What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (18 page)

“It’s tonight. I hope you don’t have other plans, but if you do, you
shouldn’t feel—”

“I don’t have any plans, and even if I did, I would cancel them in a
blink. When and where shall we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up at six o’clock at your place, so we can grab a quick
dinner before the performance. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

A perfect night with a perfect man
, she told herself after she
hung up.

Dmitry
was
perfect, in every way that Rob wasn’t. Unlike Rob, who
was just beginning to build a career, Dmitry was already established. He was a
well-respected CPA. Her father’s chief accountant, as it happened. He owned a
cozy apartment and drove a nice car. He was crazy about literature. He was
honest and staid.

Dmitry was also always supportive, even protective of her, but without a
trace of machismo. He was keen to know every detail about her work and her
workplace, including the names of her colleagues and professors. If she didn’t
feel like opening her calendar, she could just ask him about her schedule. He
knew it better than she did.

When anyone—including Anton and Anna—teased her, she knew she
could count on his swift intervention to defend her or to divert the
discussion. Which always reminded her of how Rob had let Amanda bully her
throughout their Nice weekend without attempting to protect her. He had acted
like it wasn’t his business to speak up on her behalf. Which would have been
fine, had she not been under such a relentlessly taunting assault. Dmitry would
have said something, done something or just . . . carried her
away. He wouldn’t have let her fend for herself.

He was perfect.

* * *

They had first met at Anton and Anna’s wedding shortly after Lena’s
return to Moscow. They had a pleasant conversation and danced together a
little. Lena enjoyed Dmitry’s quiet intelligence and his undisguised
admiration. She forgot about his existence the following day.

She crossed him again three months later. Her stepmother, Anna, who was
full of energy in spite of being on the verge of giving birth, had learned that
the Moscow City was planning to shut down one of the oldest Children’s Arts and
Crafts Centers. The center had survived for the past few years mainly on the
unflagging enthusiasm of its stuff. But it had reached the degree of squalor
that endangered the children. The site hadn’t been renovated since the Soviet
days, when it was called a Young Pioneer House
.

During a family dinner one evening Anna banged the table with her fist
and told Anton and Lena, “Shut down the center? The hell they will. It’s the
place where I learned how to make a teddy bear from fabric scraps and dance the
kazachok
. I fell in love with Ray Bradbury’s stories in its
library . . .”

She stared at the wall for a few moments, her eyes vacant, and then
blinked. “I don’t care if the mayor is hell-bent on closing it. I won’t let it
happen.” She winked at Lena and added, “I didn’t marry a tycoon for nothing.”

“Is that so?” Anton smiled. “Here I was deluding myself that you married
me because you were madly in love with me.”

“That, too. But don’t you think your money is begging for a noble outlet,
such as saving a children’s art center? Besides, I’m sure your gifted
accountants can figure out how to deduct most of it from your taxes.”

Anton put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Anna, my love, you always
manage to get me to do your bidding, don’t you?”

“Who? Me? I wouldn’t dream of it,” Anna said.

Anton’s eyes fell on his wife’s prominent belly. “Well, as long as it’s
to make children happy . . .” He gave Anna a gentle peck on the
cheek. “Do your worst. But promise me to take it easy and not let your
enthusiasm interfere with our baby’s plans.”

Shortly after that conversation Anton donated a substantial sum of money
to the center, and Anna organized a fundraiser at a trendy downtown restaurant
to collect the remaining capital required for the complete renovation of the
building.

It was at that banquet that Lena met with Dmitry for the second time. He
took a seat across from her at the long table overflowing with beautifully
presented food.

“Lena!” He beamed. “What a pleasure to see you again. You look great.”

Lena smiled politely. “Hello. It’s nice to see you, too.”

Then her smile broadened as she recognized the enthusiastic gentleman. He
was the nice accountant from the wedding. If only she could remember his
name . . .

