by Amanda Gray
NINE
“Come, Maria! This way!” Nikolai pulled her through the big double doors and into the hallway.
“What are you doing?” She looked around, not wanting to be seen but too happy at the prospect of having time alone with him to protest properly. “Are you mad?”
He didn’t answer, but then again, she hadn’t expected him to. It was Nikolai’s way to ignore the truth when it did not suit him. To push for the impossible even when it defied all logic.
As they twisted and turned through the halls, she lost track of their whereabouts. The Winter Palace was enormous. None of the Romanov children were allowed to roam free when they were in residence. It wasn’t safe. Mama and the governesses responsible for their schooling and supervision always gave them strict orders not to wander beyond the family living quarters unless it was with permission or for a state function.
Galloping through this rarely used wing of the palace in one of her finest gowns, her hand held tightly by the fingers of the clockmaker’s grandson, was certainly on neither list.
Especially in such a time of turmoil.
It didn’t matter that her heart beat so quickly when Nikolai was near or that her face flushed when he gazed upon it, his lips sensual and full. She was forbidden from being unsupervised with a man—especially a commoner.
And she was nothing if not obedient. Usually.
Her slippered feet slid on the polished floors, the ribbon in her hair flowing behind her like a banner as they entered a receiving room decorated in red and gold. The room was silent, the sounds of the clergy in the ballroom far off in the distance.
Under renovation, the room was the perfect meeting place. She and Nikolai had used it often since the first night she had snuck out of bed, traveling the lesser used halls of the palace to meet him at midnight.
Once inside the room, Nikolai stopped. Maria was still trying to catch her breath when he turned to her.
“I think we’ve escaped everyone.” His green eyes were dark with desire.
She didn’t have time to answer before he pulled her into an alcove, stepping back into the shadows. His hands slid into the curls at the back of her head. Her eyes closed of their own volition, her head falling back as his lips seared her skin.
“Maria … Maria … ” he murmured, his lips grazing the tender skin of her neck. “Things are growing more and more dangerous for you. We must leave. I must get you out of here while I still can.”
“Get out? What are you talking about, Nikolai?”
His eyes burning feverishly into hers. “You’re in danger. Your whole family is in danger. You must know it!”
Fear rose in her throat. She forced it down. Forced her voice to remain steady as she repeated the words Papa said to Maria and her sisters. “That is all nonsense. I know there are rumblings, but all societies suffer unrest from time to time. Rumblings are not enough cause to abandon my family and country.”
Nikolai’s expression grew hard. “This is not unrest, Maria. This is revolt. Revolution. And I am not talking about abandoning your family, your country. I am talking about ensuring their legacy through the survival of at least one Romanov.”
She would have turned away if Nikolai’s body had not been pressed to hers. His words were too shocking. Too unsettling. She couldn’t consider them.
“You’re wrong.” Despite her feelings, she looked at him with suspicion. “Unless … ”
“Do not even suggest it,” he hissed. “I love you. I would give my life for you, Maria. I am willing to risk my life now to get you into hiding. Just because I’m the grandson of a servant doesn’t mean I would betray the Tsar. I would seek your father’s blessing to take you with me, though that alone could mean my death.”
If the rest of what Nikolai had said was true, then he was right. There could be no greater risk than to aid the Romanov family, even a Romanov daughter, at a time such as this.
Yet, Nikolai was willing. Willing to risk his own death to see her to safety.
The air left her body in a rush. She leaned her head against his strong shoulder, the scent of evergreen crisp and clean on his shirt. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I know you speak the truth. I simply cannot fathom it.”
He stroked her hair. “Run away with me, Maria. Let me take care of you. Let me guard you from those who would do you harm.”
She only contemplated the possibility for a split second before she pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I can’t abandon them. My sisters … Alexei … Mama and Papa.” She shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
“It is possible. You simply refuse to do it.” He turned his face from her, his voice bitter.
She reached up to touch his face, to bring him back to her. He had become so dear, though their moments together were few and stolen. Resting her palm on the smooth skin of his cheek, she looked into his eyes, allowing herself a moment to commit them to memory. She’d known from the beginning that their destinies would never allow them to be together for long. Even if they had lived in less volatile times, her father would never permit her to wed a commoner.
Finally, she spoke. “I must get back now. My absence will be noticed and that will mean trouble for us both.”
His sigh was one of resignation. “I’ll see you back, then.”
She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I can make my way.”
“What will you say if anyone asks where you’ve been?” He was testing her as he always did—wanting to be sure she had a plausible excuse.
“That I was lost. Being lost in the halls here is not unrealistic. We haven’t lived here for ages.”
He escorted her to the door, peeking out into the hallway before turning back to her. “I’m not done with this. I won’t let anything bring you harm, Maria.” Determination was written in the hard set of his jaw. “Not even revolution.”
