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That got serious really quick.
“My mother had very particular requirements for any woman I might consider marrying. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I have a feeling that the current Russian government’s not going to maintain the status quo for long. The more I learn about their actions, the more displeased I am. I’m not sure what role I might play in the future, but marrying a Latvian jockey won’t make my duty easier. Am I being clear?”
“Crystal.” He regrets lying to me. He’s been awake a little longer, seen other pretty girls, and now he’s not interested in me. I should be relieved, but it hurts a little bit, too.
“Any concerns you had about the propriety of any actions between us, I hope you can let go of those. I will be an absolute gentleman in all our interactions going forward, I promise you.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t want to date him. I didn’t.
So why does it sting that he just rejected me? Why do I have an overwhelming urge to sit down on the bank of the stream and cry even harder than before?
He slams his fist against the side of the tree, clearly frustrated to be stuck behind it. “Saving me from that race barn, and imposing on your friend to help us, and being held in a hut for a week in Aleksandr’s fiancée’s place—none of those things were your fault. A paltry amount of money doesn’t begin to make up for what you’ve been through. If there’s something else I can do for you, please allow me to do it. Let me make up for some of the misery you’ve endured as a result of your affiliation with me—with all of us.”
Now that he’s been human a little longer, he sure is well spoken.
“Adriana, ride me in that race instead of the filly. You can save your conscience, and I’m positive that I’ll win for you.”
“What makes you so sure?” As I say the words, I hear the idiocy in them. Even back in Russia, it was clear that he was very, very fast.
“Please.”
“Do you promise there won’t be any weird hand holding or flirting?” I arch one eyebrow, almost hoping he’ll disagree, or say that he makes no promises.
Instead, he nods slowly. “On my honor as the rightful czar of Russia, I swear it.”
Well, that’s a bit disappointing. But it’s what I asked him to say.
What am I thinking?
It’s what I want.
This feels kind of like the Christmas I turned eight. All I wanted was a bike, but then when I woke up on Christmas morning and found a shiny, red bicycle, I realized it was a lot of work to make it move and the horses I rode daily were way cooler.
So, I do what I did that Christmas. I paste a smile on my face. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll ride you.”
Alexei leans his face against the trunk of the tree, and there’s a boyish twinkle in his eye. “There’s one little catch.”
There always is. I arch my eyebrow.
“If I do this, if we train for this race, and if we win for whoever this is, you have to do something for me in return.”
Why does that speed up my heart rate? And why am I suddenly just a bit happier? “What?”
“You have to forgive me for lying. No more hard feelings at all.”
Since my anger over it’s already mostly gone, I think I can do that. “Fine,” I say. “After we win the race, all is forgiven.”
Alexei beams, and I realize I may be in a whole new kind of trouble.
16
There was this kid when I was in fourth grade who always stole my lunch money.
It was silly, really. I hardly ever had any money to begin with.
About two days a week, give or take, I’d have scavenged a few bucks from Martinš’s wallet while he was asleep. Or I’d find money on the counter. Either way, it amounted to less than five bucks a week.
