What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (23 page)

“The dean will receive you now,” the secretary said. She bared her teeth
in lieu of a smile, stood up from behind her desk, and sashayed to the door
leading to the adjacent office.

As Lena stepped into the pompous office, she couldn’t help admiring the
secretary for her ability to walk in shoes that were higher than they were
long.

The dean looked up from his paperwork and nodded to Lena. “Please, come
in and take a seat. I asked you to stop by because I have good news for you.
The board reviewed your application and okayed it. They were impressed by the
number of your publications, by the way. And so was I.”

A week earlier, she would have been overjoyed to hear this. Now she felt
sick to her stomach. “Does the board’s decision have anything to do with the
recent donation?”

“The donation was anonymous, Ms. Malakhova.” He gave her a long look and
pointed to the door. “My secretary will see you out.”

Lena nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else to say, was
there? She would probably never know the truth about the donation, but somehow
it didn’t matter. If her dad had made it, in the hope that the board would
connect the dots, it was out of a misguided attempt to help her. After all
these years, she’d gotten used to his misguided gestures of love—almost
expected them.

But even if it wasn’t him, her docent title would be marred by suspicion
in everyone’s eyes. Including hers.

She dragged herself home and changed back into her pajamas. At
two in the afternoon, she was still in bed, fully awake
but unable to get up and face the day. Her phone rang. She didn’t answer it. It
rang again and again. Whoever was calling clearly knew Lena was home. She
tumbled out of the bed and picked up the phone.

“Finally. I knew you were there. What’s going
on?” Anna asked.

“Nothing, I’m just feeling a little under the
weather.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for three years now,
and I know that when you feel
a little
under the weather you don’t
disappear for days and not return my calls. And where’s Dmitry, by the way?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? And why
doesn’t anyone pick up when I call in the evening? I tried both your
cellphones, but it’s like you and your husband suddenly went undercover. If you
hadn’t left that voice mail two days ago, I would have broken into your
apartment!”

Anna paused for breath. “Lena, what is going
on?”

“Please, Anna, don’t worry. I’m fine. Really.
I just need some time by myself.”

“Well, too bad. Because I’m on your doorstep
so you have to let me in.”

The doorbell rang, making Lena jump. Crap.
She’d no time to change out of her pajamas.

“Hang on a minute!” she yelled and went to
the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. After that, she pulled her
hair into a bun, and let Anna, now pregnant with her second child, in.

Her stepmother quickly took in the neglected
state of the apartment and of its occupant, and headed to the kitchen. “I’m
going to make us some tea. Why don’t you take a shower in the meantime,
sweetheart?”

“Oh God, do I smell?” Lena tugged at her
pajama top to sniff it.

“No, not yet.”

Fifteen minutes later they sat at Lena’s
kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of each and a plate with cookies Anna
must have brought with her. This was one of the things Lena loved about Anna—her
ability to create warmth and a safe haven around her.

“How’s Katia? How’s Dad? I texted him
yesterday to tell him I was fine and not to worry.”

“I know. What I don’t know is if you really
expected it to work. I can assure you that if he wasn’t at the other end of the
country right now, he would have been here since Sunday night, camping outside
your door,” Anna replied.

Lena smiled. The image of her dad in a
sleeping bag on her landing was improbable, given his aversion to camping. But
also likely, knowing how mulish he could be.

Anna pushed a cookie in front of Lena. “Eat.
This is just to make sure you can walk home with me to get a proper meal. So,
where’s Dmitry?”

“We broke up. I’ll be filing for a divorce.”

Anna’s squeezed Lena’s hand, her gaze full of
sympathy. But she didn’t look shocked at the news. Not even surprised.

“Did you know about his mistress?” Lena
asked, incredulous.

Now
Anna looked surprised. “Dmitry had a mistress? I had no idea. To be honest, I
always thought it would be you who’d end up leaving him . . .
How long have you known?”

“I found out last Saturday. He’s been seeing
her for four months now.”

Anna squeezed Lena’s hand again. “My poor
darling!”

“Anna, I’m not heartbroken, believe me. I
have been before—and this is not it.”

Lena took a long sip of her tea. It was
fragrant and unexpectedly comforting. She focused on how it warmed her body. “I’m
angry at my . . . arrogant blindness. I was so wrapped up in
myself and so sure of his devotion, I missed all the telltale signs of an
affair he wasn’t even trying to hide.”

Anna put her hand on Lena’s. “Don’t be so
hard on yourself. Dmitry was such an
exemplary
husband—it’s no
surprise you didn’t see it coming!”

“I appreciate your solidarity. But here’s the
truth—I lived in a card house for the past two years, and then the card
house crumbled. It happens to card houses a lot . . . I wasn’t a
good wife for him, a wife he deserved. My marriage was a lie, Anna, and it wasn’t
Dmitry’s fault.”

Lena felt tears well up again and accepted
the tissue Anna offered her.

“It’s nothing—just self-pity,” she said
as she dried her eyes.

“I know what you need to do. You’re going to
move in with us for a little while, so I can look after you properly. And once
you’ve regained a healthy weight and complexion, you’ll dedicate all your time
and attention to your career. Aren’t you the frontrunner for that docent title?”

Lena sighed. “It’s complicated.” She suddenly
felt drained of the little energy she had left, too tired to recount her
conversation with the dean to Anna. So she went for the bottom line. “The truth
is I’m no longer interested in it. I’m quitting my job.”

“What? But you love translating. You live for
translating. You breathe translating.”

