White Nights (White Nights 1)

“Would you like to find your father?” he asks.

“I’ve never felt the need. My mom has always given me attention and love in abundance—maybe to make up for the absence of a father in my life. She might be a butterfly when it comes to men, but she’s made sure I’ve never lacked anything—neither material things nor love.”

“You’re lucky,” he says again, reaching for his door handle.

“What about your parents?”

He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s considering whether to answer. Finally, he says, “Both of my parents passed away when I was fifteen.”

My heart clenches. “At the same time?”

He nods grimly. “It was an accident.”

Oh, Alex. I can’t begin to imagine what he went through. “Did you go live with your family?”

“No,” he says harshly.

He must’ve gone into foster care then. Placing a hand on his arm, I say, “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. In a warped way, I should be thankful. My loss has made me stronger and taught me how to fight. If my life hadn’t taken that course, I’m not sure I’d be where I am today.”

“Where would you be?”

His blue eyes glitter like hard gemstones in the light that falls through the window. “Somewhere in St. Petersburg, living paycheck to paycheck in a one-bedroom apartment with a tired wife and two kids.” He softens his voice. “Instead, I’m here with you.”

I’m internalizing the information, still processing what he’s shared with me, when he gets out and comes around to open my door.

The snow covers the angel like a thin, white sheet, the powder forming a layer on top of the fountain. He ushers me inside where it’s warm and takes my coat.

Leaving it on the coat stand, he asks, “Would you like to freshen up before dinner? I thought we’d have an early one tonight.”

“That would be nice,” I say, grateful for the consideration. I’m really tired after a long night and exhausting day at work.

“Go ahead.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll meet you in the dining room when you’re ready.”

I venture upstairs, already feeling more at home and less like an intruder, and rush into the closet to grab a clean sweater—only to stop in my tracks for the second time today.

The other half of my side that was still empty this morning has been filled to the brink with clothes—clothes that aren’t mine. There’s everything I could ever need, including pants, blouses, dresses, evening gowns, exercise gear, sleepwear, underwear, and shoes. My mouth drops open as I scan the array of colors and fabrics neatly folded and arranged on the shelves.

I go over to the rail and check the label of one of the expensive-looking dresses. It’s a designer brand. I check out several other dresses. Everything has an exclusive designer tag and is in my size. There are no prices, but I can only imagine the small fortune the wardrobe must be worth.

Selecting an old sweater, I change quickly, freshen up in the bathroom, and go downstairs.

Like this morning, Alex is already seated at the head of the table, reading something on his phone.

“Alex,” I exclaim, going over. “What’s the meaning of the clothes?”

He arches a brow. “Don’t you like them?”

“No.” I stop next to his chair. “I mean, yes. Obviously, I like them, but I can’t afford even one of those dresses, let alone the store you must’ve cleared out to fill all the shelves in your huge closet.”

“I can afford them,” he says nonchalantly.

“I can’t accept it. It’s too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you.” Getting up, he pulls out the chair on his left. “Sit.”

I flop down into the chair, staring at his stoic expression. “I’m serious, Alex.”

He unbuttons his jacket before taking his seat again. “Ordering you a few things to wear gave me great pleasure. Besides, you’ll feel more comfortable in the right clothes when we have to attend certain events.”

“Certain events?” I ask just as Marusya enters with a tray.

“Good evening, Kate.” She places a bowl of soup in front of me. “Good day?”

A delicious aroma of porcini mushrooms rises with vapor from the bowl. “Yes, thank you so much.”

“Eat up,” she says in a sing-song voice as she serves Alex before disappearing through the doorframe.

“Certain events as in work-related networking,” Alex says, holding my gaze with a level stare.

“Are you saying my clothes aren’t good enough? They may not cost a fortune, but I worked hard for the money that paid for them, and I like them.”

His tone is patient. “That’s not what I implied. The people who move in my circles can be cruel and the media even crueler. They’ll pull you apart and dissect everything about your appearance, from the color of your lipstick to the brand of your shoes. I’m not going to dump you into my world at an unfair disadvantage. When we’re not attending one of these pain-in-the-ass, high-class affairs, you can wear whatever you like. I’d never be so audacious as to dictate how you should dress. I’m doing my duty as your boyfriend, which means protecting you more than just physically. I also have to shield you against the media vultures.”