Chapter 12 When I get to the formal dining room, Sergei pulls out my chair like a gentleman. The small courtesy sends a flutter through me, as though this is a date rather than a routine dinner between a boss and his employee. I smooth my dress as I sit, trying to quiet the butterflies in my stomach. The long table is set for only the two of us, with flickering candles and formal place settings. It's all too grand. A woman in a tailored uniform glides in with two salads, setting them before us without a word. "Do you always go all out like this for dinner?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light. He smirks as he takes his seat beside me. "Most nights I eat dinner in my office, but I thought your first full day warranted the dining room." "That's very thoughtful of you," I murmur, taking a long sip of water. The same employee returns with a bottle of wine, which I politely decline. Sergei watches me curiously. "I don't want to drink on the job," I say. "In case Liliya needs me during the night." He studies me with unsettling intensity, as though he can read my mind. It's not uncomfortable, exactly, but it makes my skin buzz. Just as I'm trying to think of something to say to break the tension, two more servers appear carrying the main course. A plate of grilled salmon with risotto and microgreens is placed in front of each of us. To my surprise, it smells amazing and doesn't immediately turn my stomach. I just hope I can keep it down. "This is lovely," I tell him. "All of it. Your mom is the best patient, and I've really enjoyed your home so far. I'm not used to so much grandeur." He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed but still commanding. "You'll get used to it sooner than you'd expect," he says with a smirk. "Which will make it that much harder when your mom's better and I have to leave." I sigh wistfully, only half-joking. "Well, while you're here, you should take advantage of every opportunity," he tells me, his words loaded with a double meaning. Is he flirting with me? It feels so similar to our date, I'm having a strange sense of déjà vu. But he's my boss now, and he's probably just being kind. I need to navigate us back to safer waters, and fast. "My best friend Mia would love this place," I tell him. "She'd probably lock herself in the wine cellar for a few days and wreak havoc on your collection." Sergei chuckles, and the air between us eases slightly. "How did you meet her?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "I met her on my very first shift at the hospital. I was having a bit of a meltdown in a supply closet, and she brought me tissues and told me that crying on the first day was basically an initiation ritual. We've been best friends ever since." "What does Mia think of you working here?" he asks directly, surprising me. "She's been very supportive," I answer truthfully. "She trusts me to follow my intuition. But she will kill you if you hurt me." My tone is only half serious, but I hope my sarcasm lands. I doubt a man like him would be intimidated by her five-foot-nothing stature. He nods slowly, then lifts his wine glass. "To protective friends." I lift my water glass, tapping it against his, and we both sip in silence. As the meal continues, we ease into a more comfortable rhythm. Sergei asks a million questions, but they feel much more like a job interview than a date, further confusing my read on this situation. "Why did you want to become a nurse?" he asks. "I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help people," I say softly, nudging a piece of salmon around my plate. "You do," he says. "But was there an inciting incident? Was there a single moment when you thought, 'This is the thing I want to do for the rest of my life?'" Again, he catches me off guard. I hadn't expected such a thoughtful question. "I guess it was when my grandma was dying," I reminisce, remembering those horrible days when I was a child, watching my grandmother fade into nothing. "She and my mom were very close, and she lived with us for a few years. When she got sick and went to the hospital, the nurses were so good to her. And then she went into a nursing home until her death a few months later. They became friends with her and were always kind to me. I wanted to provide another family that same level of care." "And here you are." He smiles, gesturing to the house. "I think in this case the family is giving me far more care," I joke. "None of my friends have a setup like this. Most work in underfunded hospitals, juggling too many patients." "Have you ever thought of working for a private practice? Or working at a more lucrative hospital?" he asks. "I actually like the controlled chaos at my hospital. I'd probably be bored in private practice." I blush, aware I might sound ungrateful. "Not that caring for your mother is boring. She's a delight." "It's only day one," he quips. "In a week, you may feel differently. She can be very stubborn." "I wondered where you got it from," I shoot back. "You really love her, don't you?" "She's my whole world," he answers, his body relaxing. "My whole family is, really, but as the matriarch, she's the most important. I watched her sacrifice her own dreams for years to raise Sasha and me." "My parents are the same," I tell him. "It was just me, but we never had a lot of money, so I watched them work hard and scrimp and