Right on cue, he held out his hand. “My name is Dmitry, just in case you
were wondering. I’ve been hoping for a chance of seeing you again ever since we
met at Anton’s wedding.”

Lena didn’t know what to say. She had noticed how Dmitry was looking at
her, but she found his words a little too forward. She feared the evening was
going to be awkward. To her surprise, it turned out to be the opposite. After
having unequivocally signaled his interest, Dmitry steered the conversation to
completely different subjects ranging from the Russian oligarchs’ tentative
forays into arts patronage to a comparison of contemporary Russian and Japanese
novels.

He was thirty-five, a grown man—a real adult—to her
twenty-three. He was well-dressed and good-looking. He wasn’t funny or
charismatic, but he had impressive erudition, impeccable manners, and that look
of adoring wonder that appeared on his face every time he glanced at her.

When the banquet was over, Lena realized she wanted to stay and continue
talking to Dmitry. And when he asked if she’d like to visit an expressionist
exhibit with him next week, she accepted without hesitation.

* * *

Rob had just finished a complicated financial
report when Amanda walked into his office. She leaned against the wall,
crossing her arms over her chest. “Shouldn’t we be booking our tickets to
France? The longer we wait the more expensive they’ll get—soon it’ll be
Christmastime, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Rob shuffled his papers. “I booked my trip
this morning.”

“What? And you didn’t think to tell me? We
could have flown together. Now we’ll probably end up on different flights!”

“We
will
end up on different flights,
I’m afraid.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m flying with Aeroflot with a
twelve-hour stopover in Moscow.”

Amanda smirked. “Oh, I see. You must have
found a
really
good deal with Aeroflot to accept such a long stopover
when you only have ten days of vacation.”

“Amanda, I—”

“It’s OK, Rob. I get it. You still aren’t
over Lena, even though she made her position abundantly clear. Are you hoping
for a chance run-in while you’re in Moscow? It’s a small town, after all. Just
a dozen million people, give or take a million.”

“Jeanne gave me both her home and her school
addresses.” Rob offered Amanda a lopsided smile. “You think I’m pathetic, don’t
you? I can’t blame you—I
am
pathetic. I’d promised myself to leave
her in peace. And yet . . . here I am, planning to stalk her in
Moscow.”

Amanda didn’t contradict his bitter comment.

He shook his head, as if baffled by his own
behavior. “But this time will be the last. Once I’ve found Lena, I’ll do
everything I can to sway her. I’ll use my
irresistible
charm—it’s
worked on her before. And if she still won’t change her mind, I’ll give up on
her for good.”

Amanda gave him a tired look and turned to
leave. She stopped in the doorway and spun around. “You know, Rob, the good
thing about this whole Lena debacle is that you’ve shown a level of constancy
I’ve rarely seen in a man. So no, I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

As she stepped out of
Rob’s office, she added without turning around, “Let me know how it went,
Romeo.”

It was three o’clock when Rob finally arrived
at Lena’s home address, but she wasn’t there. So he hurried to her school and
waited in the large lobby close to the main entrance. He didn’t want to go
looking for her inside, afraid she might leave the building in the meantime. He
hadn’t been to Moscow since student summer camp four years ago, but he’d
ascertained that the charming teahouse he’d found at the time was still in
business. It wasn’t very far, and he could take Lena there for pancakes and a
cup of warm chai.

A little after four o’clock he spotted Lena
rushing down the central staircase that led to the lobby, a coat folded over
her arm, a woolen hat on her head and a big smile on her face. He grinned and
took a step forward. But his smile died and he stopped in his tracks when Lena
halted in front of a guy in a suit, standing at the foot of the staircase. The
Suit kissed her on the mouth and helped her into her coat. Then he took her
hand and led her out of the building.

