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“I like nice things,” I say. “I pick fights sometimes. And when I have to choose between saving myself and saving other people?” I shrug. “I pick myself, Alexei. I’m not a do-gooder like you or like Mirdza or even like Kristiana.”
“Come with me.” He leans toward me again, his eyes still fixated on my mouth. “Stop throwing out excuses.”
I slap his chest, a little distracted by the muscles underneath my hands. But through sheer force of will, I focus. “You’re not listening to me,” I say. “I can’t come with you, because if I do, there’s no way you’ll win.” There. I said it.
“I told you that I want to help Russians,” he says. “I told you that I want to rule there, if that’s what it takes, and although you find that personally distasteful, you understand and support my decision.”
I nod.
“Now support me in mine. I want you to come with me, and I want to date you, just like you said we would. No excuses. No wiggling out of it.” He pulls me close again, and this time, I collapse against him, dropping my head against his chest. “Any wiggling you want to do can be done right here, on top of me.”
That makes me giggle. “Alexei, be serious.”
“I am,” he says. “In fact, I’ve never been more serious.”
“I should stay here,” I say. “You know it, too.”
“So when you think about your future, are you here by yourself?” He peers down at me with curiosity.
I think about tomorrow. About next week. About next month. About next year. And in every single hope and dream I have, he’s there.
Alexei’s always there.
“I want you to come back when all this is done,” I say. “I want you in my future.”
He sighs. “I’m not the kind of person who would do that. I am who I am, and I want you with me now. I’m not going to lie to the Russian people about who I am or who’s in my life, and I won’t ever be ashamed of you, either. I think you did the best you could at the time, just like you’re doing now. Just like I am.” he says.
“I should have done better.”
“My father should have done better. I should have done better, too. We’ve all made mistakes, but I won’t compound mine by lying about them. Even if you don’t want to be in Russia, even if that’s not what you had in mind, if you see yourself with me, then you should come. Don’t wait for next week or next month. Come with me now.”
“What would that even look like?” I ask. “You’re meeting with important people, and you’re having these important dinners, and my Russian sucks. I never say the right thing. I’m a politician’s worst nightmare.”
He shrugs, and then he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then you’re in luck, because I’m not a politician. I was born to be a czar.”
“Be serious.”
“I am,” he says. “If the Russians vote for me—and they’re lying to me, by the way. The odds must be below fifty percent, or they wouldn’t be calling me. But if they do vote for me, I’ll choose to serve. I can’t walk away from my country or from my people. But if they choose me, they’ll have to accept you. They’ll understand that your Russian isn’t perfect, that your past isn’t spotless, and that your future isn’t certain. And most importantly, they’ll see that your heart is big and brave. They’ll see that you make me happy, and they’ll be happy for us.”
“That’s a nice sentiment,” I say. “But the world doesn’t work like that. People are catty and jealous. They don’t want what’s best for others. And when push comes to shove, they pick themselves and their own interests every time.”
“That may be the truth of the world,” Alexei says. “But people only improve when you believe they can, so I’m going to keep seeing the world I wish existed, and then I’m going to work toward it every single day. It’s the only way I know to move ahead.”
That’s the first truly beautiful thing I’ve ever heard from anyone about government. I can’t tell him no—not when he’s that bright and shiny. His ideas may be founded upon the complete delusion that people are good and noble deep down, but I hope he’s right.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll go.”
He beams.
“Under one condition.”
His brow furrows. “What’s that?”
“You’re going to be busy. You’re going to be inundated by people who want to talk to you, who want to ask for favors, and who want to promise you things. You can do those meetings as you see fit, but your spare time all comes to me.” I smile. “And I get one night a week for a date. A proper date, with a meal, an activity, and at least one kiss.”
His mouth meets mine then, with a fervor I never realized was possible. He never officially agrees, but I’m taking his kiss as consent.
26
