By the time I hit the lobby, I’m so angry I want to punch something. Damn Aleksandr. I’d hoped that in the last fourteen years he’d have learned how to grow a fucking spine. Someone needs to give that man an education, and I haven’t the time nor the inclination. In fact, the more time I spend near him, the more I need to get away.
Normally, I’d either head to the boxing gym that’s around the corner from my apartment, or I’d head out to meet a guy. Fight or fuck—I don’t get angry often, but those are the only two ways I know how to deal with my anger when things get to that point.
Martin holds the door open for me and warm spring air blows into the lobby. “It’s a beautiful night, Ms. Volkova. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I plan to,” I give him a wink as I sail through the doors and into a beautiful Thursday evening. It’s dark already, but the air smells like spring . . . a combination of the rain earlier this afternoon and the sweet fragrance of the blossoms on the trees overhead. I head south on Fifth Avenue and fish my phone out of my bag. I bring up my contacts and search for the newest entry—Sam Renaud. The man is perfect for me: stupidly attractive, and available for a night. No risk of commitment. Just how I like them.
And then the realization hits me so hard and fast that I stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
Shit. I’m married.
I stand there, frozen. I look up at the sky, but instead of the wide swath of brightly burning stars scattered across the Milky Way that I’m used to seeing in Park City, all I can see is the light pollution from the city that never sleeps reflected back toward me.
Call him anyway, I tell myself as I stare up at the sky, searching for even a single star visible through the haze. Sam will be fun, just the release you need. Aleksandr doesn’t deserve your chastity. Besides, he’ll never know.
But the reality is, until I’ve decided whether I’m going to help him get citizenship, I probably shouldn’t risk something like this. How could our marriage story ever be believable if it came to light that I slept with someone in New York while I was here this week? Hopefully I didn’t give my name to the guy I slept with my first night here. Then I think of the countless other men I’ve slept with over the past fourteen years. I haven’t even attempted to keep track or keep count. Sex is a biological need, nothing more. No reason to catch feelings or make it into more than it is.
My feet pound the pavement and I’m five blocks further south toward my hotel before I’ve definitely convinced myself that I shouldn’t call Sam. Instead, I call the one person in my world who I trust for advice.
“Hey,” Jackson says when she answers her phone. “Please tell me you are coming home early so I can see you even sooner?”
“I wish,” I say. Do I tell her about Aleksandr and Stella? No, not yet. “I just have to finish up the planning I’m doing in New York and I’ll fly home Saturday morning. Maybe we can grab dinner that night and catch up?”
“We’re just settling in tonight, and we’re meeting up with Lauren and Josh tomorrow night, so dinner Saturday would be great. And I can’t wait to ski with you on Sunday!” It’s not a squeal because that’s not Jackson’s style—she’s one of the most composed, competitive, and caring people I know—but there’s true excitement in her voice.
“Same. Seriously, I have no one to ski with in Park City since you moved away.” With Jackson and I having both been professional skiers, it’s hard to find anyone else who skis at our level. And even though she traveled for most of the winter when she was working for the National Ski Team, we got to ski together any time she was home.
“You need to find new friends who are as passionate about skiing as you are.”
“Easier said than done.” Most of the time when I meet people on the mountain who are truly exceptional skiers, they are pros who are just passing through as they travel to different mountains every week or so. I’ve met a lot of great people that way, but there’s no one I can call up to ski with except for Lauren’s husband Josh, who was also on the National Ski Team at one point.
“Hey,” she says, clearly shifting the conversation. “What’s this big news you said you had?”
For a split second I panic, thinking she’s talking about Aleksandr. Then I remember that I was going to tell her about the show.
“This is still top secret,” I tell her as I amble down the sidewalk, in no hurry to get back to my hotel room alone.
“Oh, my favorite kind of secret.” She laughs.
“No, seriously. I signed all kinds of paperwork and I’m only allowed to tell immediate family. Which basically means you’re the only one who can know.” Jackson is pretty much a sister to me and she’s also a vault. On the rare occasion I’ve ever said anything about my past, she’s held those secrets close, not even sharing them with our other best friends, Sierra and Lauren. Or, as far as I know, with her husband Nate.
