She was so extremely tired of having this same argument over and over again.
“Maxim,” she said, “you should go back to Paris.”
She could hear silence on the other end of the line.
Even in his drunken stupor, Maxim had caught the change in her voice.
“What do you mean by that?” he said.
“I mean, I don’t know how long I’m staying here. But it’s longer than you’re going to want to hang around. I need to do this on my own, without you distracting me. When I get back to Paris, we can talk.”
“Talk about what?” he said.
Nadia sighed again. She really didn’t want to get into it over the phone, especially not when he was inebriated. On the other hand, she was sick of pretending.
“We need to talk about us,” she said.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Maxim cried, his tone switching from aggressive to pleading. “Come on, Nadia, don’t be crazy.”
“There’s nothing crazy about it,” Nadia said. “I don’t think either of us has been happy for a while now.”
“Nadia, you can’t be serious! I know you’re upset about your mom, but—"
“This has nothing to do with my mother,” Nadia said sharply.
“It does! You’re emotional, you’re not thinking straight.”
“That’s what you always believe, isn’t it? If I don’t agree with you, if I don’t want to do what you want, then I must not be thinking straight. Because your way is the only right way.”
“Oh, come off it,” Maxim sneered. “You’re a pampered little princess. I do everything for you—fly you around the world, take you to parties and clubs, buy you whatever you like!”
“That’s exactly it,” Nadia said. “You want to buy me a purse and tell me to shut up. You think that’s what I want, what I care about. It isn’t. You don’t know me at all.”
“I know everything about you,” Maxim scoffed.
“You really don’t,” Nadia said.
She was thinking that she’d felt a greater sense of connection with Nikolai Markov in ten minutes than she’d ever felt with Maxim. The way Nikolai had looked at her with genuine curiosity and interest...it shouldn’t have felt so foreign, so unexpected. She had no intention of pursuing anything with Nikolai, but her conversation with him made clear to her how very little she’d come to accept from Maxim.
She’d allowed herself to be blind to the shallowness of their relationship. To her own unhappiness.
“I’m sorry, Maxim,” she said. “But if you don’t know me after three years, you never will.”
Maxim was scrambling, finally realizing that she was serious.
“You can’t do this over the phone,” he begged. “Come meet me tomorrow. Let’s have dinner together, at the White Rabbit. It’s in Smolenskaya Square. Gorgeous place, you’ll love it. Meet me there at six o’clock.”
He wanted plenty of time to sleep off his hangover and clean himself up.
Nadia considered it.
As much as she hated to admit it, Maxim was probably right that she was a little emotional at the moment. They’d been together for almost four years. She did at least owe him the courtesy of a conversation before making any drastic decisions.
“Alright,” she said, after a moment. “I’ll see you there tomorrow.”
“Good,” he said, and he hung up the phone.
* * *
