What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (21 page)

“I remember you telling me about this in
Paris,” she said. “I thought it sounded wonderful but that it was just a
beautiful dream. And now you’re making it a reality.”

He smiled. “Fingers crossed. The dream is now
in the hands of five geeks who call themselves Hi-tech Wizards.”

“Can they do magic?”

“No, but their combined nerd factor is so
high it goes through the roof and into the stratosphere. Nerds of that caliber
can do anything.”

They fell silent for a little while. Lena was
surprised at how comfortable she felt with Rob, just like she had during their
short-lived romance in Paris. If was as if three years hadn’t passed. As if he
wasn’t with Amanda now, and she wasn’t married to Dmitry. She sighed and lifted
her face toward the sun. Her heart was suddenly full to the point of
overflowing.

“Lena,” he said softly. “Why don’t you tell
me about yourself now? It’s not like you’re much chattier on Facebook than I
am. All I know is that you’re married, have a little half- sister, got your PhD,
and became assistant teacher at the Translation Institute.”

She turned to him. “You’re well-informed for
someone who only updates his status twice a year.”

He wasn’t letting her off the hook. “Come on,
I want details. Are you happy in Moscow?”

She shrugged. “There isn’t much else to add
to what you already know. My sister is two and a half now, and she already has
the whole family wrapped around her little finger. She’s the world’s cutest
bossy pants.”

“And what about your plans for the future?”

“I’ve applied for a docent title, which is a
sort of associate professor. I’ve got lots of published articles and a good
teaching record, so I should have a fair chance. I even published a monograph.”
She winked. “A biography of Marina Tsvetaeva.”

“Have you been translating?” he asked.

“I translated two contemporary French novels
into Russian for a Saint Petersburg based publisher. I also translated more
Tsvetaeva poems into French and sent a collection to several French publishers.
But I haven’t heard back from any of them yet.”

“Sounds like you’ve been busy.” He gazed into
her eyes. “But what about Moscow?”

Lena hesitated. She could play dumb and tell
him about the city, but she knew Rob’s question wasn’t really about Moscow at
all.

“How is Amanda?” she asked.

He stared down at his shoes. “She’s fine. She
got a big well-deserved promotion recently, so she’s happy.” He lifted his eyes
to look at Lena and repeated his question, this time without prevaricating. “And
what about you? Are
you
happy?”

She twisted her wedding ring. Why couldn’t
she just say,
Yes, I’m happy, thanks for asking, and shouldn’t we go eat
those pancakes you’ve been raving about?
It was so easy. And yet it wasn’t
easy at all.

“I’m doing fine. I enjoy my work and being
around my family . . . It’s just that . . .” She
looked away and blurted, “It’s the way I feel about my husband. I love him, I
do. I admire everything about him. But my body is rejecting
him . . . He’s the most wonderful person on Earth, and he
worships me, but . . . he doesn’t turn me on. At all.”

Lena felt tears well up in her eyes. Her mind
was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She should stop right now before she
said too much. She’d already said too much. Oh, what the heck. Rob was here for
only two more days, and then he’d be gone, taking her secret away with him. She
felt as if a massive dam blocking a torrent inside was about to burst. She
wanted—no, she
needed
—to tell him things she hadn’t told
anyone in all this time.

He took her hand and held it in his lap with
both his.

And she fell apart. The words that came out
of her were painfully honest and raw. “I thought it would change with time. I
thought I’d get used to his touch, to his mannerisms. I kept monitoring my
reactions to him for hopeful signs. During our honeymoon, there was a moment
when I almost believed I was beginning to want him. But I was deluding myself.”

She cracked a bitter smile. “It was just a
mighty dose of wine and wishful thinking . . . Oh God. I can’t
sleep with him unless I’m inebriated. And even after a few drinks, I have to
shut my eyes and block my senses out. And then I imagine he’s . . .
someone else.”

Lena felt Rob’s hands tighten around hers.
She turned back to him, her eyes glistening and her heart thumping so loudly
she was sure he could hear it.

She stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

Rob stood up with her, still holding her hand.
He looked at her in a strange, distressing way and then pulled her to him in
one quick, powerful movement. And suddenly, his lips were on hers, his tongue
thrust into her mouth, and his arms crushed her to his chest. That taste of
his, so masculine and yet so impossibly sweet, intoxicated her. Lena could no
longer remember where she was or why she had to leave. She could hardly
remember who she was. The only thing she knew, the only thing that mattered was
that she was in his arms again. That she could smell him, touch him, feel his
strength and revel in his warmth.

He held her and kissed her with a fierce
urgency, and she responded to him with every nerve ending, every cell of her
body. She ran her hands over the taut muscles of his back, remembering them,
remembering him. She moaned her pleasure against his mouth.

His hands descended to her lower back,
pressing her to him, and she felt his hardness against her belly. Her pelvis
grew heavy, throbbing with need, locking her attention on her own body. On the
unrepeatable here and now of it.

She had no idea how long they stood there,
when his raspy voice brought her back to reality.

“Please, come with me.”
He searched
her eyes, his expression hopeful.
“Let me get a cab
to my hotel.”

It took her a few moments to find her
bearings.

“I can’t. I’m hosting a family dinner
tonight.” She cupped his cheek. “But I’ll come to your hotel tomorrow, around
three o’clock, if that’s fine with you.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s fine.” He smirked. “If I
survive until then.”

Lena smiled back, releasing him and putting
both her hands in her raincoat pockets. “I’ve got to go now. Text me your
address . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

“Anton, will you please put this child back
in her chair so you can eat your soup before it’s completely cold?” Anna said.

