The next day, after Lena was politely kicked out of the public library that had to close for the day, she went to the cinémathèque and watched an old movie. Then she walked all the way back to rue Cadet, her stomach knotted with anxiety. What if Rob looked at her again like he did yesterday? What if he didn’t look at her like that anymore? Good Lord, what a mess.

When she reached La Bohème, the dinner service was over and the bistro was relatively empty—not unusual for a Tuesday night. Rob and Pepe were discussing something by the counter. As Lena approached, she heard Pepe say, “Rrrrrrrrr.”

“No,” Rob said.

“Rrrrrrrrrr,” Pepe said again.

Rob shook his head.

Pepe gave Lena a pleading look. “Rrrrrrr?”

“Are you rehearsing for a baby tiger role?” she asked.

“Now that you mention it, he does sound like an angry cat,” Rob said, smiling at Lena.

Pepe blew out his cheeks. “Come on, guys—you’ve got to help me. Rrrrrrrrrr. Did that sound French enough?”

“Nope,” Rob said, putting his elbow on the counter and leaning his head into his hand.

“Couldn’t it pass for a Midi accent?” Lena asked Rob. “They roll their r’s down in Marseille, don’t they?”

“Absolutely. Only Pepe isn’t rolling. He’s growling.”

“Anyway, I don’t want a Midi accent,” Pepe said. “I need those Nordic blondes from the hotel down the street to think I’m a Parisian. You know, a real one. Authentic.”

Rob rubbed his chin. “It’s hopeless, buddy, even if you manage to get your r’s right. Even if you learn to say ‘mademoiselle’ instead of ‘mad-e-muethel’.”

Pepe’s face fell.

“Forget the r’s,” Rob said. “What you really need to pass for a true Parisian is scorn.”

“Scorn?” Pepe’s furrowed his brow. “Like in ‘humor’?”

“Like in ‘contempt’.” Rob went behind the counter to make Lena tea. “Look at Didier over there.” He nodded discretely with his head.

Lena and Pepe turned to look at the bistro’s headwaiter.

“Observe him in action. Notice how he’s telling that American couple they’re total losers without actually saying it.”

The three of them fell silent and watched Didier. The distance was too big for them to make out his words, but his condescending smiles, discrete eye rolls, and impatient finger taps said it all.

“He’s good,” Pepe said, turning back to Rob.

“Can you do the same?”

Pepe shook his head. “No. And I don’t want to, either. I like people. Even the ones who aren’t Nordic blondes in minishorts. All customers deserve to be treated nicely.”

“That’s my boy.” Rob patted him on the shoulder. “But you’ll never pass for an authentic Parisian waiter.”

“So be it,” Pepe declared, his expression grave and determined.

“You could find another—” Lena began.

“My r’s are definitely getting better, though, I can feel it!” Pepe’s face lit up with a grin. “This means I may have a chance with one of those blond angels, God bless their minishorts.”

Rob clapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. I was just about to abandon my murderous plans for you, and you have to go and ruin everything.”

Pepe snarled at him, then turned to Lena. “You know what I like most about blondes? Their napes.”

“You mean the backs of their necks?” she asked.

“You may not be able to understand this, but to me there’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of a blonde’s hair pulled up, and a few flaxen tendrils coiling down her alabaster nape.” Pepe closed his eyes, his index retracing a coiling movement in the air.

Rob shook his head in dismay.

Pepe opened his eyes. “If I was on death row and was granted a last wish, I’d ask to see a blonde’s nape one more time before they inject me.”

“There’s no death penalty in Europe,” Lena said.

Pepe raised an eyebrow. “I travel widely. Including to places where it hasn’t been abolished. So you never know.”

“Right. You never know,” Lena said.

“And how was your day, Lena?” Rob asked.

“I—” Lena began, but was interrupted by the ringing in her purse. Must be Dad. “Sorry, I need to get this.”

She moved out of the way and answered her phone.

“Still in love with Paris?” Anton asked.

“Absolutely.” She tried to convey her enthusiasm while speaking in a hushed voice. “I think I could live here, you know, like forever.”

“Easy, girl. This is not the plan, remember? The plan is that you stay in Paris for a few months. A year, tops. Then you return to Moscow and start working with me.” He sounded disgruntled.

“Dad, I’m not sure . . .” Lena felt the familiar guilt clenching her stomach. She was sure. She knew perfectly well what she wanted to do with her life, and it didn’t include working with her father.

“Dad, that’s your plan, not mine. I really don’t think I’ll be working with you. I’m sorry I’m disappointing you, but I’ve found my vocation. And you know what it is.”

