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

by Nichols, Alix

  Lena felt tears well up in her eyes. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She should stop right now before she said too much. She’d already said too much. Oh, what the heck. Rob was here for only two more days, and then he’d be gone, taking her secret away with him. She felt as if a massive dam blocking a torrent inside was about to burst. She wanted—no, she needed—to tell him things she hadn’t told anyone in all this time.

  He took her hand and held it in his lap with both his.

  And she fell apart. The words that came out of her were painfully honest and raw. “I thought it would change with time. I thought I’d get used to his touch, to his mannerisms. I kept monitoring my reactions to him for hopeful signs. During our honeymoon, there was a moment when I almost believed I was beginning to want him. But I was deluding myself.”

  She cracked a bitter smile. “It was just a mighty dose of wine and wishful thinking . . . Oh God. I can’t sleep with him unless I’m inebriated. And even after a few drinks, I have to shut my eyes and block my senses out. And then I imagine he’s . . . someone else.”

  Lena felt Rob’s hands tighten around hers. She turned back to him, her eyes glistening and her heart thumping so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

  She stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

  Rob stood up with her, still holding her hand. He looked at her in a strange, distressing way and then pulled her to him in one quick, powerful movement. And suddenly, his lips were on hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth, and his arms crushed her to his chest. That taste of his, so masculine and yet so impossibly sweet, intoxicated her. Lena could no longer remember where she was or why she had to leave. She could hardly remember who she was. The only thing she knew, the only thing that mattered was that she was in his arms again. That she could smell him, touch him, feel his strength and revel in his warmth.

  He held her and kissed her with a fierce urgency, and she responded to him with every nerve ending, every cell of her body. She ran her hands over the taut muscles of his back, remembering them, remembering him. She moaned her pleasure against his mouth.

  His hands descended to her lower back, pressing her to him, and she felt his hardness against her belly. Her pelvis grew heavy, throbbing with need, locking her attention on her own body. On the unrepeatable here and now of it.

  She had no idea how long they stood there, when his raspy voice brought her back to reality.

  “Please, come with me.” He searched her eyes, his expression hopeful. “Let me get a cab to my hotel.”

  It took her a few moments to find her bearings.

  “I can’t. I’m hosting a family dinner tonight.” She cupped his cheek. “But I’ll come to your hotel tomorrow, around three o’clock, if that’s fine with you.”

  “Yes. Yes, it’s fine.” He smirked. “If I survive until then.”

  Lena smiled back, releasing him and putting both her hands in her raincoat pockets. “I’ve got to go now. Text me your address . . . I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “Anton, will you please put this child back in her chair so you can eat your soup before it’s completely cold?” Anna said.

  “You got it, boss.” Anton grinned and returned his protesting daughter to her high chair. “Delicious soup, Lena. It’s hard to believe that my girl who didn’t know how to make an omelet has developed such amazing cooking skills. To be honest, I was secretly worried Dmitry would grow fat eating pasta every night.”

  “I’m fitter than ever,” Dmitry said, patting his abs. “Because my beautiful wife’s cooking is as delicious as it is healthy. What more could a man wish for?”

  Was that a note of irony Lena detected in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. Dmitry looked as candid as ever. Besides, Dmitry didn’t do irony.

  “So, what’s going on at the institute, Lena? Are they going to give you that title already? You’ve been waiting to hear back from the dean for months now,” Anton said.

  “I believe they will, eventually. For now, they’re telling me to be patient.”

  “Shouldn’t I intervene? A little greasing of the wheels to help things move forward?” he offered.

  Lena shook her head vigorously. “No way. I’ve made it this far without your help, and that’s how I intend to continue, thank you very much. If they give me the title, it will only be based on merit. Dad, if you ever go see the dean or the rector, you’d ruin everything!”

  Anton looked a little taken aback by her outburst.

  Dmitry looked up from his plate. “I think we should just be patient. Lena’s been working like crazy and defended her doctoral thesis in half the time it normally takes. She now has more publications than some of the established professors. There’s no reason for the board to refuse her the title.”

  As always, Dmitry said the right thing. And, as always, Lena felt grateful for his tactful and sensible intervention.

