“You’re right. It is all you’ve ever done. So call her now, Vlad. Tell her you need her now. Before it is too late.”
Vlad had to clear his throat twice to form his next words. “It—it is already too late.”
“Not if you call her.”
“Mama, you’re not listening to me.”
His mom’s silence was as loud and bone-shattering as a defensive hit against the boards. He could imagine her standing straight in the kitchen, her hand fluttering to her ever-present strand of pearls. They’d been a gift from his father on their tenth anniversary, and Vlad had never seen her without them.
His mouth was suddenly dry. “Mama, Elena and I—”
“No.”
“We’re getting a divorce.”
“Why, Vlad?” she asked in a voice that finished him off.
He closed his eyes against the assault of guilt. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. You two are meant to be together. You always have been—”
“She’s coming back to Russia,” he blurted out, cutting her off.
“What?” His mother breathed. “What do you mean?”
“She wants to come back and become a reporter like her father.”
“No. That can’t be true. She married you so she could get out of Russia.”
Yeah, and that was the only reason, which was the problem. “I guess she changed her mind.”
“And I suppose you’ve done nothing to try to stop her.”
There it was again. The insinuation that this was all his fault. He swallowed against the burn of irritation. “Of course I tried.”
“Really? Because it seems to me you just did your normal shut-down-and-withdraw routine.”
“What does that mean? What is my shut-down-and-withdraw routine?”
“You’re like a skittish, hibernating bear when you are scared, Vlad. You shut people out and go into hiding. Like an absolute bear.”
He resisted the urge to growl like one. “She’s leaving me.”
“Leaving you. Is that how you see it?”
“How the hell else am I supposed to see it?”
“If you opened your eyes, maybe you’d see that you left her a long time ago.”
“I—I can’t believe you’re saying this. You are the one who has told me for years to keep hanging on, to give her time, to—”
“Have you ever told her you love her?”
It was his turn to go silent.
“I assume that means no,” she said.
“I told her that when she was done with school, I wanted a real marriage with her.”
“That’s not the same thing as telling her you love her.”
“There’s no point. Not when there is only love on one side.” Oh shit. He slapped a hand over his eyes and held back a groan. But it was too late. His mother pounced like a panther.
“Oh, Vlad. You do love her.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.”
What was the point in denying it? “Mama, it doesn’t matter.”
“It would matter if you simply told her.”
He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare out the window. “What makes you think it would change anything?”
“Vlad, love changes everything.”
“Only in books.” And he was done with those. Done with the fairy tales. The Alexander Pushkin romanticism. The unrealistic expectations. He’d even once thought he could write his own book, but not anymore. He hadn’t looked at his manuscript in months. He was done with all of it.
“I hope you don’t really believe that,” Mama said, her tone heavier with disappointment than he’d ever heard.
“Tell Papa I said goodbye.”
“Vlad—”
He hung up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elena awoke the next morning to the sound of a mournful meow.
After blinking in confusion for a second, she sat up and kicked off the blankets. She found a cat draped across the floor in front of Vlad’s bedroom, poking its paws through the tiny space between the closed door and the carpet.
“Sorry, kitty. He’s not home.”
The cat rolled over when Elena spoke.
“Come on,” she said. “I will feed you.”
The longhaired calico followed her all the way downstairs and into the kitchen. She must have known where Vlad kept the food and treats, because she began to meow at the pantry door. Elena picked her up and checked the collar for a name tag. There wasn’t one.
“Guess we’ll have to settle for Neighbor Cat for now,” she said, setting her down.
Neighbor Cat didn’t seem to care what she was called once Elena poured a small bowl of food.
According to the clock on the microwave, it was nearly nine—much later than Elena normally slept. She decided to blame it on the fact that it had taken hours to fall asleep last night and not on the fact that the bed was more comfortable than she remembered. It was unbelievably soft, like sleeping on top of a giant down pillow. She hadn’t been in the right state of mind during the few months she had lived with Vlad to appreciate it then, but now? Now it would be hell going back to the concrete block that was her futon. But it was well past time to figure out how and when she was going back. She hadn’t booked a plane ticket yet and didn’t even know if she could get a flight out today. If she couldn’t, she’d stay in a hotel by the airport. Vlad clearly didn’t want her at the house when he came home, and she wasn’t going to take advantage of his generosity by asking if she could. She didn’t even feel comfortable raiding his fridge for breakfast or making tea. This was his house, his space. She was a visitor and always had been.
Elena sat down in one of the tall leather chairs that lined the long island in the center of the kitchen. She’d left her laptop on the counter before bed last night and now booted it up to search online for a flight. When the travel website prompted her to select a return date, she checked the button for one-way and sucked in a shuddering breath as it hit her that this was the last time she would ever be here. When she left this morning, she would never be coming back. And though she’d known for months that she would eventually face these lasts—last time in the house, last time seeing Vlad—the reality of it soured her stomach. There were things she still hadn’t said to him, things she wished he knew and understood. But maybe that was just as selfish as her decision to marry him. He obviously was ready to move on. She had no right to burden him further with her excuses.