After a long silence Anton finally spoke. “Lena, I’ve always wanted the best for you. I sent you to Switzerland so that you could get the best education money can buy, a European polish, languages. I wanted to give you the right tools for your future.”

“And I’m grateful for all that, I really am!”

“But eventually you have to return home, baby. You belong here. I built this company so that you could take it over one day. You must take it over one day.”

“Daddy, you’re only forty-six! Why all this talk of me taking over the company?” Suddenly a wave of panic washed over her. “Is something wrong? Are you hiding something? What is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong, pumpkin. As it happens, I had a medical checkup last week, and I seem to be in perfect health. It’s just . . . I don’t know, maybe it’s my midlife crisis finally kicking in.”

Anton snorted, then got serious again. “My business is my legacy. And you are my only child, who’s now grown and about choose a career. This is the perfect time for me to start involving you, mentoring you. Can’t you see that?”

“But Dad—”

“No buts. You have a duty toward me. Unlike your mother, I’ve always been a good parent to you. For the past twelve years, I’ve been your only parent.”

The last statement was grossly unfair, and they both knew it. But Lena was weary of reminding him that the reason her mom had been absent for half of her life was much more complicated than he made it sound.

So instead, she tried another tack. “Anyway, your plan is doomed. You have a hopeless nerd for a daughter.”

“Not a problem. In my book being a nerd is a qualification. I was a nerd once, too, remember? I was a computer programmer before becoming a businessman. Can it get nerdier than that?”

“An astrophysicist?”

“It’s thanks to my nerdy beginnings that I now have an edge over my competitors.”

Lena considered making an observation that being a computer nerd was slightly more relevant to running an IT company than being a translator. But she doubted she could win this argument with logic, if she could win it at all.

“By the way, I’ve got some news about the negotiations,” he said.

“Over Raduga?”

“Yes. I think I finally managed to grind them down.”

She was happy to hear it—buying the edgy start-up was a cornerstone of his plan to expand into a new area. “Congratulations, Dad! I know this means a great deal to you.”

“They haven’t formally accepted my offer yet, but I expect they will in the coming days.”

“I’m sure they will. This is big and you worked so hard on it.”

“We could work on the next one together . . .”

“Dad,” she pleaded. “I study literature and translation, and that’s what I want to do as a career. Not use my language skills for business. Can’t you understand this? Please?”

Anton paused and then said in an upbeat voice. “Baby, let’s talk about this later, OK? For now, you’re in Paris, writing your thesis so you can get your master’s degree. That’s fine with me and, from what I gather, more than fine with you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

As Lena hung up, the lightness she had reveled in since last night was gone. She tried to tell herself she still had time—a lot of time—to sway her father and avoid open conflict. But she also knew her chances were slim.

* * *

Rob paced his room, trying to get a grip. Good thing he had quit smoking, because this gig he’d signed up for would have warranted a pack before every phone call. The part of the job that required he spend as much time as he could around Lena was a no-brainer. It was like getting paid to watch football and drink beer. Only better. But the part where he had to call Boris and report everything he’d gleaned about her father’s plans made him feel dirty and ashamed.

He grabbed his phone and called Pierre to remind him that in three days he was taking two weeks off to prepare for his final exams and thesis defense.

Next, he dialed Boris’s number.

* * *

The day was hot, way too hot for early June. Sticky heat permeated the air, dampening people’s clothes and pasting them to their bodies. On a day like this, only tourists ventured out midafternoon while Parisians—and Lena—stayed indoors.

Finally, just before nine in the evening, a cool breeze arrived. Lena opened her window and was relieved that it no longer felt like a blast from an oven. Rush hour was over, and she could hear the sounds coming from the sidewalk terrace: clinking of silverware against plates, quiet laughter, and relaxed conversation. Diners filled the bistro and waiters darted between tables, taking orders, bringing food, and opening wine bottles.

Lena grabbed her purse and ran downstairs before the last table was occupied. She took a seat on the terrace, ordered her dish, and opened her book. But she couldn’t concentrate on reading. The evening was extraordinarily pleasant—or maybe her senses were unusually heightened. The aromas of fried garlic and fresh coriander from the kitchen mixed with the citrus and sandalwood perfumes of the diners around her. The smells intertwined happily and played backdrop to the sweet fragrance of jasmine snatched by the breeze from someone’s balcony. If paradise existed, this is how it would smell, she thought.

Oddly, she also felt as though she could hear every word of every conversation around her. People spoke ever so softly, their voices devoid of urgency, their eyes filled with contentment to be with their loved ones. It didn’t matter that they said the most trivial things to each other. Their words fluttered like butterflies with the sole purpose of establishing a connection to share the sweetness of this summer evening.

