After only a few minutes, my phone buzzes. Considering the early hour, I reach over and grab it, feeling slightly panicked when I see my dad’s name on the caller ID. It’s unusual for him to call this early.
I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Valya,” my dad says. “You’re awake.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him. “You?”
“Stannes Novak is dead.”
“What?” I collapse down onto the mat, absorbing the news. The words feel foreign to me, almost impossible. He was such a force of nature, a huge, looming shadow over my past, but still a name I haven’t even thought of in the longest time. Stannes Novak, the man whose cruelty took my best friend from me—gone.
“Heart attack,” my dad says, which seems somehow fitting. “The memorial service is this afternoon at the house.”
“You want to go?” I ask, a little surprised. My dad stopped working for the Novak household once I started Valor Cleaning Services and he came to work with me. As far as I know, they haven’t been in touch for years.
“I need to pay my respects,” he says. “You should come, too.” When I don’t respond, my dad continues. “It is the least we can do after all the Novak family did for us.” Needless to say, he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened with Andrej.
In spite of myself, I wonder how Andrej is coping. Before we were enemies, before we were lovers, we were friends. And before his dad turned into a monster, Andrej loved him. Does anyone know that about him? Has he let anyone in since I shut him out? Does he need me?
I look through the wrought-iron balcony railing at the rays of sunlight peeking over the tops of the trees. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that Andrej would come to me in a dream on the day his dad died.
It feels like a sign.
Or maybe, more accurately, an omen. Whether it’s good or bad remains to be seen.
“Okay,” I finally tell my dad. “Send me the details. I’ll meet you there.”
#
I steer my four-door sedan up the long, brick paver driveway that leads to the Novak estate. My hands are sweaty, and my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. I’m a nervous wreck at the idea of seeing Andrej again. A thought occurs to me that maybe he won’t even be here. That would be a very Andrej thing of him to do—miss his own dad’s memorial service. A final “fuck you.”
Or maybe he’s changed. Maybe the Andrej I knew—young, impulsive, vindictive—has been replaced by someone mature, reasonable, and compassionate. I snort to myself, the idea almost laughable, but my humor dies as the driveway curves and the big house comes into view. How is it possible to both love a place and hate it at the same time? Maybe in the same way it’s possible to love a person and know that he’s not the one for you.
Not that I love Andrej.
Not anymore. How can I love someone I don’t even know?
There’s a line of cars in the roundabout, and valets in white shorts and polo shirts running between them. I stand, smoothing my black dress down over my legs, and hand my keys off to one. My dad is nowhere to be seen, so I follow the family in front of me inside the house.
It’s like stepping back in time. Nothing has changed. The intricate tiles on the floor are polished to a shine, and the light fixtures are free of all dust and fingerprints. The bust of Miloslav Novak stares at me from its corner—unfortunately, it didn’t break that night and appears to have survived who knows what else in the years since. There’s the curved staircase in front of me leading to the main house, but people are being directed behind it, to the back patio.
The yard is large, green, and tidy as ever. There’s a white tent set up in the middle, where people in black clothes mill about, eating hors d’oeuvres and speaking in low voices. I scan the crowd, studying faces, trying to convince myself there’s no harm in just looking.
And then, there he is. Taller, stronger, more severe in his tailored black suit. His face is set in hard lines—a firm jaw, a stern mouth, narrow brows. His hair is like spun gold, swept to one side, his beard trim. He’s breathtaking.
I’ve kept track of Andrej. I tell myself it's to stay out of his way, but I know the truth. I’ve never been able to close my heart to Andy.
After four years at Pinnacle, I returned to Oakwood City to be with my dad and start my own business. As we built our client base with some of the more affluent families in town, it wasn’t always easy to avoid Andrej, but luckily, the Novaks mostly kept their own staff and had no reason to contact a cleaning service. I know that he’s successful, of course, and wealthy, following in his father’s footsteps.
I also happen to know that he’s single.
Which has nothing to do with the fact that I’m incapable of committing and seem to find something wrong in every nice guy that crosses my path.
Nothing. At. All.
I can’t tear my eyes from him even as he turns, almost as if he can feel me looking at him. He surveys the crowd like a king at court. When his gaze finally lands on me, I expect—well, I don’t really know what I expect. Fireworks, maybe? Or for time to slow down like in the movies?
Instead, his eyes glance over me like I’m not even there, and he turns back around to receive a well-wisher. I let out a deep breath, hating myself for feeling disappointed. Fifteen years has changed nothing. I’m an adult, a successful businesswoman, and still, all I want is for Andrej Novak to want me.
When a hand comes down on my arm, I practically jump out of my shoes.
“Dad,” I gasp, a hand to my heart.
He furrows his bushy, silver eyebrows at me. “Have you paid your respects yet?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I just got here.”
My dad holds his elbow out for me. “Let’s go.”
He’s not going to let me get out of this, so I take his elbow and descend the patio stairs by his side. I try to focus on anything other than what I’m about to do. The grass is dry, tickling my toes in my black sandals. The warm air makes me even more uncomfortable as it blows against my already clammy skin. People chat, barely paying any attention to us.
We reach the receiving line and my dad takes the woman’s hand. I finally look up at her—silver hair, wrinkled face, beady eyes. It’s Stannes’ sister, Magda. I let myself look down the line. I’m guessing it’s her husband and children, then other Novak family members I could probably recognize if I could focus on anything except for Andrej’s nearness. He’s so close but so far away—just like he’s been for a long time.
My dad offers Magda his condolences while I stand silently beside him, my mouth feeling dry and cottony. We move down the line. Thankfully, most people ignore me. I watch a woman about my age approach Andrej. She smiles, leans into him, touches his arm. He’s unaffected, staring down at her with undisguised disdain. I smile smugly at my shoes, though I don’t know why. It’s not like he ever looked at me any differently, at least, not in public.
Then it’s our turn. Andrej barely glances at my dad, but when he looks at me, his eyes rake up my body from my legs all the way to my breasts, not even bothering to make eye contact. I don’t miss the smirk of appreciation on his full lips.
My dad takes Andrej’s hand, clasping it between both of his. “Andrej, son, it’s good to see you again, though the circumstances are unfortunate.”