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Rain hammered the glass dome of the library, and the drops, lit by lightning flashes, looked like gold. I stood by the window, clutching a volume of Maupassant, and felt his gaze on my neck—right where a few damp strands had escaped. Mark stood too close.…
The first thing I noticed was the smell of her perfume—something floral with a bite of tobacco underneath—fighting the wet wool of the cafe air. She was already seated in the corner booth, a half-empty espresso cooling between her fingers, and she watched me…
Rain lashed against the windows of the little roadside diner, like it was trying to claw its way inside. In the corner booth sat me and Lena—two grown adults who'd just decided this was "no big deal." Her eyes, dark and wet, were already sliding over my face…
"Lesya, are you sure about this?" Lara adjusted her champagne glass, eyeing her friend across the table at the Yalta restaurant. "Absolutely." Lesya smiled, sweeping her dark hair off her shoulder. "Zhenya's thrilled. He's already packing his bag to fly to…