Lena’s pulse ratcheted up as she saw Rob step out onto the terrace. He took a sip of his espresso and looked around. When he spotted her, he smiled and made a beeline toward her.

“How do you feel about Cyril?” he asked.

“Who’s Cyril?”

“A rising star of French chanson. He’s really good.” Rob placed two tickets on the table. “The concert is at L’Espace at eleven.”

Lena blinked several times, processing the situation.

“Jeanne gave me these an hour ago,” he said. “She got them from a friend who’s a friend of Cyril’s.”

“Why isn’t she going herself?”

“She was supposed to go with her boyfriend, but he had a motorbike crash this afternoon.”

“Is he OK?”

“A broken arm. Jeanne’s going to the hospital.”

Rob gave her a questioning look.

“Oh. It’s nice of you to have thought of me—” Lena began.

“It’s for a reason. Remember the song about the Eiffel Tower I massacred the other day?”

Lena nodded.

“Cyril will sing it, and some classic pieces by Brel and Gainsbourg, in the second part of his gig.”

How could she say no to that?

They made it to L’Espace a few minutes before the beginning of Cyril’s act. The place was a stone’s throw from Trocadero. Bigger than a live music bar but too small for a concert hall, L’Espace was packed with a heterogeneous crowd that reflected Cyril’s broad fan base. Curious to see the “rising star,” Lena stood on tiptoe and arched her neck.

“Urgh. I’m too short.” She blew out her cheeks in frustration.

Rob knitted his brows. “Come with me.”

He grabbed her hand and began to push their way through the crowd toward the side of the room.

“There’s a bench by the wall,” he said, turning his head to Lena. “You can stand on it.”

Even though the distance to the bench was only a couple of meters, they progressed at a snail’s pace. Taking baby steps behind Rob, Lena wished they’d moved even slower. She wished the room had been bigger and the crowd denser.

She wished the wall had been sliding away as they approached.

After telling her about the bench, Rob never turned back, apparently unaware of the effect his firm grip was having on her. He seemed fully focused on getting her from point A to point B with as little shoving as he could manage. She couldn’t detect a hint of a caress in the way his palm enveloped hers. His fingers were perfectly motionless. He’d taken her hand for purely practical reasons, she told herself.

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he held her. She closed her eyes. His skin was warm—almost hot—against hers, and his hand gloriously big. Ooh, the bliss. It was as if all the nerve endings in her hand had been bared and primed. How else could she explain the intensity of the pleasure that flooded her senses from such a trivial touch?

She opened her eyes—the bench was now within arm’s reach.

“Excuse me,” Rob said to someone Lena couldn’t see. “Could you step aside for a sec, so my friend could climb on top of this?”

He gave her a little push and, once she stood on the bench, released her hand. It took her all her strength not to say, “No!”

When Cyril finished his last encore and the applause died away, the arrows on the clock above the bar pointed at five to two. Lena jumped off the bench and gave Rob a bright smile. “Cyril is really good. I liked his songs just as much as the classic hits in the second part.”

“I may be tone deaf but I have impeccable taste in music.” He grinned. “I’m glad you enjoyed the performance.”

“I’ll buy his album tomorrow.” She began to rummage through her bag. “Shall I call us a cab?”

Rob glanced at his watch. “If we run to Trocadero right now, we can catch the final light show of the day on the Eiffel Tower. It’s special.”

Lena didn’t need much convincing to prolong their evening together.

They got to the plaza just as the sparkling lights on the Iron Lady across the Seine burst into a magical show.

“We can sit over there.” Rob pointed at the vacant spot on the steps leading down from the plaza, and they wedged themselves between two groups of camera-wielding tourists.

“Hold your hand out, like this,” he said, stretching his own arm. “You see? It looks like you’re touching the tip of the Eiffel Tower. I can take a picture of you, if you want.”

Lena whipped out her phone. “Let me take one of you first.”

She was giddy with excitement. “So how is this show different from the others?”

“During the regular evening shows, the background yellow lighting never goes off. But now it’s more like fireworks.”

They sat in silence for several minutes watching the lights dance. And then, within a second, the Eiffel Tower was swallowed up by the night. The effect was spectacular.

Lena turned to Rob. “Wow.”

She didn’t want to go home. Sitting here, in this warm summer evening, so close to Rob that their thighs nearly touched, made her feel acutely alive. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Which one is your favorite Cyril song?” she asked.

“Let me see . . . The one about the stray dog.”

“Oh yes. What was the refrain?” She recited, “Grooming is for poodles. Training is for hounds—”

Rob joined in, singing off key. “I traded my leash for dignity. Got any scraps, anyone?” He smirked. “During my first three years in Paris, that’s pretty much how I felt about my life.”

