What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) (22 page)

“No . . . no, you can’t—you
mustn’t. She’s loved you for so long . . . And I care for Dmitry
too much to hurt him like that. He’s been so good to me. He’s the only person
on Earth I can trust completely.”

“I see. You’ve forgiven me, but not
forgotten.” Rob’s voice was raw with emotion. “Lena, it may be too much to ask,
but I’ll ask anyway. Can you give me another chance? I want you to see who I
really am. I want to prove to you that you can trust me.”

It was so tempting to say yes. He’d let her
down once—twice, actually—but maybe the third time would be the
charm? His plea was so urgent, so desperate . . .

But not as desperate as her wonderful, loyal
husband would be if she told him she was leaving him.

“I’m sorry, Rob, but I’m done running from my
messes. I’m not leaving Dmitry. Who knows, maybe with time I will come
to . . . want him. Two years isn’t that long, after all.”

“Don’t do this, Lena. Not again.” He let out
a bitter chuckle. “Isn’t it time you stopped fighting your attraction for me,
and just went with the flow?”

She took a deep breath before answering. “When
I ran from Paris and from you three years ago, I made a choice that was
impulsive—not perceptive, as I thought at the time.”

Saying those words was extremely hard, but she
wanted to be completely honest with him. She owed him that. “And then a few
months later I topped it with another rash decision. I married Dmitry without
having spent nearly enough time with him. If you want to know the whole truth,
I accepted his offer within five minutes after learning you were with Amanda.”

“But that—” he began.

“Let me finish, please. What I’m trying to
say is that it’s too late now. I’m stuck—we’re both stuck—with the
choices we made back then. And I’m not going to further aggravate my case by
making another careless choice.”

He didn’t try to argue this time.

She said softly, “I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence before Rob spoke,
his voice flat and distant. “Good-bye, Lena.”

I did the right thing,
she whispered after he hung up. She drew in several
breaths, and began to walk toward her colleagues, trying to ignore the dull ache
in her heart.

No thinking, no complaints and
no emotions,

No sleep.

No longing for the sun, the
moon, the ocean,

Or for the
ship.

I’m a befuddled little tightrope
dancer,

A humorless buffoon.

A shadow’s shadow, an enchanted
vassal,

Of two dark
moons.

Marina Tsvetaeva

“Lena, there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lydia, a
fellow assistant teacher and the closest Lena had to a friend in Moscow, called
out from the faculty room.

Lena walked in and exchanged a cheek kiss with her. “What’s the urgency?”

“This afternoon’s classes are cancelled. Something to do with urgent
electricity work or pest extermination.”

“Ugh. What kind of pest?” Lena asked.

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and I are as free as
butterflies on this beautiful day. So, we can either go to the library and
finish our conference papers or head to the movies. Your call.”

“What’s playing this week?”

“No idea. But I’m sure we can find something watchable.” Lydia’s eyes
brimmed with excitement. It looked like she did have a preference, after all.

“I’d rather go to the library,” Lena started, but seeing how Lydia’s face
fell, she aborted her teasing. “Just kidding! Let’s go to the movies. I’d love
to see a dumb comedy.”

It would do her good, she thought, take her mind off yesterday’s talk
with Rob. And that kiss
 . . .

Lydia grinned. “How about lunch first? I’m starving.”

They went to a nearby eatery and ordered their food. As usual, the
conversation turned to conference papers, teaching assignments, and evil
Professors.

“Some days I’m convinced Professor Semyonov is the devil himself,” Lydia
said, biting into her hamburger. She continued with a deep-seated albeit
hamburger-tempered ire. “He’sh sho shnobbish and mean!”

Lena tried not to smile. Lydia’s expressive face kept switching between
anger and gastronomic bliss. The latter prevailed, and halfway through her
meal, Lydia wiped her mouth with a napkin, sat back and let out a satisfied
sigh.

“I hear yours is nice—lucky you,” she said.

