Had he not betrayed her trust. Had she not cut him off to protect herself from heartbreak.
“Nope. Can’t think of anyone,” she finally said and reached over to take Katia in her arms.
“Anyway,” she told the little girl, kissing her hamster cheeks and breathing in her ambrosial baby essence. “If those wicked aliens really gave me the power to save a life, it would be yours, my angel, without a shadow of a doubt.”
That night Lena phoned Jeanne. She was still planning to give Dmitry’s proposal serious consideration, but after having talked to Anna, she needed to know if Rob was still single. She knew that even if he was, it wouldn’t mean he still wanted to be with her. It wouldn’t mean she’d give him a second chance. It wouldn’t mean anything at all . . . and yet, it suddenly became vital that she know.
Jeanne didn’t wait for Lena to finish stammering her question. “He’s with Amanda now. I saw it on her recent profile update. I’m sorry, Lena.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. She’s a much better match for him than I could ever be.”
* * *
As soon as she was married, Lena lifted her Facebook moratorium and posted a few wedding pictures. Congratulations and good wishes began to arrive within minutes of her update. She checked them hourly until she read a short note from Rob wishing her all the happiness she deserved.
She replied.
Thank you, and all the best.
Pepe sent her a warm message full of good wishes and eccentric advice on married life. He ended it with a postscript.
After comparing your husband to you know who, I can only assume he must compensate in OTHER areas. Mind you, it will have to be a BIG compensation.
Jeanne messaged her too.
This Dmitry of yours looks like a decent chap. I hope he can make you happy.
It was a short note, even for Jeanne. Lena wondered if her friend still thought she had made a mistake last summer by running away. She typed her reply.
I have no doubt Dmitry will make me happy. He’s the kindest, smartest, and gentlest person I’ve ever met. Besides, we are from the same country, same city. We have the same mother tongue, we share the same cultural references, love the same movie quotes. I never have to explain anything to him—he just gets it. He gets me.
She pushed send and sat back in her chair. She truly meant every word she had written to Jeanne . . . So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that it wasn’t Jeanne she was trying to convince?
You’re brave and you’re noble, your voice is a spring
Caressing a mountain side.
Shake off this enthrallment, forget how I sing,
Go back to your beautiful bride!
I’m Eva, a witch, dark and shameless and winged—
Your fantasy . . . Wake up, oh knight!
Marina Tsvetaeva
TWELVE
“Lena, stay. Watch this with me.” Dmitry grabbed her hand as she stood up from the couch.
“I have a paper to finish.”
“Oh come on, you work too much! You did your PhD in two years—can’t you relax a little now? Besides, Going Places is a great movie. One of the best French films of all times.”
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
“Then watch it again with me.” Dmitry made a pleading face. “You can translate for me.”
“You don’t need translation. Your French is excellent.”
“But not as good as yours. I’m lost when they talk too fast or use too much slang.”
Lena smiled apologetically and pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, but I really have to finish that paper. Rain check?”
She turned and strode out of the living room, wincing from guilt as she walked. How could she explain to Dmitry that looking at the young male leads in this cult seventies movie was simply unbearable? Watching them, or watching any French male actor for that matter, wasn’t just troubling—it was painful.
They all still reminded her of Rob.
Unfortunately for her, Dmitry liked French movies and preferred to see them in the original language. Even more unfortunate, her telling him some time ago she didn’t enjoy French cinema had completely backfired. Dmitry now felt it was his duty to help her gain an appreciation through maximum exposure. Et voilà—she was trapped. Because there was no way she could reveal to him the reason why she didn’t like to watch French films.
Lena smirked. When exactly did she turn into this mysterious, aloof person? When did she become a woman with a secret? And not just any silly secret, but a big scary skeleton in the cupboard that she couldn’t show to anyone, not even Jeanne.
She admired and respected her husband. She counted on him. She loved him—in a grateful, appreciative way. Her only complaints after two years of marriage were that he sometimes crowded her and other times bored her.
But this wasn’t her secret.