“I’m honored,” she says, a tiny hint of teasing in her voice.
“About a year ago, I planned a wedding for the daughter of this really famous television producer. Seriously, this woman is a total badass.” I tell her a bit about the shows she’s produced and even Jackson, who isn’t easily impressed, is impressed. “I worked pretty closely with her through the planning process, and right before the wedding, she said she was going to keep me in mind for the right TV opportunity. I assured her I had no interest in television work.”
“Too much objectification?” Jackson asks.
“Yeah, pretty much anywhere a camera is involved.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. She knows exactly how I feel about the way the media treats women. “Anyway, she was persistent. She’s contacted me with opportunities a couple times and each time I’ve emphatically said ‘no.’ And then a couple months ago she called me with something totally different. A talk show about the female experience in America. The chance to interview women with extraordinary stories from all walks of life. And something about that really spoke to me.”
“I’ll bet. That’s right up your alley,” Jackson agrees. “So did you audition?”
“Yes, I flew to LA a couple months ago for the audition, and then I didn’t hear anything for a while, so mentally I moved on. Then a couple weeks ago she called and offered me the job. I really had to think about it. When I left New York, I swore I was never stepping in front of a camera again. But this . . . this feels worth it.”
“Wow. So what’s this entail? Do you have to move to LA?”
“Yes, for the next few months. We’ll film the entire first season in about six weeks, and then I need to stay in LA for the publicity and promotion. I’ve been assured that after that, I should be able to just fly back and forth for filming. I’m going to tell my events team about it next week, and we’ll figure out a plan for running my business while I’m in LA.”
“This is a lot to process,” Jackson says. “You’ve been so private since you stopped modeling. But good, you’re finally back to being yourself. This is such a great opportunity, I’m really happy for you.”
“I went back and forth about it for a while, but can you imagine? I get to talk to all kinds of women about the exceptional lives they’ve lived, the things they’ve overcome to get where they are. And I get to promote them and their successes. That’s the dream, right there. I’m not relishing the idea of being in the spotlight again, but if it helps me empower and maybe inspire other women, I’ll do it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more excited I am!”
“I can’t wait to hear more about this when I see you on Saturday,” Jackson says. She sounds distracted, and as I hear Nate’s voice in the background, I know why. Even though they’ve been back together for over a year and married for a few months, it still feels like they’re playing catch-up for all the years they lost between their epic breakup and their reunion.
“Okay, I’ll let you go,” I say. “Looking forward to seeing you soon.”
“Me too. Love you,” she says.
“You too,” I say. I hang up as I’m approaching the doors of my hotel. But instead of turning and going in, I keep walking toward Midtown. I’m too keyed up to go up to my room and relax, so I figure I’ll just walk until some of this anxious energy dissipates. And maybe the fresh air and the time to think will help me figure out what to do about Aleksandr and Stella.
Riding the elevator the sixteen floors to Aleksandr’s apartment is starting to feel normal, which is surreal considering that five days ago I didn’t know he was in New York or that he had a six-year-old niece who I’m actually going to miss. But I have to get back to my life, I can’t stay here forever.
When the doors open, he’s waiting for me in the living room, sitting there casually on one of the couches with one foot resting on the opposite knee and a Sports Illustrated in his hands. His eyes lock on mine and he studies my face like he’s trying to figure out how I’m feeling about things after last night’s conversation. Or was it a fight? His face is as impassive as mine, each of us refusing to let the other know how we’re feeling right now.
“Thanks for stopping by,” he says. There’s no tone to decipher in his voice. It’s neither a heartfelt statement nor a sarcastic one, but rather the type of bland comment I’d make at the beginning of a meeting with a new client.
“I wanted to say goodbye to Stella,” I reply. Even though he already knows this from my texts earlier today, I feel the need to remind him that I’m here for her, not for him. “And I brought some pictures of the possible party locations I visited today.”