“She’s super busy and forgetful, and she regularly stands me up. But when
I do see her, she’s terribly helpful,” Lena said.

“Oh, by the way, did you hear the latest?”

Lena smiled. “Probably not. Tell me.”

“The institute received a large donation. Apparently anonymous.” Lydia
gave her a funny look.

“Oh,” was all Lena managed to say.

Lydia leaned in. “I hope you realize
 that . . .
there are people—like me, for example—who’ve been assistants
for ages, slaving for thankless professors, and waiting for the title. You’re a
rookie by comparison.”

When Lena didn’t reply, Lydia drove her point home. “We both know that
our dean and the board can be swayed with other arguments than merit and length
of “servitude.” And we both know that your dad is in a position to sway them. I
just hope you wouldn’t let him do that.”

“It couldn’t be him,” Lena finally said. “He gave me his word. I’ll ask
him, of course, but I’m sure it’s someone else.”

“But you have applied for the title, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t want any special treatment. No way. I’d rather drop out
of the race than let my dad “buy” me the title.”

Lena squirmed, her discomfort growing by the second. Her rapport with
Lydia had until now been one of easy camaraderie promising to grow into a
friendship.

But this conversation changed it, poisoned it somehow.

She dug her nails into her palms as she felt the familiar urge to leave,
get away, spare herself the unpleasantness of a broken relationship.

But she wouldn’t, she decided. Not this time.

* * *

The following morning Lena woke up early, even though it was Saturday and
she didn’t have to rush anywhere. Dmitry was still asleep. She was feeling
pleased with herself, and deservedly so. Last night after the movie, she had
talked to Anton and managed to convince him to keep supporting Anastasia. He
had initially balked, but thanks to Anna’s deft intervention, he ended up
agreeing to a compromise: He would keep on paying but he’d slash the amount by
half. She also asked him about the donation, and he vehemently denied having
had anything to do with it.

The other reason for Lena’s good mood was the way she had handled the
situation with Lydia. Lena replayed the previous night’s outing in her mind and
gave herself a mental pat on the back for not having bailed. After the film,
they parted on good terms, in spite of some residual tension. She was hoping
that with time she could get her relationship with Lydia back on track. It wasn’t
like she had tons of other buddies. Come to think of it, Jeanne was her only
friend, not counting Anna who was halfway between a parent and a sister.

Even though Lena didn’t see Jeanne very often, their friendship survived
and thrived. They e-mailed, texted, and phoned each other regularly. They saw
each other when Lena and Dmitry traveled to France, Switzerland, or Italy.
Their latest meeting dated back only a couple of months when Jeanne had visited
Lena in Moscow. During that visit Jeanne had demanded that Lena stop boycotting
Paris.

“What’s the deal with you and Paris? You travel all over Europe with your
husband. When you fly to France, you go straight to Bordeaux or Cannes or Lyon.
Now you’re suggesting we meet in Brussels this summer. You’re circling Paris
but won’t set foot there. Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I fell out of love with Paris. In spite of what
Parisians think of their city, it
isn’t
the center of the world.”

“Fair enough, but I’m not buying it. I know why you won’t come to Paris,
and I’m telling you to get over it. It’s all in the past now. Water under the
Pont
Neuf
. It’s been almost three years since you last graced our capital!”

“Shocking.”

“I mean it, and I demand that you cease this self-banishment immediately.
You can stay with me if you come by yourself. If you come with Dmitry, well,
you should be able to find a hotel or two in our shabby old town.”

Lena had promised to think about it, but after her encounter with Rob,
she doubted she’d be going to Paris anytime soon. She knew she was being
irrational. Paris was a big city, and the risk of running into Rob there was
negligible. But she didn’t want to take that risk.

She got up and began to cook breakfast like she did every morning. Today
it would be pancakes with maple syrup—Canadian style. She was beating
eggs by the stove when Dmitry walked into the kitchen. They exchanged
greetings, and he sat at the kitchen table. Lena was a little surprised he didn’t
kiss her on the cheek as usual. She glanced at him over her shoulder and
immediately sensed that something was off. He looked tired and determined at
the same time, his gaze fixed on his mug.

