“ . . . send you the remainder of the assignments. As stated in my email, the TA can administer missed coursework . . .”

I frowned at him, at the pleasing cadence of his voice, at his gorgeous face. I hadn’t been listening. My brain was stuck in the past. Specifically, stuck on his words from moments ago, when he’d called me Natasha.

Because, how could I not fixate on the comparison?

Natasha, lovely, lively, spirited Natasha.

Naïve Natasha, ruled by her emotions.

Disloyal Natasha, easily seduced by the scoundrel—shoot! What’s that guy’s name?

Repentant Natasha, but not repentant enough for Andrei.

She was never enough for Andrei, doomed to failure from the start.

I decided I disliked his analogy.

I hated it.

Meanwhile, Luca was still talking.

“ . . . don’t need to come into class, if you have no desire to attend. But I hope you—”

“I resent the comparison,” I announced. Loudly. Smacking the bar with my palm.

Luca pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw ticking, his gaze growing hooded. “Anna—”

“Don’t say my name. No more saying my name!” I stood and marched to the door. I heard his muted footfalls on the carpet as he trailed me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” I grumbled, retrieving my bag from the floor and pressing the elevator call button. I was so done with him.

Stick a fork in this BS.

“Then I’ll see you in class.”

I scoffed, gritting my teeth as I turned to face him. “Yeah. Sure. Fine. See you in class, Professor Kroft. Sounds good, Professor Kroft.” I jabbed the call button again. “Whatever you say, Professor Kroft.”

Luca shoved his fine fingers in his pants pockets and glowered at me—one eyebrow slightly higher than the other—as though my sarcastic outburst had just proved his point: immature Natasha and sophisticated Andrei never belonged together.

Doomed.

This was not the first time he’d made me feel like less. Like I wasn’t worthy of . . . him. His time. Rationally, I knew this feeling was dissonant with the truth. He’d gone out of his way to contact me, keep me in his class. As a teacher, he was doing his due diligence.

As a man, he’d kissed me for Frodo’s sake! TWICE!

And yet, as much as I recognized he was an excellent teacher, a brilliant professor, and gifted scholar, I didn’t like him—the man—very much. Because, as a man—after the kisses were over—I’d felt small and shabby.

And not in a badass Hobbit way either.

“Anna—”

“You know,” I rounded on him, holding a hand up between us, “just stop. Stop. I get it. I do. You’re attracted to me, or you were—whatever—and I’m your student, or I was. But I’m also young, and not just age-wise. I’m young in a perpetually immature, goofy-person way. Which means I’m ‘not your kind of nice.’ Even if we were the same age, or if I were older than you, I’d still be ‘not your kind of nice.’”

I watched him gather a deep breath, watched as his eyes moved between mine and his lips parted as though he wanted to contradict. But he didn’t. He swallowed and said nothing.

I didn’t expect him to speak. I knew he wasn’t my kind of nice either. How could I judge him for sharing the same thoughts? I couldn’t.

We didn’t fit. We didn’t make sense. We never would.

Dooooooomed!

The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival. I tore my gaze from his and stepped onto the lift, my heart heavy as I pressed the button for the parking garage.

Luca placed his hand on the space where the door disappeared into the wall, keeping it from sliding shut. “Will I see you in class?” he asked quietly, his tone tight and refrained.

I gave him a small, humorless smile. “How about this. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll re-enroll if you promise to call on me during class once a week.”

I didn’t expect him to agree. I expected him to scoff, to lift an indifferent eyebrow and dismiss me without a word. I’d even begun digging in my bag, searching for my keys, because I considered the matter settled.

“Fine. Deal,” he said, removing his hand from the doorway.

My head snapped up and I gaped at him, shocked. “Deal?”

“Deal.” He nodded once, his lips a grim line, his serious eyes more somber than I’d ever seen them.

“But—”

“See you Monday,” he said gruffly.

Then the door closed.

The elevator descended.

I was caught, ensnared in a trap of my own design.