I don’t like fighting with Aleksandr. I never have. When I was a teenager, I relished arguing with him because it was the only way I could see the cracks in his calm exterior, but it was always lighthearted teasing, seeing if I could get him worked up. That’s not what this is—on my part, this is actual anger about how he didn’t step in and protect Stella from her uncle.
“She’s in her—” He starts, but then there’s a flash of purple barreling toward me.
Stella’s whole body hits my legs as she wraps her arms around me, and I have to reach out and steady myself on the wall so I don’t fall over from the impact. “Hey,” I say, smoothing my hand over her curls. “Did you have a good day at school today?”
She nods, her cheek sliding against my pants. “Guess what?” she says, looking up at me. “When Jason was being mean to me today, I told him what you said to say. He didn’t even know what to say back. He went and sat with other people, so at least I wasn’t by him for circle time.”
I have no idea what circle time is. “I’m glad it worked.”
“I think he’s lonely. He’s mean to everyone, so no one wants to be friends with him.”
“It’s always good to be kind to people, especially if they don’t have a lot of friends,” I tell her. “But at the same time, you shouldn’t put up with him treating you like that. He has to learn that people will be more likely to want to be friends with him if he’s a good friend too.”
I glance over at Aleksandr, who is watching us closely. His face is still a mask, and as always, I wish I knew what he was thinking. He’s only let down his guard around me twice this week, that first night I came over when he told me about wanting to adopt Stella, and last night in his kitchen. My stomach flips over at the memory of his body that close to mine and the way his eyes swam with desire right in front of my face. That moment was the basis for all my fantasies last night, and I hate myself a bit for getting off to visions of him fucking me in his kitchen. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that, both because I’m still mad at him and because he’s Sasha. It’s a hard and fast rule that I don’t sleep with friends or clients, and right now, he’s both. Or at least, maybe we’re working back toward friendship.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the cellophane wrapped plant that I’m holding above Stella’s head.
“This,” I say, “is a little goodbye gift for Stella.” Stella springs back enough to look up, and I hold the plant down at her level. “It’s an orchid, like the ones we saw at the Botanical Gardens,” I tell her.
Her eyes light up and her smile practically splits her face in half. “I’m going to take such good care of it,” she tells me.
“Should we go put it on the windowsill in your bedroom?” I ask her and then look to Aleksandr for confirmation. He nods, and she starts pulling me toward her bedroom.
We’ve unwrapped the plant and set it on the windowsill and I’ve explained to her how to care for an orchid when we hear a conversation in Russian coming from the entryway.
“Who’s that?” I ask her. I can’t make out the words at this distance, but the dialect is clear, as is the firm voice of the female Aleksandr is speaking to.
“Probably my new nanny. She’s stopping by tonight so I can get to know her.”
“You must be excited,” I say with a smile.
“Not really. She’s old, and I don’t think she’ll be as nice as Natasha.”
“Natasha was your last nanny?”
“Yeah. She was the best. She always made sure everything we did was fun.”
I wonder if she was like a big sister to Stella? I always wanted a big sister growing up, but instead I had Viktor, who ignored me in favor of playing with Aleksandr and Nikolai.
“It must have been hard when she left.” There’s a question wrapped up in that statement.
“I miss her so much,” Stella says, “but now you’re here, which is even better.”
Did Aleksandr not tell her I’m leaving?
“Stella, you know that I’m leaving tomorrow morning, right? I have to go home.”
“But you’ll be back, won’t you?” she asks. “To help Dyadya adopt me?”
I freeze, not sure what to say. “I’ll definitely be back in a few weeks, but I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. I have to be in California in a month for something really important for work.”
Stella’s eyes fill with tears. “So you’re not coming back for good?”
“Honey,” I say as I kneel down in front of her. “I’m going to find a way to help you both, but I don’t think that will involve me staying here in New York.”
“But you have to!” she says, and those tears spill down her cheeks. “You have to. Everyone I love leaves me.”
My heart breaks for her. I know how alone she feels, even though I was older than she is when my mom and brother died. But at the same time, she can’t love me. She hasn’t even known me for a week.
