The church is located in a green area of the city, and you cannot see it until you are actually almost upon it. It has six onion domes and an exterior that is richly decorated in mosaic. Add those features to the fact that it is nearly hidden makes it seem foreign, isolated, almost an oasis in that bustling city.

There is a guard at the door, a man in all black. Even his glasses have black frames. He has a dour totally Russian personality, but strangely, he doesn’t speak Russian. He speaks to us first in French then in English. He is apparently there to enforce the rules. Basically, no taking pictures or videos. No talking loudly. No shorts. No naked shoulders.

I brought a scarf with me and use it to cover my hair before we enter the church. The interior is even more grand and fabulous than the exterior. There are no chairs, but it is very much a working church attended by the large Russian community that live in Nice. In the Orthodox Church the congregation stands.

It is full of stunningly beautiful and intricate icons and paintings. Hundreds of candles burn, adding to the hushed, otherworldly atmosphere. Religious artifacts include a huge hammered silver cross, and delicate icons made of silver and studded with semi-precious stones.

‘I have to light a candle for Papa,’ I whisper into the solemn air.

He looks at me strangely. ‘My grandmother asked me to,’ I explain with a shrug.

He waits for me while I go up to the icon of a saint. Bowing my head in veneration, I say a prayer for Papa. ‘Please make Papa repent. Enter his heart.’ Then I look deep into the icon’s eyes because Baba says that if you do this while meditating, you will enter a lake where you will meet your own soul. Of course, I have never prayed long enough for that to happen, and it does not happen now either.

Pulling a tissue out of my purse, I wipe my lipstick off before I kiss the icon on the hand as a sign of love and faith. We never kiss the faces of icons as Judas betrayed Christ with a kiss on the cheek. I light my candle and plant it before stepping away, then make the sign of the cross over my face before going to join Noah.

‘You love your father,’ he says, almost to himself, as we leave the cool exterior of the church and come out into the sunshine again.

I stop and look up at him. He seems surprised that I would, and I can understand why he would be. He needs to know how I feel.

‘I know Papa has done some really bad things to my mother. When I was small I saw him push my mother to the front door and kick her so viciously she flew out the door and fell sprawled on the front steps. In one instant all those years with her came to that. I wouldn’t do that to a stray dog. He treated her like she was nothing. While she was still standing there bleeding, crying, and screaming that he was wrong, she had not been unfaithful to him, he closed the door on her and forbade me to ever see her again.’

Noah stares at me, shocked.

‘The thing is, my mother hadn’t been disloyal to him. You have to be a very brave fool indeed to be unfaithful to my father.’

Noah’s eyes widen. ‘And that was the last you saw of your mother?’

I shook my head. ‘No. My grandmother made sure I saw her regularly when my father was away. I still do. Secretly.’

‘Good,’ he mutters softly.

‘When I was young I used to dream of a father who loved me, took me out to eat ice cream, or watch a movie with me, but my father is not like that, and I’ve learned to live with it.’ I smile. ‘It’s better to have a father than to have none at all. He’s the only father I have, maybe I do love him. In his own cold way Papa loves me too.’

He tilts his head and looks at me as if I am a creature he doesn’t understand. ‘Doesn’t it bother you though that he is forcing you to marry a man you don’t love?’

‘He’s not forcing me to marry Oliver. He … suggested it and I agreed.’

‘Really? You had a choice?’

I bite my lower lip. ‘When I agreed to marry Oliver I had no one and it didn’t seem like a bad thing. He was from a good family and he was easy on the eye. I had met him a few times and he was always courteous and solicitous. However, I recently found out something about Oliver. He’s not what he seems to be. I think he may be into perverted things. I know Papa has ambitions, but he wants me to be happy too, and I could never be happy with such a man. When Papa comes back I’m going to tell him that in these circumstances I cannot marry Oliver.’

To my surprise Noah doesn’t make any comment at all. Instead he veils his eyes so I won’t be able to tell what he is thinking. ‘I thought we could try some parasailing before lunch,’ he says, completely changing the subject.

‘Parasailing? I’m game,’ I say immediately.

We make our way to the water sports center on the Promenade des Anglais, and I see the yellow parachutes with their distinctive yellow smiley faces floating in the hot blue sky over the sea. Noah has already booked a slot for us and he hands our vouchers over.

An instructor with a bronze tan and strong French accent gives us a safety briefing and a lesson on parasailing basics. Then I step into a safety harness together with Noah. We wade out into the warm water. Our instructor connects our harness to the giant parasail and a pull rope attached to a speed boat. The boat pulls forward, our sail fills with air, and we rise into the sky.

‘Oh, my God. We’re airborne. We’re flying,’ I scream as we soar up more than a hundred meters into the sky. The wind rushes into my face and it is the most thrilling sensation to be so high up. Giddy with excitement, I whoop like a child when we rise even higher.

‘Whoopeee … check out how far we are from the ground,’ I shriek, pointing to our small shadows on the sea’s surface.

Noah just chuckles at my enthusiasm.

As we glide effortlessly over the Baie des Anges, we enjoy stunning aerial views of the French Riviera’s sandy coastline, the turquoise blue waters of the Mediterranean, the rolling hills of Provence, and Nice’s historic streets. As the boat makes its turn we drift back down for a water landing as the boat slowly comes to a stop.

‘Oh my God, we are going to crash land,’ I scream again. Splash. Oops. Ha, ha.

‘You smell of the sea,’ Noah says with a laugh, as he catches me and holds me close to him.

High from the unforgettable experience, I throw my arms around his neck. ‘That was wonderful, Noah. I loved it. Can we go again?’

‘If you enjoyed this you must come paragliding with me. It’s even better. You are not towed by a boat but driven by the sheer force of the wind, and you race through the sky.’

‘Is that your hobby then?’

We start to wade back to shore. ‘I don’t know if it is a hobby, but I like it.’

‘Do you paraglide in England?’ I enquire.

‘Usually in Nepal, the desert, or where there are mountains.’

We are standing in the water, the waves sucking at our feet. ‘Maybe you’ll take me with you one day,’ I hear myself say.