat rushing through her. “I want you here, Zoya.”

Was he looking at her lips, or was she looking at his? Was he leaning in, or was she? The heat must be getting to her, because she didn’t let herself think the way she was thinking about him right now. Nikolai was cocky and spoiled and maybe she had allowed herself to begrudgingly become his friend, but this was something else entirely. Zoya couldn’t let him kiss her, so she didn’t, tugging out of his grasp and stalking down the beach. He didn’t follow, and she prided herself on being strong enough to resist his pretty hazel eyes and his stupid kissable looking lips.

Strong enough sober, anyway.

On their last night in Bora Bora, Zoya and Nikolai joined the rest of the kids on the trip, who indeed were privileged white assholes, for a boozy bonfire on the beach.

“So, your name is Zoya Nazzzalienski?” one of the boys slurred, screwing up her last name so badly she knew he wouldn’t have said it right sober, either.

“Nazyalensky,” she corrected sharply, too many drinks in to play nice.

“Mm, it’s a mouthful,” Rose, the girl Nikolai’s father apparently found ideal for him, said.

The other boy nodded. “So foreign.”

“She’s just as foreign as you or I, asshole,” Nikolai snapped.

Zoya was surprised to see actual anger on his face. Part of her wanted to punch him for playing the white savior, but another part was incredibly turned on by the way his eyes had darkened.

Vasily, who was as insufferable as Nikolai had described him throughout the years, laughed, disregarding the look on his brother’s face. “Aw, calm down, Niko. He didn’t mean anything bad about your little girlfriend.” Vasily covered his mouth in a mock whisper, “My brother has always had a thing for charity cases.”

Nikolai seethed beside her. “Watch your tongue before I remove it.”

“It’s okay, Nikolai,” Zoya said coolly, resting her hand on his arm. She needed no one to fight her battles for her. “I know your brother is still learning how to socialize with people, his usual company being those horses of his and all.”

The group cackled as Vasily flushed, but said nothing. Zoya stood, leaving them to their drunken bullshit. Nikolai followed.

Halfway down the beach, he stopped them. “Fuck, Zoya, I’m so sorry. I knew they were assholes but I didn’t think—”

Zoya cut him off with her lips.

“Oh,” he breathed when they pulled apart. It was the first time she had ever seen him speechless.

From there, they found their way to Nikolai’s room, stopping every now and then to continue their fervent kissing. The luxurious four poster bed became a mess as they sprawled onto it, working off their clothes, rattling the headboard well into the night. Zoya left Bora Bora with love bites on her neck and the best orgasm of her life.

After waking up sober with an ache between her legs the next morning, however, the first thing out of her mouth was, “It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything.”

Nikolai paused, then nodded. “It didn’t mean anything.”

So yes, Zoya had shared Nikolai’s bed before. Bora Bora had been the first, but not the last. They had spent last summer, their first as full on counselors — and therefore having the much nicer cabins that came with the position — fooling around whenever the flask came out. Drunken fuck buddies, that’s all they were. That’s all they were supposed to be.

But that was before the voicemail.

Zoya hadn’t told the girls about said voicemail, though, and apparently none of them had caught on to her and Nikolai subtly avoiding each other these past two weeks of their last year at Keramzin.

Before she could think of an excuse, the devil himself came around the corner.

Nikolai smoothly avoided eye contact with her. “Just passed Oretsev. Guessing the plan didn’t go over too well.”

Genya sighed. “Don’t you dare say I told you so,” she grumbled.

He held his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Perfect timing, Nik,” Nadia said, and panic rose in Zoya’s chest. “Alina’s demanding the room to herself tonight, so we’re castaways.” She sang the last part in the tune of that god-awful song that was plastered all over TikTok. “And Zoya needs a bed. You don’t mind sharing, right?”

Nikolai’s perfect face flashed with his own panic for the briefest second, fast enough that she might have just imagined it, and then he broke into one of his charming smiles. “‘Course not.”

