Or was it something else?
Nadia heard her phone buzzing for the hundredth time that day. She didn’t bother to read the message from Maxim. He’d sent dozens, besides trying to call her over and over again.
The messages ran from pleading and loving, to furious and accusatory, back to pleading, back to insulting again. She remained unmoved by any of them. She’d had the ring delivered to his aunt’s house that morning. And she didn’t expect to speak to Maxim in person again, at least not while she was in Moscow.
He’d had his chance to change her mind the night before. Instead, he’d completely blown her off.
Because he didn’t care. He didn’t think she’d do anything about it.
Well, he was wrong.
Much like her mother, Nadia was experiencing a change within herself.
Only she was moving in the opposite direction.
She was changing from frivolous to principled. Apathetic to passionate. She didn’t intend to be pushed around anymore. She would be like the Samara of old, who saw what she wanted and went after it.
And she was beginning to think that what she wanted was Nikolai Markov.
She couldn’t remember when she’d had a more fascinating conversation than the one they’d shared at the White Rabbit.
And she couldn’t deny that she was extremely attracted to him.
Almost frighteningly so.
There was an irresistible pull between the two of them. Like two magnets, she thought that if she gave into it, if she allowed it to pull her into his arms, they might never break apart again.
As the clock on her mother’s wall ticked closer to noon, Nadia couldn’t help glancing out the window again and again, to see if Nikolai’s car had pulled into the lane.
She felt a cold sliver of fear that like the night before, she would wait and wait, watching the minutes pass by, while the man she was waiting for failed to arrive.
But Nikolai was not Maxim.
At 11:57 a.m., his car came roaring up the drive, as if he were equally impatient to see her face again.
Nadia snatched up her purse, the journal tucked safely inside. She ran down the stairs to meet him.
He was driving the Alfa Romeo again, with the top down. His dark hair looked adorably tousled by the wind. His tanned skin was browner than ever from the sunshine, making his blue eyes all the brighter by contrast, as well as his even, white teeth as he smiled at her.
He jumped over his own door to come round and open hers.
“You look absolutely stunning,” he said.
Nadia blushed. She hadn’t known what they were going to do that day, so she’d just worn a simple white linen blouse and a pair of gingham shorts.
“Where are we off to, anyway?” she asked Nikolai as he got back into the car on the driver’s side.
“I have so many ideas,” he said, giving her that wicked and mysterious smile.
“Well now you’ve got me curious,” Nadia said.
“I hope to get you much more than curious,” Nikolai teased her, starting the engine.
He sped off down the road, not driving recklessly like Maxim always did, but smoothly and confidently, in a way that allowed Nadia to relax and enjoy the lovely scenery. Her grandfather’s house might be dank and depressing, but the neighborhood was quite beautiful, with massive oak trees shading the private lanes, and the few visible houses showing an impressive variety of architecture, both classic and modern.
The sun shone down on them, but Moscow was never very hot even in the height of summer. With the breeze blowing into the convertible, they were perfectly comfortable.
Nikolai seemed in a fantastic mood. Nadia thought this might have something to do with his glance at her bare left hand. He put on an old Flamingos song, which happened to be a favorite of Nadia’s. She couldn’t help singing along:
