The sun had begun its descent when they left the airport and by the time they got out of the town car, it was low on the horizon, making it so she couldn’t see much beyond the hotel’s covered car port. She had a quick thought that she should have worn sunglasses, then another bitter one about how she couldn’t be blamed for not bringing them since the only instructions Nikolai gave her was to bring whatever “woman things” she might need to survive a weekend.
Sam searched the hotel’s quaint blue-and-white facade for any indication of why Nikolai had brought her here, hoping for some kind of clue like a small sign announcing that the reception for whatever would be in the main ballroom. But there weren’t any of those types of signs to be found—and the few signs she did see were written in Greek, which looked closer to Nikolai’s Russian Cyrillic alphabet than her own Roman one.
She sighed, thinking as much as she admired Veronica Mars, her own detective skills were completely lacking.
“Come, zhena,” Nikolai said again, interrupting her thoughts and beckoning her forward.
Speaking of mysteries, she was going to have to figure out what “zhena” meant as soon as she was back in Indiana and had internet access again. Another oversight on her part. The planned trip had been so short, she’d assumed they’d be staying in the United States and she hadn’t bothered to bring her laptop since she had her smartphone. But here they were in Greece. And here she was without an international data plan, rendering her smartphone useless until she could find Wi-Fi.
After a quick luggage exchange between their driver and a man in a starched white uniform, she and Nikolai were led past the check-in desk, up three short flights of stairs, and through a set of arched doors painted a vibrant blue.
The scene that met her when she walked through the blue doors made her heart stop. It was a spacious and gorgeous white room with sea blue furniture that matched the blue infinity pool just beyond large balcony windows. And beyond that…
Sam went to the windows to stare wide-eyed at the Athens peninsula spread out to the left and right of them. A lush scene, dotted with hotels and trees overlooking a sea so blue, it seemed to glow underneath the city’s lights.
It was easily the most beautiful view she, Sam McKinley—now Sam Rustanov—had ever clapped eyes on. And suddenly, all her questions dropped away, replaced with something else she didn’t think she’d be feeling toward Nikolai Rustanov at any point over this weekend. Gratitude.
She turned and watched her husband exchange a few short words with the uniformed man, before closing the door behind him.
“Thank you,” she said when they were alone in the room. “Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
He gave her a look she was beginning to recognize, the one he gave her when she’d confused him. Probably because they’d only just now arrived and she was thanking him like he’d already given her a whole weekend in paradise.
“I’ve only ever lived in Alabama, Indiana, and Michigan,” she explained. “I’m just happy to be somewhere so beautiful.”
He considered her statement for a moment before saying, “You’re welcome. Now we must take showers and change. Then we have dinner.”
Less than an hour later, Sam found herself in the gorgeous dress Isaac had bought for her, at the best Greek restaurant in the entire world. Granted, the only Greek food she’d ever eaten was at the Mr. Gyro in Lafayette Square, but shoving bite after bite of the delicious lamb dish in her mouth, she couldn’t believe there were any Greek restaurants better than this one on the face of the earth.
“Oh my God, why does anyone ever move from here?” she asked. “If I was Mr. Gyro, I never would have left!”
She glanced up to see if Nikolai was enjoying the meal as much as she was. She thought her golden dress was a showstopper, but Nikolai was equally holding his own in an elegant black suit paired with a crisp white shirt. He cut a striking figure seated across from her. However, he didn’t seem to be enjoying the meal as much as she was. He was just sitting there, his chin resting on his fist, eyes bemused as he watched her eat.
“Why aren’t you enjoying this?” she demanded, nodding toward the family-style meal. “Everything’s delicious!”
“I’m sure it is,” he answered with a nod. Then he leaned forward to say in a husky voice, “But I prefer watching you eat, zhena. This sight pleases me very much.”
A shiver went down her spine at the thought of him being pleased by the sight of her eating. But she wondered aloud, “I-is that a cultural thing? Um, liking to watch people eat? M-maybe it’s something they do in Russia?”
She was stuttering again, she noted with an inner wince. Like the rom com character Nikolai had accused her of being.
He frowned at her, as if he were trying to figure out if she was joking.
But Sam continued. “Like your mom—was she a good cook? Did she like to watch you and your brother eat?”
Sam cringed as soon as the question left her mouth. Yes Sam, good job, she thought to herself. Don’t just shut down his game, rain it out by asking him questions about his childhood. The same kind of questions he always refuses to answer.
She braced herself for the cold shutdown and waited for the heated look to leave his eyes.
It did. Immediately. And he leaned back, as if suddenly wanting to put more distance between them.
But then he said, “My mother was very good cook. She loved cooking. She loved watching Fedya and I eat. Da, maybe I have little of her in me.”
She nearly dropped her fork, she was so shocked by his answer. That he actually had answered!
He looked away, his jaw clenching. “I do not talk about her,” he said, as if reading her stunned thoughts. “But my mother is same as your mother, zhena. Dead.”
She lowered her fork and confessed, “I know. I Googled you.” No surprise, there hadn’t been any mention of his possible mafia ties, but… “A few articles mentioned your mother died when you were young.”
He shifted in his seat. “Seventeen. Not as young as Pavel.”
“No, but that’s young enough,” she said, thinking of her own mother’s death. “Was it hard when you lost your father, too? The internet said he died a few years ago.”
Nikolai looked further into the distance, like this whole conversation was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. A taste even all the delicious food sitting on the table between them wouldn’t be able to take away. But nonetheless, he once again answered, “No. World is better off without my father.”