Then he slipped through the door and was gone. She felt more vulnerable without his warm body close to hers, but she stepped into the hall and headed toward the sounds of the ball. Down one hall. Into the next. She wasn’t worried about being caught. Not now.
Alone she was safe. And so was Nikolai.
She was traversing the length of an empty hall when she heard music coming from one of the open doors. Recognizing the notes of Moonlight Sonata, she stepped into the room.
It was Sergei, head bent to the keys of the piano, dark hair just touching the collar of his jacket. His eyes were shut as his fingers, long and slender, moved gracefully over the keys. A cigarette hung from his mouth; smoke circling toward the ceiling far above their heads.
She was surprised when he spoke, eyes still closed. “Out for a stroll, Princess?”
It took her a moment to recover her composure. “Why … yes. How did you know?”
He opened his eyes, turning them on her as he continued playing. “There is not much that is truly a secret in these times.”
She wondered if she was imagining the message in his voice, the undercurrent of warning. That there were whisperings he would be her betrothed only added to her fear that he knew exactly where—and with whom—she had been.
She swallowed before speaking, trying to gather her wits. “I suppose you’re right, though I cannot imagine anyone finding fault with a need for fresh air.”
He stopped playing and stood. His military jacket hung open, the brass buttons gleaming.
He narrowed his blue eyes. They were not unkind, but there was a shrewdness in them that worried her.
“Nevertheless,” he finally said. “It is unwise for you to travel the palace alone. Anything could happen to you in these deserted rooms.” He walked toward her, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
She took his arm without answering.
TEN
Jenny opened her eyes to the attic’s rafters. Grasping at the remnants of the dream, she could still visualize Nikolai’s eyes burning into hers, the rich red fabric on the palace walls, Sergei playing Moonlight Sonata.
She
turned her head, remembering Ben, and found him staring down at her. Blinking, she tried to leave behind the dream world so she could be present in the real one. Her eyes found the music box, still on the floor.
“I think it might have worked. I had a dream.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he said.
She sat up. “What do you mean? You were supposed to be doing the … mesmerizing or hypnotizing or whatever.”
“I was, but then … ” He shook his head.
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I think I fell asleep or something.”
“How could you fall asleep while you were hypnotizing me?”
“I’m not sure, but either I fell asleep and was dreaming or I was hypnotized, too.”
The tiny hairs on her arms rose with his words. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like I was here, reading the words on the piece of paper and waiting to see if it would work, and all of a sudden, everything changed. It got really quiet and then I was dreaming.”
She swallowed. “What were you dreaming about?”
He narrowed his eyes with a look of concentration. “It wasn’t a whole dream. It was more like … pieces.”
“Pieces?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Tell me what you remember.”
He took a deep breath, his hair falling forward over one eye. “I was in some kind of mansion or castle or something, at a party … or maybe it was a dance.” He shrugged. “Anyway, people were dressed up and everything. The next thing I knew, I was going through a bunch of different hallways, looking for someone.”
“Do you remember who you were looking for?”
He stood up, smacking at his jeans to get the attic dust off. “Some girl. I saw her in the hall, but she disappeared with another guy. Then I was playing the piano. The girl came in and we left together.”
An icy finger traced its way up Jenny’s spine. She could see it all. The man named Sergei looking for her, ducking into the room with the piano when she disappeared with Nikolai. She saw the guarded expression on his face when Sergei had turned to her, his fingers still moving over the keys, saying she shouldn’t wander the palace alone.
“I was there,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he said absently, still brushing himself off.
“Ben.”
He stopped moving. “What?”
“I was there.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how it happened, but I think we were in the same dream.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Right. We were in the same dream.”
She jumped to her feet, crossing the attic until she was next to him. “Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but I think I was the girl you were looking for.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. Then he picked up the piece of paper from the music box and thrust it at her.
“Except these are instructions for mesmerization, which you said is like hypnosis,” he said. “Not instructions for how to make someone dream or share dreams or whatever.”
“I know. I … I can’t explain it.” She faltered, trying to find words that wouldn’t make her sound like a total head case. “But I was in a palace, too. First, I was pulled away from a party by—” She faltered, stopping short of saying his name. Nikolai. “By some guy who said I was in danger. That my whole family was in danger. He begged me to leave with him, but I told him I couldn’t. There was a reason. I just can’t remember it now. Then I had to get back to the … It was a ball, I think. I had to get back alone. We weren’t allowed to be seen together. I think he was poor and I was rich,” she murmured, remembering. “On my way back to the ball, I heard music … ” She looked into Ben’s eyes. “Moonlight Sonata.”
“We’ve both been in this attic too long.” Ben laughed, moving restlessly across the attic floor, picking stuff up and setting it down again. “It’s making us stir-crazy. Let’s get out of here.”
“You were smoking a cigarette,” she said softly, an image of the man, smoke rising from the cigarette in his mouth, flashing in her mind. “You were playing piano and smoking at the same time. There were gold buttons on your coat. It was undone.”
