“I convinced him I’d do it for no reason at all—or for money and respect. He had no choice but to agree.”
“You didn’t go to school?”
“I was learning from him,” Sevastyan said matter-of-factly. He didn’t have a chip on his shoulder about schooling; no surprise, Filip had lied. It was clear Sevastyan was confident in his intelligence and learning. It was also clear Paxán had nurtured that confidence.
“Each week, he bought me books. Mathematics, economic theory, philosophy, great Russian literature. And history,” he said. “He never told me I had to read them, but the reward was discussing the books with him, usually while he tinkered with those damned clocks.”
Sevastyan’s unmistakable affection made my eyes water anew. “Thank you for telling me that story.” He’d opened up to me about something! Every time he showed me these glimpses of himself, I fell a little bit more in love with him.
He raised his brows. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever spoken.”
I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
At that moment, the clouds parted for us, revealing the moon. Its light spilled down over the river and illuminated the numbers of this clock, making them glow.
The full moon. Had it been a month since Sevastyan had taken me to Russia? Since he’d first kissed me?
I wondered if he realized this. It seemed that everything he did was by design. Might Sevastyan be a closet romantic? In a casual tone, I said, “This is an anniversary of sorts for us.”
He didn’t look surprised at all. “Yes. It is.”
“Are we commemorating the first night we kissed?” Before I’d had any idea what this man would mean to me.
“I want to.” He drew me against him. “You can’t imagine how badly I’d wanted to claim that kiss.”
“You claimed far more than that on the plane.”
His lids grew heavy as he obviously thought back to what we’d done. “I was a very lucky man that night.”
“And now?”
“I’ll consider myself lucky, my elusive girl, once you consider yourself taken. Every man has a weakness; you are mine. I’ve accepted that. Now you must accept me.”
No, every person had a weakness. Aleksandr Sevastyan was my own.
“I need you all in, Natalie.”
He had opened up to me tonight, and we could build from that. I smiled up at him. “I haven’t ruled anything out, Siberian.”
“I suppose that’s good enough—for now.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Do you want to see your painting again? We can go back.”
Back? When the minute hand ground on once more, I didn’t feel sadness. This time I felt a tiny bloom of optimism.
Maybe we were at last moving forward.
Chapter 39
“The plighted life’s not treating you well?” Jess queried a couple of days later. “I thought you guys were lovey-dovey all the time after the museum.”
“If possible, he’s even more distant.” This morning he was once again MIA. And, shocker, he’d left no note, belatedly texting me: in meeting
Gee, thanks. I’d thought talking about Paxán would be our common ground. Yet that story about my father had been the last I could coax from Sevastyan.
“He sounds like a downer to me,” Jess observed.
“We’re supposed to go to Russia in two days. He promises everything will be different there.”
“And?”