save my whole life. I never went without anything I needed, and often I had what I wanted. Well, except a sibling." "They're more trouble than they're worth." He chuckles. "When he was first born, I kept telling my parents to take him back to whatever store they bought him from." I can't help but giggle. "You seem close now, though." "You get to this age and realize that you can't take anyone for granted, even annoying little brothers. After our father died, we became especially close." "I'm so sorry for your loss," I tell him earnestly. "How long has it been?" "A few years," he murmurs, sadness dulling his eyes. "Sometimes it feels like yesterday and sometimes it feels like he's been gone forever. The grief doesn't ever really go away, but it's gotten easier to work around. There's so much I wish I could tell him." I look down at my plate again, guilt pressing down on my shoulders. Now would be a great time to say something. Or it could be the worst possible time. In the end, I'm not given a chance, because he quickly moves on. Eventually we finish our meal, the conversation slowing so we can actually eat. When we eventually finish, after the staff has brought us a light dessert course, Sergei stands and offers me his hand. "Come on," he says. "I always like to go on a little walk through the garden after dinner. Will you join me?" I let him lead me down the hallway, past the grand staircase and into the back of the house where the doors lead out to the garden. Somehow it's even more spectacular at night than in daylight. Fairy lights are strung everywhere, lending the space an ethereal glow. The air is cooler now, and a light breeze washes over us as we walk. It's the perfect night for a stroll, worlds away from my usual trek from the subway to my apartment. I glance sideways at Sergei as he walks beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets. He's completely at ease here, as though the outside world can't touch him. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to grow up here. Absent-mindedly, my hand drifts to my stomach, and I drop it immediately, as though I've been burned. I don't want to call any extra attention to it. I'm not ready. The pounding in my chest and the clamminess of my hands make that painfully clear. I can't tell him tonight. "You're quiet," Sergei observes, sharpening my worry that he reads every tell. "I'm just enjoying the night," I lie, offering a small smile. "Do I make you nervous, Nicole?" he asks, point-blank. I glance up at him, heart beating even faster. "I'm not nervous," I tell another lie. His gaze drops to my mouth, then slowly drifts back up. "You're not?" "No," I repeat, but it comes out breathy, a little desperate. We come to a stop beneath a trellis covered in white roses. Their petals glow in the moonlight, giving the whole garden the feeling of a painting. I'm so aware of Sergei that he feels like an extension of me-another limb. "It's beautiful out here," I murmur, pretending to turn all my attention to the roses. "I thought you'd like it," he says, his voice low, intimate. "This is Mom's favorite part of the garden too. She used to tell me the roses bloomed brighter under a full moon." "Is that true?" He shrugs, that one-shouldered, elegant way of his. "I've never thought to check. I always just believed whatever she told me." That makes me smile, and I imagine Sergei as a little boy, following his mother around and hanging on her every word. Will my baby be the same? Will he or she believe everything I say, or will they be stubborn and defiant? Another breeze passes and I shiver, though it's more to do with my wandering thoughts than the breeze. Sergei slips off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, a gesture that would feel outdated anywhere but this fairy-tale garden. His scent envelops me, heady and almost suffocating. He shifts closer, just enough to make my breath hitch. His fingers brush mine with no real hold, but just a whisper of contact. Testing. I glance up at him and our eyes lock. The space between us feels fragile and sacred, that one careless breeze could shatter it. "Nicole," he whispers. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night." My pulse skips and I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly drier than a desert. "Neither have I," I admit. His hand closes around mine gently. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but when I did it kind of felt like fate. Is that silly?" "I don't think it's silly," I breathe, suddenly light-headed. "I felt it too." He leans in, his face just inches from mine. His eyes darken as his hands slide to my hips. I tilt my head, eyes fluttering shut, waiting for the moment our mouths meet. It's unexpected and hardly how I pictured tonight unfolding. Every fiber of me wants this. "Sergei!" Sasha's sharp voice instantly shatters our moment. We spring apart as Sasha's footsteps thunder closer. "What is it?" Sergei asks stiffly, not even attempting to hide his annoyance. Sasha barely spares me a glance before grabbing his brother's arm and tugging him aside. "We have a problem. You need to come now." "What kind of problem?" Sergei asks, but I don't catch Sasha's answer-they're already striding away. Sergei turns back and mouths a quick "sorry." I shrug and lean against the trellis, watching him go. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...