That was how Zoya found herself in Nikolai’s bed a few hours later, the damned thing too small for any real space between them. She knew they were sharing the same thoughts. He could offer to take the floor, but then their friends would know something was off. And when Mal ended up leaving his bed to go camp in the woods for the night, they let Mikhael, who had given up his bed to Nadia, jump into it. Both of them pretending they were fine, that they might get any sleep like this. Neither of them had spoken much tonight, let alone the last two weeks, besides casual greetings and Zoya’s usual snide remarks in group settings to keep up pretenses. Nothing of the suffocating weight that had been crushing their relationship since New Year’s Eve.

While most college freshmen she knew had spent the night getting wasted, Zoya had worked a double and was so exhausted, she hadn’t even made it to midnight before passing out. She had woken up to a missed call and a voicemail from a very drunk Nikolai.

“Hi Zoya, it’s Nikolai!” He paused to laugh. “Guess you know that. Happy New Year! I’m so drunk.” Another pause, the sound of the phone hitting the ground as he dropped it, muffled music somewhere in the distance. “Oops, dropped the phone. Fuck, I had a really shitty night. My father won’t stop getting on me about choosing a major already, but he can piss off, because he wants me to do business and follow in his footsteps, but god I’d rather jump off this mountain. Did I mention I’m on a mountain? Nothing crazy, just snow and skiing and rich people nonsense. Anyway.” Another pause, accompanied with a hiccup. “You’re probably wondering why I called and I don’t know I just — It’s New Years and my family is pissing me off and the people at this party suck and I just want to kiss you. That’s what you do on New Years, right? You kiss someone. But I didn’t kiss anyone, ‘cause you’re not here. And if you were here, it still wouldn’t be right, ‘cause I don’t want to kiss you like in Bora Bora or camp last summer. I want to kiss you and shout about it to the world. I want to kiss you because you’re mine. I want it to mean something. I want—”

Zoya never learned what else he wanted, because the messaging system cut him off. She had listened to that voicemail about a hundred times since then, still not knowing what the fuck to say or feel. Exactly two messages had passed between them the next morning, and not a single one since.

nikolai: sorry, ignore the vm. was rather plastered, haha

zoya: right, ok

Now she had her back pressed to his front as if nothing had happened. When Genya popped up, apparently unable to sleep either, and suggested they go check on Alina, Zoya thanked the damn saints.

That is, until they barged in only to find Mal standing in nothing but his boxers, constraining an insane erection (wow, he was bigger than she’d guessed) and Alina hiding under the covers, clearly naked. Zoya was going to kill them.

“You little liar!” she spat. “You conned us out of our beds so you could get dicked down?!”

Genya seemed thrilled at the turn of events, and maybe Zoya would be too, if she wasn’t spending her night pressed against the chest of the boy who had confessed to — to something and left her brain endlessly screaming about it since.

Her anger at Alina and anxiety about returning to Nikolai’s bed must have shown on her face as they left their cabin behind, because Genya stopped them before they could reach the boys’.

“All right, what’s going on with you?”

“Yeah, come on Zoya, you should be happy for them,” Nadia said. “I mean, the plan worked.”

“I know it did and I am happy for them!”

Genya raised a brow. “Yes, you sound so very happy.”

Zoya let out a frustrated huff, and right there in the middle of the night, she finally spilled about everything that had happened between her and Nikolai. They knew about the friends with benefits kind of situation they had going on last summer, but in addition to not telling them about the voicemail, she had never mentioned Bora Bora, either.

“What the fuck, Nazyalensky!” Nadia whisper-yelled when she finished.

“You’ve been keeping all of this in for two years?!”

Zoya shrugged. So Alina wasn’t the only one with a secret. She had never shared what had come between her and Oretsev in the first place, after all.

“I can’t believe he took you to Bora Bora,” Nadia moaned. “Missing out on Nikolai is now the only time I’ve regretted being a lesbian.”

Genya patted Nadia’s back in comfort, but said, “And y’all never talked about the voicemail? Seriously?”

Zoya groaned. “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? It’s like, one in the morning.”

They agreed, albeit whining as they did, and when they made it back into the boys’ cabin, Zoya climbed into Mikhael's bed with Nadia.

The next morning, the three of them kicked Mal out of their cabin bright and early.

“Seriously?” he groaned.

“Sorry, dude,” Nadia said. “Girl emergency.”

He and Alina shared a hesitant look before Mal dropped a careful kiss to her lips, as if he hadn’t been railing her a few hours ago, and left.