Rob remained where he
was with his jaw clenched while his mind processed the images. Ten minutes
later, he walked out of the building. It was getting dark. No longer warmed up
by anticipation, Rob could now fully appreciate how freaking cold Moscow was in
the middle of winter. The wind filled his
eyes with tears that instantly
turned into tiny icicles attached to his lashes. He rubbed them off with the
back of his hand,
took a deep breath of icy air
that burned his lungs, and hailed a cab to take him back to the airport.

During their customary after-work drink two
weeks later in Bangkok, he filled Amanda in on his missed meet.

“And thus ends my sad tale of foolhardiness
and frozen ass. From now on, you are officially authorized to punch me in the
face if I ever mention Lena’s name again. Oops, I just did. Go on, punch me!”

“I didn’t know you were such a drama queen.”
Amanda laughed, waved at the waiter, and ordered two vodka lemons.

When he raised an eyebrow at her unusual
choice, she said with a playful smile, “Seemed appropriate to mark the end of
your Russian affair.”

A few more vodka lemons later, Amanda declared
she was ready to turn in. As it was past midnight, Rob insisted on walking her
home.

“You want to come up for a coffee?” she asked
just as he was about to leave.

“Sure, why not?”

But he didn’t get any coffee, not until the
next morning. Once inside her apartment, Amanda began to unbutton her shirt.
Rob bent his head and kissed her. She tasted of lemon and vodka.

Amanda put her hands on his chest and leaned
away a few inches. “You don’t have to
 . . .
continue this, if you don’t want to do.”

“Oh, but I want to.”

He kissed her long neck, admiring its
elegance. She was beautiful. She’d always been there for him. She knew him and
understood him like no one else.

This was bound to be as good as their
friendship.

In this relentless, laughing
city,

I dream of meadows stretching
far,

Till laughter fades, and I am
giddy

With pain,
the escort of my heart.

Marina Tsvetaeva

“May I also suggest this adorable sleep set that matches with the vests
you’ve picked?” The shop assistant held an apple green item in front of Lena.

“It’s lovely. I’ll take it.”

“And how about this wool cardigan? Cardigans are a must-have for winter
babies.”

Lena ran a gentle hand over the tiny garment. It was soft and
heart-wrenchingly small. “Are you sure it will fit?”

“Our sizes are on the large side, so it will definitely fit.”

Lena purchased the items and continued her Christmas shopping. She had
already bought
a ridiculous amount of presents for
Katia, her newborn half-sister. The little thing had arrived a week ago—red-faced,
helpless, and adorable. Anton spent all his free time with her, looking acutely
happy. Anna was swinging between depressed and ecstatic every half hour or so.
Lena had never seen her so moody before.

She walked into a tie shop where she often
bought her father his colorful hand-sewn silk ties—the only touch of
personality he allowed in his sober business attires. When Lena was younger,
she would beg him to wear brighter clothes, but to no avail. Anton’s aversion
to color had been a mystery to her until three years ago, when she got him a
fashionably lilac shirt for his birthday. Two weeks later, she spotted that
shirt on his driver. She got upset. That was when Anton asked her to follow him
into his walnut and glass walk-in closet.

“Let me show you something.” He opened a
sliding door at the farthest end of the closet and yanked a hanging garment bag
down from the rail.

“Daughter mine,” he said as he uncovered a
hideous jungle green double-breasted blazer. “You won’t remember the nineties—you
were too little—but this is what I used to wear back then, like every
other wannabe oligarch in Russia. I had more blazers like this one, in
different colors.”

Lena eyed the jacket. “It’s absolutely
dreadful. And it looks like it’s made of polyester.”

“That’s because it
is
made of
polyester.”

“Wow,” said Lena.

“When I had my first meeting with
international partners, who were all dressed in gray wool, I felt so
self-conscious that I made a crappy deal that I regretted the moment we signed
the papers. I’ve never worn color since.”

“So why have you kept it during all these
years?”

“As a reminder.” Anton pulled the garment bag
over the blazer and turned to Lena with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Or
maybe because I secretly still love it and wear it when no one can see me.”