She walked closer to him, lifting his right hand to her face. She breathed in the scent of tobacco and shivered.
“Smell your hand.”
“No. This is nuts.”
She put his hand under his nose. At first, she thought he would hold his breath on principle, but a moment later, she heard him inhale. He froze, his face so still that, for a minute, she wondered if he’d lapsed back into a dream state.
“This is … crazy. Stupid,” he finally said.
“Are you going to stand there and tell me that in your dream, you weren’t playing Moonlight Sonata? That you weren’t smoking a cigarette? That you can’t smell it on your hand right now?”
He didn’t say anything, and she felt a surge of victory even though she didn’t know why she even wanted him to believe her. He was right. It was crazy.
“Jenny.” Her dad’s voice sounded up from the bottom of the attic stairs, breaking the silence. “You up there, honey?”
“I’m helping Ben,” she called out, wondering if her dad could hear the tremble in her voice. “I’ll be right down.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you out front.” His footsteps retreated, and Jenny turned back to Ben.
“So … what?” he asked. “What are we supposed to do with this?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I need to think. Want to exchange numbers? That way we can talk later?”
He nodded, pulling his cell from his jeans. Opening her own phone, Jenny cleared a text notification and traded numbers with Ben before heading for the stairs.
She turned back. “Ben?”
“Yeah.”
She tipped her head at the music box on the floor, her pulse still racing from the dream they’d shared and the realization that the music box had opened the door to it. “You might want to keep that safe until we figure out what it is. And what, exactly, it does.”
* * *
They didn’t say much on the ride home. Jenny was still too freaked out to make small talk. Thankfully, her dad seemed distracted, too, and Jenny was relieved when they turned onto the familiar driveway and came to a stop in front of the garage.
“So … Ben,” her dad said as they stepped into the foyer.
“Yeah?” Jenny slipped her flip-flops off by the door, turning to look at him.
His arms were folded across his chest. “What’s he like? I haven’t even met him yet.”
She shrugged. “He’s … you know. Just a guy. Average, I guess.”
“Average?”
She nodded. “Pretty much.”
He raised his eyebrows. “But nice?”
“I guess.”
“You were up there in the attic awhile.”
“Yeah,” she said. “He was going through a bunch of junk for his mom. I stayed to help.”
Her dad smiled. “Well, I’m glad you made a new friend. It’ll make the Daulton project a little more interesting, huh?”
The Daulton project. It sounded like a bad movie. In all the weirdness, she’d totally forgotten about the renovation.
“I guess. Anyway,” she turned, heading for the stairs. “I’m beat. Night, Dad.”
“Good night, sweetie. See you in the morning.”
Remembering the unread text, she pulled her phone from her pocket on the way up the stairs. The text was from Tiffany.
Hey! What’s up?
Talk about a loaded question. Jenny stepped into her room and closed the door. She thought about the attic, the music box, Ben, and their shared dream or vision or whatever it was.
Not exactly text conversation.
Not much, Jenny texted back. What’s up with you? Did you work today?
She changed into oversize boxers and a too-small T-shirt while she waited for the reply, waiting to check her phone until after she’
d brushed her teeth.
Yeah, I covered for Joe. It was slow so no big deal. When do you work again?
Jenny thought about the week’s schedule, taped to the wall of the break room at the back of the store. Wednesday. You?
Me, too. came the reply. Want to hang out before then?
Sure. Talk tomorrow? Jenny kept her answer vague on purpose. Any other time, she would have jumped at the chance to make plans. Now, everything felt unsettled. Uncertain.
Yep. Night.
Night, Tiff.
She set her cell on the nightstand and climbed into bed. A bone-deep tiredness weighed at her body, but she was still too amped to sleep. Her mind wasn’t ready to let go of everything that had happened in Ben’s attic. She tapped her fingers on top of the comforter as her gaze swept the room, settling on the canvas propped against the easel.
Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed. She padded across the floor to the painting of the train station she’d brought home from the art show.
Leaning in, she brought her face within inches of the canvas. Her eyes were pulled to the dark smudge at the edge of the platform. The figure was too far away to clearly make out the face, but even without any detail, Jenny knew.
He was the same guy from the dream she’d had in Ben’s attic.
Not the guy playing piano. The other one. The one who was worried about her. The one who looked at her with love in his green eyes.
She remembered how his warm hand had enveloped hers. How he’d smelled of evergreen and leather. He’d asked her to run away with him. Not her—Jenny of Stony Creek, Connecticut—but someone else. Someone named Maria.
And then, like a whisper on the wind, she heard something else from the dream.
I am talking about ensuring their legacy through the survival of at least one Romanov.
The man named Nikolai had been warning her—Maria—in the dream. Talking about revolution and the Tsar and an escape from possible death. Talking about the Romanovs.
Jenny didn’t know much about the last ruling family of Russia, only what she’d learned in AP European History the year before. But she did know the whole family had been executed.