Alina watched him go, then turned to the three of them with a growl. “Okay, I know I lied, but you had to kick him out so early?”

“Surprisingly, this isn’t about you, though we will get back to that.” Genya sat cautiously on her bed, as if the bodily fluids might have jumped from Alina’s bed over to hers. “Zoya shared some very interesting news with us last night.”

With a sigh, Zoya relayed the story all over again. The next hour was just a lot of screaming about the free trip to Bora Bora and Nikolai’s — in Alina’s words — very obvious love confession, which resulted in the three of them telling her she was the last person allowed to speak on obvious love.

“This all comes down to two things,” Genya said as they got ready, since they still had campers to take care of today. “How do you feel about him, and what are you going to do about it?”

Both were valid questions, but Zoya scowled anyway.

In true Zoya fashion, she spent the next week thinking about her answer. Every time the girls bugged her about it, she glared until they shut up. But it was good that they knew, because they helped her avoid him when she needed to, not that Nikolai was making it hard. She supposed her ditching him for Nadia’s bed hadn’t been very encouraging.

When she finally came to a conclusion, Zoya switched shifts with Dubrov one afternoon so that she was working one on one with Nikolai. Considering the shift in question, Dubrov had been more than happy to trade places.

The spot Zoya and Nikolai had found themselves in was shitty, so there really was no better place to finally have it out with each other than the horse stables on mucking duty.

When she reached the stables, Nikolai was already at work.

“‘Bout time you got here, Dubrov,” he said without looking up. “I was going to bring some horse shit back to the cabin for you if you didn’t — Oh.” He had finally looked up. “You’re not Dubrov.”

“No,” she said. “Not Dubrov. I switched shifts with him.”

Nikolai blinked. “You took mucking duty on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“Zoya would-die-before-letting-a-horse-sniff-her Nazyalensky chose—”

“Yes,” she growled. “And if you don’t shut up, I’m going to push you into the shit you're scooping.”

Nikolai shut up after that, and minutes passed as they worked in silence.

Unsurprisingly, Nikolai was the first to break it. “Why are you here, Zoya?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared of the answer.

Zoya swallowed the lump in her throat. “We can’t keep going on like this. Pretending New Years didn’t happen.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

She cleared her throat. “Nikolai—”

But he cut her off. “Must we do this here? Break my heart, Nazyalensky. Just don’t do it while I’m standing in a pile of literal horse shit.”

Break my heart, Nazyalensky. But the problem wasn’t Nikolai’s heart, it was her own. Zoya had always had a problem with feeling too much, the good and the bad. Her complicated relationship with love only made it worse. She thought of her mother, who’s love Zoya had tried so hard to earn only to come up short again and again. Aunt Liliyana, who she had loved more than life itself, taken from her far too soon. The desolation she had felt afterwards, wondering if she could ever dare love someone again. She had no positive examples of romantic love in her life, either. Liliyana had always been single as far as Zoya knew. Her parents had divorced, and Zoya could only ever watch as her mother brought toxic and abusive men into their home again and again. She wasn’t sure she even believed in love, or if she deserved it.

But then she thought of the people here at Keramzin. Of Genya and David, a couple that made no logical sense, but her gorgeous friend looked at the genius boy as if he personally hung the stars in the sky. Nadia, writing her love letters to her girlfriend back home. Even Mal and Alina, as oblivious they had been, were so clearly in love they were sickening to look at. They were all young, so maybe none of them would make it in the end, but wasn’t love still worth something even if it didn’t last a lifetime? Could she have something like what her friends had?

I am Zoya Nazyalensky, and I am worthy.

Zoya stalked across the stables and pulled Nikolai — pompous, entitled, infuriating Nikolai — into a fierce kiss.

Once he got past his shock, Nikolai kissed her back with just as much force. The tension between them finally snapped now that she had made her decision. They didn’t need to talk about it, Nikolai just knew. He always knew. This kiss was the answer to the voicemail she had never given him. Nikolai had wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted it to mean something.

And Zoya wanted it, too.

“Fuck, Nazyalensky,” Nikolai breathed between kisses, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. Zoya hummed her approval. “If we hurry . . .”