“That’s right. That’s exactly right. You see,
I’m a translator, not a theoretician. Even the papers I published talk about
concrete, practical translation problems. I guess my academic aspirations were
as much of a lie as my marriage.”

“What will you do then?” Anna’s voice
cracked, telling Lena her stepmother meant more than just career choices.

“That’s the thing,” Lena said, looking up
from her now empty mug. “I wish I knew.”

* * *

As soon as Anton and Anna were out the door,
Lena crawled back under the sheets. A month after the breakdown of her marriage
and her career, she still spent way too much time in bed. In her more
optimistic moments, she tried to look to the future, to pick herself up. But
her life was scattered in so many pieces, the enormity of the task paralyzed
her every time.

On top of that, she grew increasingly uneasy
about her last conversation with Dmitry. She regretted the things she’d said
and the things she hadn’t. When she returned home on that fateful Saturday,
after having aimlessly wandered the streets for several hours, Dmitry was gone.
He’d left her a note saying he was sorry about how things had ended between
them.

She was sorry, too. It was a strange kind of
sorry—the kind that blended grieving, remorse and relief. As for her
anger about his affair, it was completely gone. After all, how could she blame
him for having opened his heart to another woman, when she’d never opened hers
to him?

On an impulse, she grabbed her phone and typed a
text.

Can we meet? I have something to tell you.

L.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took a fortifying breath and pushed
send.

He replied ten minutes later.

Can
you make it to Karaway at 1 pm?

She could.

Dmitry showed up in jeans and a T-shirt. He had grown a neat beard that
made him look different. More virile and older. It suited him.

“Where do you live now?” she asked after the maître d’ led them to their
table.

“I’m renting a two-bedroom in Zamosvorechye,” he said before adding in
reply to her unspoken question, “with Aliona.”

She smiled and wrung her hands. It wasn’t easy to find the right words.

He studied her face. “I found a job with a company that has nothing to do
with IT services. So Anton shouldn’t worry I’d leak any insider info.”

“He isn’t worried. He’s convinced of your integrity.”

Dmitry nodded before adding, “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, he was never
convinced of my suitability as your husband.”

It was hard to argue with that.

“Well, time proved him right,” Dmitry said with a smirk.

“I guess he knows me better than I do,” she said.

Dmitry gave her a long look. “So, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

She stared into his eyes. “That I’m sorry.”

“I was the one having an affair, as far as I recall
 . . .
”

“And I was the one to practically push you into it. I had no right to
walk out on you that morning, as if I was the only wronged side.”

He shifted slightly in his seat, then rubbed his face. His eyes remained
trained on her.

Lena drew in a heavy breath. “I’m truly, profoundly sorry for having
wasted two years of your life.”

“It was your life, too.”

“Yes, but the blame for our failed marriage is mine alone. I want you to
know that I can see it now.”

Dmitry gave her a tired smile. “I don’t think the blame is only yours,
Lena.”

She shook her head. “The truth is, I haven’t done much to make our
marriage work. You tried so hard for so long, but I didn’t. I cared for you,
and I wanted to love you, but I
 . . .
wouldn’t let go of my past. I didn’t do what it took to empty my heart, so I
could give it to you.”

“My dear, it’s a delusion to believe you can “empty”
your heart at will. With hindsight, I don’t even understand why I accepted to
live like that. Why I hid from this truth you’re talking about. I should have
known better . . .” He shrugged. “Love, as they say, makes us
stupid.”

“Blind,” she corrected automatically.

“Thank you.” He smiled before becoming
serious again. “Had I not been in denial about your feelings for me when we
married, or had I asked you a year later, we could’ve cut our losses.”

“Had you asked, I would have told you how
much I cared for you, so I don’t see—”

“But you wouldn’t have told me you were
in
love
with me.” He tilted his head and paused, giving her a chance to
disagree.

She didn’t.

He exhaled slowly, looking tired. “You’ve
never told me that. You’ve never told me you dreamed of me, or wanted sex with
me, or wanted my baby.”

She turned her head away as her eyes began to
well up with tears.

He spoke again. “I appreciate
this . . . initiative, and the intention behind it. I do. But
you’re definitely not the only one to blame.”

“Are you in love Aliona?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I wish with all my heart you’ll be happy
with her.”

“I
am
.” He suddenly grinned. “I can’t
even begin to tell you how good it feels to be with a woman who’s mad about
you.”

* * *

That night Lena went to her desk and logged
in her Facebook account, for the first time since her meeting with Rob in
April. She checked out his personal page. He hadn’t updated it in months. She
went to his company page and learned that they’d successfully shipped their
first big order, then a second one, and then a third. The company was flooded
by new orders from all over the world. The page contained dozens of links to
rave reviews in the French and international press. She opened and read every
one of them.

Next, she went to Amanda’s page. After some
scrolling she found what she was looking for—and dreading. It was an
update posted in early May.

Rob and I are moving in together. Yay!

She stared at that post for over an hour,
until her eyes hurt and her head began to pound.

Two trees are yearning for each
other.

My house is across the street.

The trees are old. So is the
house.

I’m young—or else I
wouldn’t stand here,

Commiserating
with a tree.

Two trees—in
the dry heat of summer,

In sopping
rains, under the snow—

They bend,
they reach—toward each other.

That is the
law: toward each other,

The only law: toward each other.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Over the next week, Lena no longer bothered
to get out of bed for Anna’s and Anton’s visits. They would let themselves in,
leave some nice smelling food in her kitchen, talk to her, and then let
themselves out.

Today, Anton brought Katia along.