Lena’s shame was to still have feelings for the guy whom she’d known for only a few months nearly three years ago. That guy regularly made wild, passionate love to her in her dreams. And when she woke up in the middle of the night, hot and aroused, she swore she could taste him on her lips and smell his scent . . . She would lie still so she wouldn’t wake Dmitry up and ask herself questions to which she had no answer.
Why was it that the imaginary Rob’s caresses affected her more than her real-life husband’s touch? Why couldn’t she feel for this wonderful man a fraction of what she still felt for Rob? Why did her “out of sight” cure that had worked so well on Gerhard fail so completely this time?
* * *
Rob was seriously annoyed. For the first time since starting their company a year ago, he and Patrick—a former Energie NordSud colleague and now his business partner—had run into a hurdle they couldn’t solve. It was a technical problem, and a minor one at that. But it could bring their whole enterprise down by delaying the shipment of their first large-scale order of recycled carbon chairs.
The contract they’d signed with the client was ultra-specific on the delivery date. Delay equaled cancellation, which meant a huge loss and a possible bankruptcy for the start-up. The irony of it all was that they were just about to become profitable. Besides, he knew exactly what had gone wrong and how it could be fixed. But they lacked the resources to fix it fast enough to stay on schedule.
A minor miracle was required, which was the reason Amanda, Rob, and Patrick had gathered at Rob’s to brainstorm a way out of the crisis.
“I don’t understand how neither of us saw this coming, in spite of our careful contingency planning,” Patrick said, dropping onto the couch.
“How about we postpone analyzing it until we’ve fixed it?” Rob handed a printout to Patrick and Amanda. “It’s a list of companies that should be able to repair our equipment.”
“Have you contacted any of them yet?” Amanda asked.
“All the ones I could reach. I put the results in the comments column.” Rob scanned his own copy. “Basically, they are either unavailable within our timeline or too expensive for us. I’ll make a second round of calls, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Patrick looked up from his copy. “Wait a second. Five or six years ago, Energie NordSud had a similar issue, and my then manager hired these Russian guys . . . what were they called?”
He paused, stared at the wall, and scratched his head. “I remember we were astonished at how quickly they got us sorted. I’m not sure they still exist or how much they charge these days, but why not try calling them?”
“Sure, if you can remember their name,” Rob said.
Patrick scratched his head again and closed his eyes. “I have it! Hi-tech Wizards—that’s what they’re called. The name sounds a bit silly, but they were good.”
Rob Googled them on the spot and dialed the number on their contact page. “You never know. Companies often work 24-7 in countries like Russia.”
Someone at the other end of the line picked up, and Rob went on to talk in an increasingly confident Russian for over
thirty minutes. When he hung up, two pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly.
“This might work. But don’t get too excited yet. They want me to fly our faulty piece to them and explain every detail. I think they have an idea on how to deal with that sort of glitch.”
Patrick jumped up from the couch, nearly shaking with excitement. “How fast can they fix it and how much are they asking?”
Amanda smoothed her hair. “Do you absolutely need to go there?”
“According to the Wizards, if it is what they think it is, they can fix it within four days. They’ll charge between €3,000 and €5,000, depending on the extent of the repair, but no more than €5,000,” Rob said.
“It’s still ten times cheaper than the lowest estimate we got from anyone else!” Patrick nearly shouted in excitement, not in the least because he’d been the one to suggest the Wizards. “We can afford them.”
Amanda cleared her throat. “You didn’t answer my question, Rob. Why do you need to go there?”
“Because they won’t come to us, and because I’m the only one here who can speak Russian.”
Amanda gave Rob a hard look, but didn’t say anything.
“How soon can you travel?” Patrick asked.
“I’ll leave tomorrow.”
Rob could feel Amanda’s stare and knew what it was about. But how could he not go with so much was at stake? They had to use every advantage they had—including his Russian.
While in Bangkok, Rob and Patrick had spent countless evenings talking about methane. One an engineer, the other a chemist, they were fascinated by the idea of turning it into plastic and fashioning objects from it—an idea Rob had cherished since his college days. At the time, the technology wasn’t yet ready for scalable production. But now it was, as Rob and Patrick firmly believed. It only needed a little creative tweaking.
Well, maybe a lot of creative tweaking.
