Chapter Five
Anya
Being back in New York feels like walking into a dream I’m not sure I’m ready to wake from. Everything is familiar and foreign at the same time—the skyline, the smell of roasted nuts and exhaust, even the way the air feels heavier here.
I miss London, not for any sentimental reason like the weather, but for the life I'd built there. I miss the chaotic lunch dates with Bryant and my quiet mornings with Alyosha.
Leaving Alyosha with Bryant was probably the most difficult thing, not because I didn't trust Bryant to care for him, but because I couldn't trust myself to let go. Grumpy as he is, my cat’s one of the few things that kept me sane in the past four years.
On some very lonely nights, it was his rare snuggles and grudging meows that pulled me through.
Good thing Alexei is making my decision worth the sacrifice.
He’s been attentive, softer somehow. He reaches for my hand when we walk down the street, pours my coffee before his, and watches me with this quiet intensity that makes me feel both cherished and uneasy. Like he’s waiting for something…or maybe it's all in my head.
It’s too good to be true. That’s the thought that keeps circling in the back of my mind, no matter how many times I tell myself to just be happy.
The house he brought me to isn’t the one I remember. It can’t be. The bones are the same, but the soul of it—if it ever had one—has been stripped bare and rebuilt.
He gutted the place. New floors, new walls, new everything… The old heavy drapes are gone, replaced with tall, light-filtering linen curtains. The grand chandelier that used to hang like a threat in the foyer is gone, too. In its place hangs a simple iron pendant lamp, clean and modern.
If I didn’t know the address, I wouldn’t believe this was the same house.
And thank God for that.
Because I don’t think I could’ve borne the weight of the memories otherwise.
I walk through the rooms slowly, my hand brushing over the back of a leather chair, the smooth marble countertop, and the curve of a steel staircase railing that gleams under the light. Everything is expensive, immaculate…and somehow lifeless.
There are no photographs. No books on the coffee table. No jacket slung over a chair or a half-finished glass of wine on the counter.
Just expensive furniture. And silence.
It feels like Alexei—disciplined, self-contained, and impossible to read unless he lets you.
Still, as I move through the house, a strange ache blooms in my chest. Because I see it now…his loneliness. The emptiness beneath the control. He has his brothers, sure. But when the lights go out, he sleeps here alone.
And for the first time, I wonder what it would look like to change that.
I can almost picture it… A house with soft throw blankets, framed pictures on the walls, and a plant on the windowsill he pretends to hate but secretly waters when I’m not looking.
Even Alyosha padding down the hallways, claiming sunny spots on the hardwood floors.
The two of us laughing in the kitchen while he pretends he can cook.
The thought catches me off guard, stealing my breath away for a second.
“What are you thinking about?”
I turn at the sound of his voice, my heart tripping over itself. He’s leaning against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
How can a man look so…perfect?
“Just…” I shrug, trying to play it off. “The house. It’s different.”
His eyes darken slightly. “That was the point.”
“I barely recognize it.”
“Good,” he says simply, crossing the room toward me. “I didn’t want you encountering ghosts here.”
My throat tightens. “You really changed everything.”
“Not everything,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. Then his gaze darts to my lips. “Some things were worth keeping.”
The words send a flutter through me that I try to ignore.
He brushes a kiss against my temple, then murmurs, “Go get ready.”
I blink. “For what?”
He steps back, the corner of his mouth lifting again, that secretive Alexei smile that both thrills and irritates me. “We have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“You’ll see.”
“Alexei—”
He cuts me off with a low chuckle, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “Dress comfortably. But not casually. And bring a wrap—it might be cool later.”
“Comfortably but not casually,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. “You do realize that’s not an actual dress code, right?”
“Trust me, you’ll figure it out.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch in amusement. “You’re impossible.”
He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “And yet, here you are.”
I swear my heart stops for a second.
I escape before he can see the blush creeping up my neck, heading for the bedroom.
As I rifle through the closet, searching for something that fits his cryptic instructions, I can’t help but wonder what he’s planning. My head is spinning with possibilities, each scenario more ridiculous than the last.