“I hope you’re in the mood for pancakes,” she said brightly.

“Are you seeing someone, Lena?” he asked, his voice even, as if he were
inquiring about her afternoon plans.

She put the batter aside and turned to face him. Judging by the cold and
expectant look on his face, she hadn’t misheard him.

“No, I’m not,” she said and then asked in her turn, “Are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately—he just sat there staring at his mug.
As the seconds passed, she began to feel nausea rising in her stomach. She had
asked her question without thinking, almost as a joke—a kind of childish
retaliation for his asking her. Dmitry would never cheat on her. But then why
wasn’t he just saying no, like she had done? Why wasn’t he saying anything at
all?

After a few long seconds, he took a hearty sip from his mug, looked her
straight in the eyes and said, “Yes I am. I’ve been seeing someone
 . . .
for four months now.”

The kitchen began to spin around her. She grabbed the back of a chair,
then sat down.

He rubbed his chin. “It started out of frustration with our sex life
 . . .
desperation, you could say.”

Lena closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Her doting husband, her
rock couldn’t be saying these things to her. Maybe this man wasn’t Dmitry but a
stranger who looked exactly like him.

He spoke again. “Then it grew into something more serious. I couldn’t
help going back to her because she wanted me so much
 . . .
b
ecause of how happy I made her.”

He exhaled loudly and continued. “But you didn’t seem to notice any of it—my
longer hours at work, my new fishing hobby, not even when I stopped begging you
for sex. I thought maybe you knew what was going on, but chose to keep
appearances to save our marriage. Only that theory had a major flaw—you’re
too candid to pull off an act like that. And that’s when I began to wonder if
you too had a lover.”

There was an edge to Dmitry’s voice that Lena had never heard before. He
had paused his confession, and stared at her, but she just stared back. She
needed more time to collect her thoughts and to quell her nausea.

“Lena, we haven’t made love in six months, and it’s not like we’d been at
it like bunnies before. I’ve lost count of your excuses. We live like two flatmates
or eighty-year-olds. And it’s not just the sex. You’re aloof. You don’t share
much with me. I’m not sure you even like being around me.”

“Wait a second,” she said, recovering a little. “You’ve been seeing
another woman for months, and you were just
 . . .
waiting and wondering why
I
didn’t notice? Why didn’t
you
just
tell me that you didn’t love me anymore?”

“Because I didn’t
not
love you anymore!” His voice was no longer
calm. “I was confused. I was unhappy. But I still loved you.”

He paused, searching her eyes. “You do all these things for me. You make
me breakfast, cook dinner, buy me little presents, but you do all that out of
duty, out of some notion of
perfect wifeliness
that you have. And also
out of guilt, I think. You’re telling me, ‘You can’t have my heart, but here,
have these delicious pancakes instead—I made them specially for you!’ ”

Dmitry fell silent and looked at her expectantly. But Lena couldn’t bring
herself to acknowledge the bitter truth of his words. Not even with a nod.

“Who is she?” she asked instead.

“You don’t know her. I met her through work. She’s my age, a single mom
with a five-year-old. He’s a great kid. She’d love to have a second one. Can
you imagine how I feel every time Aliona asks me to make her a baby? When my
own wife has only been finding excuses not to? Can’t you see what it does to a
man who craves for a child to know that his wife doesn’t want the same thing?
At least not with him.”

Lena began to choke. Her heart beat so wildly she had to cough to help
her breathing. She needed more air. More space.

“I can’t stay here,” she wheezed, and rushed for the door.

* * *

Lena checked her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. It wasn’t a
pretty sight. Her eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath, and
her cheeks were hollow. Well, that’s what three days of crying and neglecting
to eat did to you. She put her eyeglasses on and headed down the corridor
toward the dean’s office. It was no small feat to have found the energy to haul
herself to the institute this morning, after the dean’s secretary called her.