Lena didn’t dare ask why.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.

She stretched her legs. “Hmm. ‘Maybe I’m the One’. . . I guess.”

“What about ‘The Clown’?”

“Urgh. It made me feel uncomfortable. But it’s nice to know I’m not the only person on Earth who’s scared of clowns.”

He chuckled. “I won’t be offering you circus tickets then.”

“God forbid. I completely freaked out both times my parents took me to the circus when I was little. When I wasn’t terrified of the clowns, I was afraid the lions will eat their tamer, or the acrobats will fall off the trapeze and break their necks.”

“You should try bungee jumping as immersion therapy,” he said.

She made round eyes and shook her head. “Can we change the topic, please?”

“Sure. How about paragliding?”

She ignored his question. “So, what’s the plan after you graduate?”

“In the short-term, finding a good job. Preferably, in the energy sector. In the long-term, running my own business.”

She nodded, impressed. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t really know. Establishing myself as a literary translator . . . Or maybe an academic career . . .” She gazed at the shimmering river below them. “But I guess my short-term plan is to just hang around in Paris and try to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

“I like your plan,” he said.

* * *

Lena was making her way through a plate of garlic butter snails that Rob had recommended, when her phone rang.

Even though Anton sounded cheerful and breezy, something was off. He didn’t press her for the details of her day. Lena remembered all too well the last time her dad had shown that kind of neglect. He’d gotten into serious trouble with a corrupt government official and narrowly escaped arrest.

Having ascertained she was fine, he said he had to go and wished her good-night. But Lena’s imagination had gone berserk. Five minutes later, she called him back, too worried to wait until they would talk again tomorrow. Anton answered the phone. Lena could hear him apologize to whomever he was with and then it sounded like he was moving. A few seconds later, he asked her if anything was wrong.

“No, Dad, I’m fine. I was worried about you, actually. Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly OK. Why?”

He did sound OK and even slightly . . . amused? Now, this was awkward. In all honesty, Lena couldn’t very well reply “Because you were a lot less interested in my life than usual.” She would come across as someone immature, which she probably was. Too late to uncall him now, so she’d better come up with an explanation.

“Because you sounded . . . distracted?” she finally managed to say.

“Did I?”

Lena could hear the smile in his voice and, despite her embarrassment, a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She was about to apologize and hang up, when he said, “You’re right, pumpkin, I was distracted.”

She waited for him to continue.

“I guess I’ll have to tell you sooner or later, so I can as well do it now.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I just proposed to Anna and she said yes. I was having dinner with her when you called—”

“Oh my God!” Lena nearly screamed. “Are you serious? I can’t believe it! But when did you . . . ? How long have you . . . ?” Lena had trouble finishing her sentences. Her mind raced.

This was big—and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She had heard about Anna from Grandma but had never met her. Dad had been seeing her for a few months now, at least as far as Lena was aware. He’d never let on how serious the relationship had grown. As far as she was concerned, he still maintained that remarrying wasn’t on his agenda for the next couple of centuries. So, Anna was special to him, and Lena had had no clue. That sort of stung.

“I met Anna six months ago. She’s a legal assistant, thirty-four, never been married. She’s clever, kind, generous—”

“Dad!” Lena interrupted. “You’re in love.”

“I am? I guess I am.” He chuckled. “Anyhow, she’s willing to become my wife and your stepmother, which is very brave of her.”

“We don’t bite,” Lena said.

“No. But as you’re too young and I’m too old to share her taste in music, clothes and movies, she’s in for a rough ride.” Then his voice became serious. “Lena, darling, can you promise me to be nice to Anna?”

“Of course I will, Dad!” Lena was about to add that she hoped Anna would be nice to him, but she bit her tongue. Somehow, it felt unfair to spoil his moment of joy by alluding to the past. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Me too, pumpkin, I can’t wait to introduce her to you. How about we visit you in Paris sometime soon? I’m sure we can find a weekend in the next few weeks when both Anna and I are free.”

Lena frowned at his obvious assumption that she was free every weekend, before reminding herself that, as it happened, she was.

“Sure, Dad, come any time you want. Just give me sufficient notice to tidy up my apartment. We can’t have Anna realize what kind of hopeless pig I am before the two of you are married. By the way, when are you getting married?”

“We’re thinking end of December. We’ll probably have really shitty weather for the ceremony, but then we’ll enjoy the honeymoon even more. I’m planning to take Anna to the Caribbean. Remember that hotel in Punta Cana?”

Lena did. But she preferred not to comment.