“You got it, boss.” Anton grinned and
returned his protesting daughter to her high chair. “Delicious soup, Lena. It’s
hard to believe that my girl who didn’t know how to make an omelet has
developed such amazing cooking skills. To be honest, I was secretly worried
Dmitry would grow fat eating pasta every night.”

“I’m fitter than ever,” Dmitry said, patting
his abs. “Because my beautiful wife’s cooking is as delicious as it is healthy.
What more could a man wish for?”

Was that a note of irony Lena detected in his
voice? No, it couldn’t be. Dmitry looked as candid as ever. Besides, Dmitry
didn’t
do
irony.

“So, what’s going on at the institute, Lena?
Are they going to give you that title already? You’ve been waiting to hear back
from the dean for months now,” Anton said.

“I believe they will, eventually. For now,
they’re telling me to be patient.”

“Shouldn’t I intervene? A little greasing of
the wheels to help things move forward?” he offered.

Lena shook her head vigorously. “No way. I’ve
made it this far without your help, and that’s how I intend to continue, thank
you very much. If they give me the title, it will only be based on merit. Dad,
if you ever go see the dean or the rector, you’d ruin everything!”

Anton looked a little taken aback by her
outburst.

Dmitry looked up from his plate. “I think we
should just be patient. Lena’s been working like crazy and defended her
doctoral thesis in half the time it normally takes. She now has more
publications than some of the established professors. There’s no reason for the
board to refuse her the title.”

As always, Dmitry said the right thing. And,
as always, Lena felt grateful for his tactful and sensible intervention.

She added, her tone much lighter now, “Dad,
you already did me a huge favor when you stopped browbeating me about working
for you. For which I’m eternally grateful.”

“If you say so.” Anton shrugged. “Anyway, in
a few years, I can start browbeating Katia.”

“I have no doubt one of you will be
browbeating the other in a few years. I’m just not so sure it will be you,
sweetheart,” Anna said to her husband.

The rest of the dinner went well. Lena
received sincere compliments on her baked fish and French apple pie.

After the guests left, Lena and Dmitry
cleaned up the worst of the mess and went to bed. Lena was too tired to read,
so she turned off her bedside lamp and wished Dmitry good-night.

“Happy dreams, darling,” he said.

She suddenly realized they hadn’t made love
in months. She couldn’t even remember how many. It gave her pause. How could she
be so frigid with one man—a good man, a man she loved—and so
lustful with another, a man she hadn’t seen for three years, a man who now
belonged with someone else?

She tried to empty her head so that she could
drift off. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep . . . eighty-seven
sheep. She adjusted her pillow and changed her position. But she couldn’t
sleep. Guilt, want, more guilt, and more want took turns gnawing at her soul
until dawn.

When morning came, Lena was in a haze, torn
between what she ought to do and what she ached to do. She made it through the
classes she taught on automatic pilot, her mind filled with thoughts and images
she wouldn’t reveal to anyone.

At lunchtime, her mom called. The occurrence
was rare and thus suspicious. Lena apologized to her lunch companions and found
a discreet corner to talk to Anastasia.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, my dear. It’s been such a long time
since I last called you! I was wondering what you were up to,” Anastasia said
cheerfully.

“It’s been a week, Mom, and it was me who
called,” Lena said.

“Was it? Oh well, I’ve been so distracted
lately. So tell me, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“I’m so glad you asked. Actually, I’m . . .
in a tight spot. And I’ve been feeling so lonely and down.”

Lena was at a loss for words. Her mom never
felt lonely or down. She always had a boyfriend, a dozen cronies, and an
overbooked social life. Did she get dumped? But why did she say she was in
trouble? Oh no, what if she had health problems?

“Mom, you’re not alone—I’m here. I can
fly over in a blink. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Lena, you’ve always
been. Please don’t trouble yourself coming here. In fact, you can help me
better from Moscow.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to talk to your
father. He wrote me last week, via his lawyer, that he was going to discontinue
my allowance. On the grounds that you are a fully independent adult now, and he
can no longer keep you from visiting me.”

Lena exhaled slowly. She should have guessed.
“I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything—you know how stubborn he
can be.”

“I know that all too well. But perhaps you
could remind him that your four visits over the past couple of years were
entirely your idea. That I never prompted or asked you to come. It’s unfair to punish
me for something I didn’t do!” Anastasia’s voice was now full of righteous
indignation. “You understand that I can’t give up my lifestyle at this point in
my life. It’s all I’ve got.”

Of course.
“I’ll talk to him, Mom. I’ll do my best to make him change
his mind. Give me a few days to handle this, OK?”

“OK, my dear. I knew I could count on you. I’ll
be looking forward to your call.” She sounded relieved.

Lena hung up, but before she headed back to
her colleagues, it occurred to her that her planned tryst with Rob was exactly
the kind of thing her mother would do. The kind of thing her mother
had
done to her dad. Lena had always wished she’d had her mom’s looks, but she was
glad she was different from her in character. With time, she had come to secretly
pride herself—not without a touch of superiority—that she was
nothing like her mom. But when all was said and done, wasn’t she about to prove
to be exactly like her?

Lena dialed Rob’s number. He answered
immediately. “Lena, hi! Is everything OK? I’m already back at the hotel.”

“I can’t do this, Rob, I’m so sorry. I can’t
do this to Dmitry—he doesn’t deserve it.”

There was a short silence, and then Rob
spoke, his voice thick. “Lena, I’ve been thinking about what you said
yesterday. About us. You’re unhappy with your husband . . . I
think you should leave him.”

“I can’t. It would destroy him.”

“He’s a big boy. It’ll hurt, but he’ll get
over it. I could travel to Moscow every month, and you could come to Paris.” He
paused, then added gently, “I’m going to break up with Amanda. I—”