“I have something for you. A birthday present.”
Her voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t have.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “You can’t already hate it. You don’t even know what it is yet.”
The warmth of Vladimir’s grin lit up his whole face, making his soul shine through his eyes, making him look like the boy she’d known. Like everything she’d ever wanted.
Swallowing, she looked down at her stiletto boots. “I’m just not in much of a party mood.”
He took her hand. She felt his palm against hers, felt his fingers brush against her own as he pulled her gently down the hall. “Come see.”
He led her into a high-ceilinged room centered around a glossy black grand piano. The conservatory had a wall of windows overlooking the sea. Antique Louis XIV chairs flanked the marble fireplace, and expensive paintings covered the walls, along with shelves of first-edition books.
“I know you said you didn’t want a fur coat,” Vladimir said. “But if you’re going to live in St. Petersburg, you need some Russian fur to keep you warm….”
Bree saw a lumpy white fur stole on the pale blue couch beside the window. With an intake of breath, she cried, “Vladimir, I told you—”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Just go look.”
Hesitantly, Bree walked toward the blue couch. She got closer, and the lump of white fur suddenly moved, causing her to jump back with a surprised little squeak. From the pile of fur, a shaggy white head lifted.
She saw black eyes, a pink tongue and a wagging tail. Vladimir lifted the puppy into her arms.
“She’s an Ovcharka. A Russian sheepdog.” Lowering his head, he kissed her softly. “Happy birthday, Breanna.”
With a little bark, the white puppy wiggled her tiny furry body with joy, warm and soft in Bree’s arms. Cuddling the dog close, she looked up at Vladimir’s smiling face, and felt a bullet pierce her throat.
She burst into tears.
“Bree, what is it?” He bent over her, his handsome face astonished and worried. “You seemed sad about the dog you’d lost long ago, so I thought… But I see I’ve made a mistake.” He clawed back his dark hair. “It was a stupid idea.”
“No,” she choked out. She tried to wipe her tears off her cheek with her shoulder. “It was a wonderful idea,” she whispered. “The best in the world.”
“Then why are you crying?” he said, bewildered.
Trying to choke back her tears, she buried her face in the dog’s soft, warm fur. “Because I love her.” Looking up, she whispered, with her heart in her throat, “And I love you.”
He grinned, clearly relieved. “What will you name her?”
Heartbreak. She stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the windows. “Snowy.”
“Snowy, huh? Did you put a lot of thought into that?” But the teasing grin slid from his face when she gave him no answering smile. He cleared his throat. “Well, I have one more surprise for you. But you’ll have to wait until dinner to get it.”
As the day wore on, Bree’s heart broke a little more with each hour. They played with the puppy, then had a delicious late lunch with champagne. Afterward, the palace staff rolled in a giant, lilac-frosted cake on a cart.
“Chocolate cake,” Vladimir said happily. “With lavender frosting.”
“Is this my big surprise?” she asked, dreading further kindness.
“No. And don’t ask me about it. You won’t get it out of me. Even if you use your feminine wiles.”
He said it as if he were rather hoping she would try. It had been two nights since they’d made love. It felt like a lifetime. The heat in his eyes made her cheeks go hot, along with the rest of her body. Trembling, she pretended not to notice.
The servants sang Happy Birthday to her in cheerful, slightly off-key English, led by Vladimir’s low, smooth baritone. He lit the two wax candles on the cake—one shaped like a 2, the other a 9.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Make a wish.”
Leaning toward the flickering candles, Bree closed her eyes, wondering what she’d done to deserve this fresh hell. And knowing it wasn’t what she’d done, but what she was about to do.