“I know, I know.” Anton read her mind. “It’s too tacky, too Russian nouveau riche for you. But, I am a Russian nouveau riche, so I have to live up to my image.”

Anton Malakhov was positively happy, in a way Lena couldn’t remember him, even in their best moments together. It was strange to hear him chatter away like this. It was also touching and heartwarming. Lena told him December was a perfect month for a wedding and released him to his fiancée. Her future stepmother . . .

What an idea!

* * *

Lena was on the finish line to her graduation. It was late June and Paris was growing stuffier and stickier by the day. She had no complaints, though. This was nothing compared to Moscow’s midsummer hell. The Parisians, however, were beginning to desert the city whenever they got the chance. They went south to the breezy Mediterranean coast or north to the airy beaches of Normandy. As for Lena, she was preparing to go east to Geneva.

She was anxious. Even though her supervisor was happy with her final product, Lena knew she needed to brush up on the theory before the red-letter day. So she studied from dawn to dusk, only breaking for a trip to the bathroom or a glass of water. Her reward was a longer break at dinnertime at La Bohème.

But when Rob didn’t show up at work for the third day in a row, she began to wonder if something was the matter. Was he sick? Had he taken a few days off? Or had he just quit the job, which would mean she may never see him again? It was disconcerting how much that last thought affected her.

Lena shook her head. God, this isn’t happening. I’m not falling for him.

She had known him for such a short time! He was still a stranger, too sure of himself, too charming, too handsome. He was the kind of guy she’d always shunned because nothing good could come of it. Then why was she going to the bistro for dinner every day, hauling along her heavy books, and prolonging her meals with several cups of tea, when she had resolved to stay away from him?

As she pondered this question, staring blankly into her course reader, someone sat down next to her. Lena looked up from her book, her eyes bright, but it wasn’t who she’d expected it to be.

“Lena, I can’t bear seeing you like this anymore. Is it”—Jeanne shut Lena’s tome to read the cover—“semiotics that’s making you so depressed or is there something else?”

“It’s semiotics,” Lena said, which wasn’t entirely untrue. “If they ask me questions on this topic during the exam, I’ll be in big trouble.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just don’t get it. I read and reread the same passages, and I’m still in the dark.” Lena shook her head. “I’ve considered memorizing the main definitions—can’t see what else I can do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with learning things by heart. That’s how most learning was done only a couple of generations ago. And it’s still the case in some disciplines, not to mention religions,” Jeanne said.

Jeanne’s comment reminded Lena of something she’d been meaning to ask for a while. “What’s your field of study, Jeanne? You never talk about it, but . . .”

“In spite of my blue hair, piercings, and the occasional tough talk, I don’t sound like a high school dropout?” Jeanne finished for her.

Lena nodded with a smile. Jeanne was the least touchy person she’d ever met. It was so easy to talk to her.

“I did two years of law in Aix-en-Provence just to prove to my parents and the rest of my family that I could. But I hated it.”

“I’m with you on that.”

“Then I backpacked around the world for a year, which was great. And then I followed my boyfriend to Paris and got this job. Which I rather enjoy, truth be told.” Jeanne took a long swig of her chilled Coke. “So I am, indeed, a dropout, but an extensively traveled and a well-read one.”

“Mystery solved. And what about your boyfriend? Is it the biker I saw you. . . talk to here once?”

Jeanne smirked. “You can say you saw us fight, it’s OK.”

“So, you’ve been with him for what—two, three years?”

“Too long. I know he’s bad for me, Lena. I left him. Five times at least. And every time, I go back when he asks politely.” Jeanne sighed. “I’ll tell you more later.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Jeanne finished her Coke. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?”

“Um . . . nothing comes to mind.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just tell you like that, without any specific reason at all, that Rob has taken two weeks off for his final exams. Not that you were asking or anything.” Jeanne stood up.

“Oh . . . I did wonder where he’d disappeared to. By the way, I’ll be going to Geneva for my final exam and defense the day after tomorrow.”

“Good luck! When shall we expect you back?”

“Next Thursday, hopefully with the diploma in my suitcase. I’m so much looking forward for all this stress to be over.”

“Hey, I have an idea. Pepe and I made plans to go to Nice for a weekend. Take a dip in the Mediterranean.”

“Can you both take the same weekend off?”

“Pierre hired two temps for the summer, so regular staff can take vacations and days off more easily. We could wait until you’re back from Geneva, if you’d like to join.”

“I’d love to! Thank you so much for inviting me. It would be a great way to unwind.”

“Excellent,” Jeanne said, turning to leave. “I’ll check with Rob if he wants to join in, too.”