Alexei Balshov is an unpredictable man, but that's what makes him…Alexei.
I finally settle on a simple black dress.
It’s soft and smooth against my skin, hugging my curves without looking like I tried too hard.
I leave my hair down, letting it fall in loose waves over my shoulders, and apply light makeup.
It’s just enough to make me feel like myself, but a version of me that can handle whatever Alexei Balshov has up his sleeve.
I grab a soft cashmere wrap and drape it over my arm.
When I step out, Alexei’s gaze sweeps over me slowly, heating my skin everywhere it lands.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, his voice low.
“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling the familiar blush creep across my cheeks.
.
“Come, milaya.”
He holds his hand out, and I step closer to him, my heart thudding wildly as I slip my hand into his. His large palm closes around mine, gentle yet possessive.
Together, we step outside where his stoic bodyguard, Sergei, is waiting by a black sleek-looking car. He steps back, gesturing for me to get in. Alexei closes the door gently after me and walks around to the other side.
Always the gentleman when he wants to be. The thought makes me smile.
“Drive,” Alexei says the minute he slides the car. Sergei nods once and immediately pulls out of the driveway.
All through the drive, I barely hold myself back from asking where we're going, but I don't have to wonder for long.
The car pulls up near Central Park. Sergei parks and comes to open the door at my side.
I step out, looking around in surprise. I never pegged Alexei for a man who'd want to go on a date in Central Park.
It's a pleasant surprise, of course.
“This is where we're going?” I ask to confirm as he comes to stand beside me.
“Yes, zayka,” he replies, his mouth curved faintly in amusement. “Look,” he says, gesturing ahead.
I raise my head to see a horse-drawn carriage waiting beneath the streetlight. The evening air is crisp, and I’m grateful for the wrap as Alexei takes my hand and leads me toward the carriage.
The driver does a dramatic bow as Alexei helps me climb in, and I can't help but be mesmerized at the magic of it all. I feel like some princess from an old fairytale.
“This is…” I trail off, speechless.
“Old-fashioned?” he says, producing a small thermos of hot chocolate from inside his coat pocket.
“Perfect.”
We sip from the same cup as the carriage travels through the park.
We soon move away from the crowded area to the quieter parts of the park, and then it's just us, the sound of hooves echoing on the pavement and the wind tussling our hair.
The heat of his thigh seeps through my dress, and I find myself leaning closer, stealing glances at his handsome profile.
It's crazy how he can be sometimes terrifying yet so…soft?
After a while, the carriage slows to a stop outside Carnegie Hall.
“Okay…” I drawl, unable to hold back an excited smile. “What are we doing here?”
He only offers his hand. “Come and see.”
Inside, a man in a black suit greets us by name and leads us through the grand foyer. He stops in front of a set of elegant doors and gestures for us to enter.
The Weill Recital Hall opens before us. It’s intimate, stunning, and completely empty, except for a small ensemble waiting onstage. Alexei and I sit in the front row seats. As the lights dim and the music begins, his hand settles possessively over mine.
My breath catches as strings and piano fill the air. For the next hour, I forget everything: London, Yuri, and the years between. It’s just sound and warmth and the feel of Alexei’s thumb idly tracing circles on my skin.
When the final note fades, I can barely speak. “You did all this… Why, Alexei?”
He shrugs, as if it means nothing. “You told me in London—about sneaking into empty practice rooms at Britten Hall just to sing for yourself. How the silence before the first note made you feel more alive than the applause ever did.” He gestures to the intimate hall around us.
“I wanted you to have that feeling again. But this time, with someone who understands what it means to you.”
I blink hard against the tears quickly forming in my eyes. “That was just a passing comment. I didn't think you were really paying attention.”
“I'm always paying attention when it comes to you.”
I swallow, unable to say a word after that. He does this…says or does something so unexpectedly tender that it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. He looks down at our joined hands, then back at me, and something shifts in his eyes—a crack in that iron control he wears like armor.
“Alexei…” I start, but I don't know how to finish. How do you thank someone for seeing you so completely?
He lifts our hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “You don't have to say anything, zayka.”