She understood, so as hard as it was to pull away, she did. They worked as if their lives depended on cleaning out the stables as fast as humanly possible. Had they not been literally handling shit for the past twenty minutes, Zoya would have gone straight to Nikolai’s cabin. Instead, she went to her own, aware of each passing minute as she changed and washed up.

Zoya had only taken one step into the boys’ cabin five minutes later before Nikolai pounced. Closing the cabin door, he pushed Zoya against it and kissed her like a starving man. She moaned against his lips, the surprise and force of it sending heat straight to her core. Her hands found his golden hair, his hands found her ass, and though they had been here before, it felt different. Besides being completely sober, the difference was in the way they held each other, like they had no plans of letting go. It was the way they kissed, desperate and deep, but knowing there were so many more on the horizon.

Nikolai scooped her into his arms, bringing her to the bed. The lack of space was no issue now. His lips started their descent down her neck, and she knew from experience that her makeup routine would have an extra step for the rest of the summer.

“I don’t know how much time we have before the guys get back,” he murmured. Zoya nodded, ready to tell him he’d better hurry up and fuck her then, when Nikolai continued, “But I’m still going to take my time licking you until you scream.”

Oh.

Clothes were discarded, and Nikolai moved down her body, murmuring about how he couldn’t wait to mark every inch of her. Then he was between her thighs, and quickly made good on his promise. Zoya couldn’t believe his tongue could be this good at something other than talking about himself.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

Nikolai popped his head up. “All in due time, darling.”

Growling, she pushed his head back down, and before she knew it, she was screaming into his pillow as her orgasm quite literally left her shaking.

Nikolai shifted, but before he could crawl back over her, Zoya used her weight to push him onto his back, taking her place on top. He still had his damned boxers on, so she quickly fixed that problem. His cock sprang free, and god, she could be drooling for all she knew. Never would she let him know that she mentally referred to his member as massive.

Needing to taste him, Zoya dipped her head and dragged her tongue up the length of him. Nikolai swore, then swore some more as she sucked him into her mouth. She would also never admit how much she loved sucking dick. There was something powerful about it that turned her on almost as much as it did the men she took into her mouth.

“Zoya,” Nikolai breathed, and she understood the warning in his tone. With a sigh, she let him fall from between her lips with an audible pop. Their limited time meant she’d have to wait until next time to let him spill inside her mouth. Shame.

Nikolai supplied a condom from his bedside drawer and Zoya rolled it onto him. Before he could get her on her back, she straddled him, making her intentions clear. He raised a brow, surprised, but didn’t object. Zoya braced one hand on the headboard, the other twining with one of Nikolai’s, and lowered herself onto his cock. They moaned in unison as she took in every inch of him.

Her rhythm started slow but quickly gained speed, her hips rolling and her breathing ragged as she brought herself down on him again and again. As she bounced, so did her tits, and Zoya didn’t miss the way Nikolai kept staring greedily at her chest. When looking wasn’t enough, he sat up as much as he needed to get his mouth on her breast, taking her nipple between his teeth and soothing the bite he gave it with his tongue afterwards. That damned tongue again. When Zoya tired, Nikolai was happy to take over even from underneath her, thrusting his hips against hers over and over.

It was perfect. It was glorious. Zoya was an idiot for waiting three weeks to figure out what she wanted. And she knew she wanted this — not just the fucking, but the exasperating boy beneath her, too. All of him. All of it. She had told Nadia that love was for suckers, and she supposed she should have known that included herself, considering how much she loved giving blowjobs.

It was perfect, until the cabin door opened and in walked Malyen Oretsev. He made it halfway inside before he caught sight of them on Nikolai’s bed and froze.

Nikolai groaned. “Malyen, does your timing always suck so much?”

Mal visibly swallowed, and Zoya realized he was making a concentrated effort not to look at her tits. Maybe she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Smirking, she said, “Payback’s a bitch, Oretsev. Now scram and tell everyone else to stay gone for a while, too.”

He nodded, still avoiding even the smallest glance in her direction, and ran out the door faster than she thought him possible.

Nikolai sighed. “Did that ruin the mood for you?”

In answer, Zoya lifted herself until only the very tip of him was inside of her, then took all of him in one swoop. Their moans mingled once more.

Breathing hard, she asked, “What do you think?”