Gradually, what had been a topic discussed over after-work drinks had become an obsession, then a pet project, and then a solid business plan. A year ago Rob found a visionary Business Angel to help them get started, so they resigned from their jobs and returned to France to set up a lab and launch their company.
Six months later, Amanda managed to get a transfer to Energie NordSud’s French HQ and returned to Paris as well. She rented a lovely two-bedroom place in a quiet suburb east of Paris, with a direct métro line to her office and Rob’s studio apartment. They settled into a routine of spending every second night together, either at Amanda’s or at Rob’s.
After Patrick left to catch the last métro, Rob packed his bags and finally crawled into bed. He could sense that Amanda wasn’t asleep. He considered reminding her he had kept his vow to never contact Lena again. He debated telling her he was over his youthful infatuation. He contemplated pointing out that Lena had been married for two years.
But he didn’t say any of it. Because deep in his heart he knew he couldn’t go to Moscow and not call Lena. And to hell with stupid vows. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, to know how she was doing, to tell her about his crazy year. He wanted her forgiveness. And her friendship.
* * *
Lena looked out the window. April was the best time of year in Moscow. Gone were the heaps of snow and puddles of gray slush from March. It had rained during the night, but by early afternoon the clouds had cleared and the sun came out. Its rays bathed the sodden city in magic light, caressing everything they touched, bouncing off the windows and air-kissing the puddles.
She sat at a small table in a cozy teahouse that smelled of fresh pastry. She’d never been here before, but Rob had insisted they meet here, promising her the best pancakes in the world. He’d arrived in Moscow a couple of days ago on a short business trip and called her to say hello. They had agreed to meet here for chat. Old friends catching up after a long hiatus.
She’d been restless and strung out since that call. She took particular care with her clothes this morning, changing her attire several times before settling on a sky-blue turtleneck and a gray pencil skirt. She wanted to look together, elegant, and classy. But not flirty. Her clothing was supposed to tell a story of a successful woman, fulfilled in every area of her life. She had applied makeup. She had checked several times to make sure she was wearing her wedding band.
And now she was in this teahouse, almost a half hour early, debating whether she should order a tea or go for a short walk around the block. After a few minutes of hesitation, she put on her raincoat, walked out the door, and bumped into Rob.
“Lena! I’m so glad—wait, you’re . . . leaving?” He frowned slightly.
He looked as breathtakingly handsome as before. Actually, more handsome, if it was at all possible.
“Hi! I got here too early, so I was just going to take a walk in the neighborhood to kill the time,” she said.
He grinned, the familiar twinkle of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Guess what? I’m too early too. Do you mind if I tag along? I’ve got twenty minutes before my appointment with you here.”
“Be my guest.”
Lena had spotted a small public garden on her way to the teahouse, so she started in that direction.
“What brings you to Moscow?” she asked.
“We needed someone to fix a piece of rare equipment that malfunctioned, and we found the best people for it here.”
Lena gave him a quizzical look. “We as in you and your Energie NordSud colleagues?”
Rob shook his head. “No. We as in me and my business partner. Didn’t you know I’d left Energie NordSud to strike out on my own a year ago?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t. I knew from Facebook you had moved back to Paris, but since your status updates aren’t usually big on detail, I thought you and Amanda had both transferred to Energie’s Paris office.”
Rob pointed to a bench that looked dry. “Let’s sit down and I’ll give you a detailed update.”
He dropped onto the bench, and she sat at a safe distance from him.
“Lena . . . I need to tell you something first. I’m not sure you received the apology e-mail I sent you from Bangkok—”
“I did,” she cut in. “And even though I didn’t reply to it, please know that your apology is accepted. It’s been almost three years, Rob. I don’t hold grudges that long.”
She smiled, seeing how every muscle in his face relaxed with relief. “So, how about that detailed update you promised?”
For the next twenty minutes, he filled her in on his company. She asked a lot of questions. She wasn’t equipped to fully understand the process but she loved the idea of converting a polluting gas into consumer goods. And she loved that Rob had the courage to give up a good job and pursue his dream.
“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 M
oscow?”
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.”
What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) Page 15