“I promise I’ll visit, okay?” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I wonder how I’ll find time for that in my schedule. Though a lot of my events are in the Park City area, my reputation as an event planner means people hire me for events in other locations too. I travel a fair amount for work, mostly on the West Coast. And besides, I’ll be kind of tied to LA for at least the next six months.
She sobs in my arms as I struggle to figure out how we’ve come to mean so much to each other in such a short period. I really am going to miss her.
“And what do we have here?” The question, in Russian, comes from behind me.
“This is Petra,” Aleksandr says. “She’s a friend of the family.”
“And why does she have your niece in such a state?” the woman asks, criticism dripping from every word. I hate her already, and I haven’t even turned around to see her.
“Stella’s just having a hard time saying goodbye,” I tell her, in English, so Stella can understand what we’re talking about. It seems rude to talk about her in another language in front of her.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Stella wails, doing nothing to try to calm herself down.
“This is ridiculous,” the woman says, and I cast a glance over my shoulder at her. Stella’s wrong about her being old. She’s probably in her early forties, but she’s got a severe look about her. I can tell she’s a strict, no-nonsense kind of person, which is fine as long as she’s caring too. “I have been a nanny for twenty years and have never seen a child so coddled.”
“She’s lost both her parents and a nanny she loved in the past few months,” I say in Russian, because Stella doesn’t need the reminder. “Have some compassion.”
“I do not indulge whiny children,” she says back to me, and now I’m glad Stella can’t understand what we’re saying. Her tears have slowed down as she watches this conversation volley back and forth, undoubtedly trying to figure out what’s happening.
My back straightens, but I don’t let go of Stella. Instead, I look at Aleksandr, waiting for him to step in and put this woman in her place. Why is he letting her talk about Stella like this?
“She is not a whiny child,” Aleksandr finally speaks, in Russian. “She’s grieving. There’s a difference.”
“She needs to learn to deal with her emotions without tears. A child such as this …” She sweeps her hand toward Stella as she turns toward Aleksandr. “I cannot work with her if you are going to spoil her so.”
I rise from the floor with Stella still wrapped around me like a koala on her mother. I stand there facing them, wondering where Aleksandr’s backbone is. Before I leave, I’ll make sure this woman treats Stella right.
“There is a difference between loving and spoiling. Loving means giving someone what they need in order to feel safe and cared for. Spoiling is giving someone what they don’t need, just because they want it. You should learn the difference if you are going to work with children.”
Her beady eyes go wide as the heat creeps into her cheeks. “I am the most sought after nanny on the Upper East Side for a reason,” she tells me. “My charges become strong, independent people. And I will not be talked to like this.” She looks over at Aleksandr as if she’s waiting for him to say something.
“Maybe we should give Stella some time to get to know her new nanny, Petra,” he says in English.
By the way the nanny’s eyes meet mine, I can tell it’s not the response either of us were expecting. Her look is triumphant, which is fine because this gives me a few minutes to talk to Aleksandr about all the reasons why he can’t leave Stella in this woman’s care. There must be a hundred other people who’d do the job better than her.
“I’m going to go chat with your uncle,” I tell Stella. “But I’ll come say goodbye before I go.”
She squeezes her arms so tightly around my shoulders I’m worried she won’t let go. But she does, and as I set her back on the floor, I realize that at six she’s braver than I was at thirteen. No one this young should have to shoulder so much loss.
We leave them in Stella’s room, but instead of heading to the living room, Aleksandr walks through the dining room, through the butler’s pantry, and into the kitchen. Which puts two doors between us and the rest of the apartment—like he knows he’s about to get an earful from me, and he doesn’t want Stella to hear.
He walks to the far end of the kitchen, to the small table that sits beneath two large windows, each with a million dollar view. I wonder if I counted all the windows in the apartment, would the total number equal how many millions of dollars he paid for this place? Probably.
I stop at the end of the cabinets and lean my hip against the countertop, keeping the kitchen table between us.