Nikolai moved so suddenly, Zoya didn’t have time to process it until she was flat on her stomach. Behind her, Nikolai slammed his full length into her so hard, so deep that she thought she might come from that one thrust alone. He leaned forward, letting most of his weight settle onto her, pinning her down. It was oddly comforting.

Lips beside her ear, Nikolai whispered, “I think that I’m never going to have enough of this. I’m never going to have enough of you, Zoya Nazyalensky.”

Her twelve year old self never would have believed it, but she didn’t think she’d ever have enough of Nikolai Lantsov, either.

  One Year Later

It was the start of the summer holiday, and for the first time in seven years, Zoya wasn’t making her way to Keramzin. Instead, she was lazing on the sofa in the flat she shared with her arrogant, spoiled (and funny and smart and a bunch of other things she would never admit out loud), always infuriating boyfriend.

Said boyfriend strolled into the living room, handing a piece of mail to her. “Looks like the lovebirds made it to Russia safely.”

Zoya groaned as she read the postcard written in Alina’s neat handwriting, the only evidence of Mal being with her the sloppy signature next to hers. “They just got there and they’re already sending out postcards? Saps.”

“Absolute saps,” Nikolai agreed, lifting her legs to make room for himself beside her, letting her feet settle nicely on his lap.

After a stressful second year of university and having their first summer outside of Keramzin, they planned to do absolutely nothing all break long. Except they both had internships starting next week. Nikolai had settled on an engineering major, though he was still dabbling on what to do for his minor. Zoya was studying climate science and had an internship with the local news station’s weather team, though she had no intention of being the kind of meteorologist that reported the forecast for the masses each night. How dull.

Nikolai had given his father an ultimatum at the end of camp last summer. He would stay at the university his father had chosen for him if and only if he accepted his choice to pursue engineering — and let Zoya move into the flat. Otherwise, he was withdrawing and enrolling into Zoya’s uni, which was not exactly the first, or hundredth, choice of the wealthier class.

Surprisingly, his father had agreed, but the joke was on him. Nikolai was never going to switch universities, because Zoya was transferring to his. Not in the name of something as sappy as romance, but because it had an outstanding climate science program and — most importantly — her excellent grades and extracurricular activities had earned her quite the hefty scholarship.

But at least for this first week of the summer, they were staying in their flat, vegging out as they caught up on Netflix and fucking until their neighbors complained on NextDoor.

“Should we do pizza tonight?” he asked, gently rubbing the soles of her feet.

Before she could answer, her phone rhythmically buzzed on the table. A FaceTime call from Genya. When Zoya went to answer it, Nikolai frowned. “I thought you didn’t do unplanned FaceTime calls.”

“It’s Genya,” Zoya said, as if that explained everything.

The red haired girl’s face filled the screen, albeit a little grainy from the less than stellar reception at Keramzin. She could see David beside her, nose in a book as usual.

“Guess what!” she whisper-yelled, a grin on her pretty face.

“Botkin has finally admitted his past as a secret ninja assassin?” Nikolai piped up from beside her. Zoya scowled in his direction.

“Oh, hi Nikolai. And no. Look!” Genya flipped the camera, and two children came into view, a boy and a girl studying a piece of paper together. From the look of it, they were in the crafts room.

“I haven’t forgotten what twelve year old campers look like, Genya.”

She turned the camera back so Zoya could see her eye roll. “No, smart ass. It’s Alina’s map!” Genya whispered the last part, apparently not wanting the kids to hear her. “She must have left it for a camper to find. And I swear, these two are like Malina incarnate.”

“Oretskov,” Zoya and Nikolai said together.

Genya very casually flipped them off. “Anyway, I wish y’all could see them. Running off into the woods and all that shit they used to do. It’s uncanny.”

Zoya shook her head. “No thanks, living that storyline once was enough for me.”

Nikolai, always thinking of the important things, asked, “Hey, what’s our couple name?”

“Zoyalai,” said Genya and an off-screen Nadia in unison. The latter continued, “And don’t try to give us shit about it, because there’s no way you’re coming up with something better out of Nazyalensky and Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned. “Nazyalsov? Lantensky?”

Zoya wrinkled her nose. “Okay, fine, you guys win this round.”

She couldn’t deny it. Zoyalai had a nice ring to it.