  She added, her tone much lighter now, “Dad, you already did me a huge favor when you stopped browbeating me about working for you. For which I’m eternally grateful.”

  “If you say so.” Anton shrugged. “Anyway, in a few years, I can start browbeating Katia.”

  “I have no doubt one of you will be browbeating the other in a few years. I’m just not so sure it will be you, sweetheart,” Anna said to her husband.

  The rest of the dinner went well. Lena received sincere compliments on her baked fish and French apple pie.

  After the guests left, Lena and Dmitry cleaned up the worst of the mess and went to bed. Lena was too tired to read, so she turned off her bedside lamp and wished Dmitry good-night.

  “Happy dreams, darling,” he said.

  She suddenly realized they hadn’t made love in months. She couldn’t even remember how many. It gave her pause. How could she be so frigid with one man—a good man, a man she loved—and so lustful with another, a man she hadn’t seen for three years, a man who now belonged with someone else?

  She tried to empty her head so that she could drift off. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep . . . eighty-seven sheep. She adjusted her pillow and changed her position. But she couldn’t sleep. Guilt, want, more guilt, and more want took turns gnawing at her soul until dawn.

  When morning came, Lena was in a haze, torn between what she ought to do and what she ached to do. She made it through the classes she taught on automatic pilot, her mind filled with thoughts and images she wouldn’t reveal to anyone.

  At lunchtime, her mom called. The occurrence was rare and thus suspicious. Lena apologized to her lunch companions and found a discreet corner to talk to Anastasia.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, my dear. It’s been such a long time since I last called you! I was wondering what you were up to,” Anastasia said cheerfully.

  “It’s been a week, Mom, and it was me who called,” Lena said.

  “Was it? Oh well, I’ve been so distracted lately. So tell me, how are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “I’m so glad you asked. Actually, I’m . . . in a tight spot. And I’ve been feeling so lonely and down.”

  Lena was at a loss for words. Her mom never felt lonely or down. She always had a boyfriend, a dozen cronies, and an overbooked social life. Did she get dumped? But why did she say she was in trouble? Oh no, what if she had health problems?

  “Mom, you’re not alone—I’m here. I can fly over in a blink. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You’re a sweet girl, Lena, you’ve always been. Please don’t trouble yourself coming here. In fact, you can help me better from Moscow.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to talk to your father. He wrote me last week, via his lawyer, that he was going to discontinue my allowance. On the grounds that you are a fully independent adult now, and he can no longer keep you from visiting me.”

  Lena exhaled slowly. She should have guessed. “I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything—you know how stubborn he can be.”

  “I k
now that all too well. But perhaps you could remind him that your four visits over the past couple of years were entirely your idea. That I never prompted or asked you to come. It’s unfair to punish me for something I didn’t do!” Anastasia’s voice was now full of righteous indignation. “You understand that I can’t give up my lifestyle at this point in my life. It’s all I’ve got.”

  Of course. “I’ll talk to him, Mom. I’ll do my best to make him change his mind. Give me a few days to handle this, OK?”

  “OK, my dear. I knew I could count on you. I’ll be looking forward to your call.” She sounded relieved.

  Lena hung up, but before she headed back to her colleagues, it occurred to her that her planned tryst with Rob was exactly the kind of thing her mother would do. The kind of thing her mother had done to her dad. Lena had always wished she’d had her mom’s looks, but she was glad she was different from her in character. With time, she had come to secretly pride herself—not without a touch of superiority—that she was nothing like her mom. But when all was said and done, wasn’t she about to prove to be exactly like her?

  Lena dialed Rob’s number. He answered immediately. “Lena, hi! Is everything OK? I’m already back at the hotel.”

  “I can’t do this, Rob, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this to Dmitry—he doesn’t deserve it.”

  There was a short silence, and then Rob spoke, his voice thick. “Lena, I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. About us. You’re unhappy with your husband . . . I think you should leave him.”

  “I can’t. It would destroy him.”

  “He’s a big boy. It’ll hurt, but he’ll get over it. I could travel to Moscow every month, and you could come to Paris.” He paused, then added gently, “I’m going to break up with Amanda. I—”

  “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

  THIRTEEN

  “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.”