“You can’t come in here and make things more difficult for Stella,” he says. Gone is the easy camaraderie we had in here yesterday evening before Stella saw the spider. Gone is the palpable sense of attraction too.
“I made things more difficult for Stella?”
“Yes. Don’t aggravate her nanny, Petra. You have no idea what it took to get that woman to come work for me. She wasn’t exaggerating when she said she’s the most sought after nanny on the Upper East Side.”
“Stella doesn’t need someone harsh right now, Aleksandr.” His name is a bullet fired from my lips. “Do you not understand what she’s gone through? How much she’s lost in the last several months? How do you think giving her a militant nanny is going to be what’s best for her?”
“I’m doing the best I can,” he says, and runs both of his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face.
“Well, you have to do better,” I tell him. There’s no nice way to say that, it just has to be said.
“That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? Just waltz in here and make her care about you, then waltz right back to your life in Park City. You don’t have to make the hard decisions. No, when things get hard, you just leave. You’re not the one here day in and day out with her. I am. I’ve hired Irina based on her references. She’s a well-respected nanny, and she’ll be good for Stella.”
“How can you possibly say she’ll be good for Stella?” I ask, my voice rising.
I don’t get upset like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just want to protect Stella, and I can’t figure out why he’s not on the same page.
“Stella needs someone who’s constant. Someone who will be here every single day, taking her to school, picking her up, taking her to her after-school activities. I travel a lot for hockey. I can’t be here all the time. Stella needs someone who can.”
“You’ve literally described the role of any nanny. Are you telling me that out of the probably tens of thousands of nannies who work in this city, you couldn’t find anyone more caring and compassionate than that dictator?”
“It’s going to be fine,” he says, and his dismissiveness only riles me up more.
“You cannot possibly know that. Put yourself in Stella’s shoes. She just told me that everyone she loves leaves her.” I watch that sink in, and Aleksandr’s long blink is the only indication that it’s affected him. “Now you’re going to go play your games and leave her with someone who not only doesn’t care about her, but doesn’t even seem capable of caring for anyone?”
“You’re overreacting,” he says, and he knows how to push all my buttons in the same way I know how to push his.
I drop my voice low. “Do not tell me I’m overreacting. These aren’t the hysterics of someone making something out of nothing. I’ve been in Stella’s shoes. After my mom and Viktor died, my dad was distant and consumed by his own grief. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been all alone. Please, Sasha. Don’t be my dad in this situation. Be your teenage self. Be there for her, or make sure that when you can’t, you have someone here who’s going to care about her emotional well-being like she deserves.”
“Irina’s moving in on Sunday, and I leave for my first playoff game on Tuesday. There isn’t time to find someone else,” he tells me.
“So this is about you, then. Not Stella.”
He puts both his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the only sign that he’s as pissed at me as I am at him is the fact that he’s squeezing the wood so hard his knuckles are white. “No, this is about needing to have someone living here with her when I can’t be here. Natasha didn’t give me much notice, and I got lucky finding someone so qualified in such a short time frame. She may not be all touchy-feely,” he says, “but she’s who we’ve got for the next year.”
“I’m beyond disappointed in you,” I say as I cross my arms under my chest. “This is not how you treat people you love.”
“How would you even know?” A dark laugh tumbles through his lips.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”
“You never let people get close enough to love you,” he says, but he’s wrong. I don’t let people get close enough to hurt me. There’s a difference. “In your entire adult life, who have you ever loved?”
I loved you, I almost say, but I hold my tongue because in the end he walked away too.
“Exactly,” he says when I don’t respond. “I’m doing the work of loving Stella and raising her, even though I don’t claim to be qualified for either. So save your criticism for someone who wants to hear it.” His words are a dismissal and I know when to cut my losses.
“I’m going to go say goodbye to Stella,” I say as I turn and rush out of the kitchen before he can level any more parting blows at me.
I walk through the entryway and down the hall quietly, feeling like an intruder. I thought I had Stella’s best interests at heart, and I thought I could convince him to find someone else. Maybe I was wrong on both counts, which is just another reason why I don’t belong here. It’s good that I’m heading home, where I can think about this situation and try to find a way to help him adopt Stella without having to be around him.
I approach the door to Stella’s room, and pause, listening to the nanny’s words. “No, you can’t go see your uncle. He doesn’t want to be around you when you’re crying like a baby. Get yourself together, and then you can see him.”
“He does want to see me,” Stella says, her voice heaving through sobs. I can’t tell if she’s trying to convince the nanny or herself.
“No one wants to be around a crying child,” Irina says. “You will learn to control your emotions or you will spend every moment in your bedroom alone.”
“No,” Stella wails. She sounds so scared that my heart literally hurts.
“How dare you,” I say as I step through the door to find Stella curled up into a ball on her bed, Irina standing above her. Everything about Irina’s body language is threatening. “You’ve been here for ten minutes and you’re already intimidating and threatening her? This is how you care for the children in your charge?”
She looks at me like I’m an annoying child. “I will not have my methods questioned,” she says. “Especially not by some outsider.”
I feel rather than hear or see Aleksandr behind me.
“She’s six years old,” Aleksandr says to Irina. His voice isn’t exactly placating, but it’s not as harsh as I’d want it to be in these circumstances.
“I know exactly how old she is. Too old to be treated like a baby.” Irina stands there ramrod straight, as if daring either of us to argue with her.
“You are threatening her with solitary confinement,” Aleksandr says. “That will never be okay with me.”
Finally, the man I know he can be shows up.
“I’ve had forty-eight different families reach out about becoming their nanny in the two weeks since I signed a contract with you,” Irina says to Aleksandr.
“Maybe you can call one of them back,” he says, his voice lower and colder than before, “since this is clearly not going to work.”
She walks past me and practically elbows her way past Aleksandr where he stands in the doorway. He turns to follow her into the hall and I hear his low words, in Russian, as he tells her he’s calling the placement agency to tell them about her threats.
I rush across the room to Stella, where I scoop her up into my arms. “Okay, Zaichik,” I say, the nickname from my childhood slipping out from nowhere. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
We head toward the bathroom and get her face washed off. Her eyes are so red and swollen she can hardly open them, but she looks at me so earnestly after drying her face and says, “Thank you, Petra. I was so scared I’d be trapped with her.”
“No way,” I tell her. “Your Dyadya loves you too much to ever let someone like her crush your spirit.”
I don’t know the first thing about raising a kid, but I know I could do a better job than that dictator Aleksandr tried to hire. All Stella needs is a little love, someone in her corner who’s got her back no matter what. That doesn’t seem like so much to ask.
I turn to head back into Stella’s bedroom and almost jump out of my skin when I see Aleksandr standing there.
“I’m leaving for my first playoff game on Tuesday, and I have no one to stay with Stella.” I can tell by his voice that he thinks this is my fault, even though he’s the one who fired her. “Now what?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, and I can feel myself frowning. He is stuck between a rock and a hard place, and even though I would do it all again, it does feel like I’m the one who put him in this position.
He lowers his voice and switches to Russian. “The guardianship agreement is clear that I’ll have one person to stay with Stella when I have to travel for work. The consistency is key for a child in her situation. I can’t just not show up to work. I have a contract. And I’m at the end of it, so if I don’t play in the playoffs, I can kiss my career goodbye.”
“I . . .” I stutter. I guess I didn’t really think about the position I was putting him in, I only thought about what was best for Stella and I knew that witch Irina was not it. Even I would have been better than Irina. But I have a job, and a life, that I need to get back to.
Two thoughts war with each other in my head: Someone needs to be here to protect Stella, to help her become strong and resilient. And I don’t even like children.
I do the mental math—what I gain and what I have to give up. The give up column is far longer, including seeing my best friend who I haven’t seen in a couple months, the last day of ski season, catching up with my team at work, and being there in person for two upcoming events. What do I gain? Personally, nothing. But Stella will be safe and well cared for, and somehow that matters more than everything I lose out on.
“I could probably help you out for a week or two, just until you figure out a new childcare arrangement.”
