Page 122 of Nikola
I slid the message open and read it.
Nikola: Why does playing the piano make you melancholy?
Huh?
I stared at the words with a furrowed brow, trying and failing to decipher them. I typed my reply with quivering fingers and a palpitating heart.
Me: Because I can’t hear the notes, only feel them.
My fingers hovered over the sent message, staring at the bubbles on the other end. Start; stop. Start; stop.
Nikola: You and Kostya… never gonna happen.
Me: ???
Nikola: You’re mine and you’ve always been mine. I’m a jackass.
The first smile in months spread on my face. If Kostya were here, I would have hugged him to death. He must have taken matters into his own hands and slipped a little hint to Vasili.
Me: Yes, you are.
But he was my jackass.
Nikola: Your papa agreed you can visit me in New Orleans. He insisted you stay at the Nikolaev manor.
My eyebrows furrowed. It seemed unlike my papa to let me stay away from home for very long, but there was no freaking way I’d question it.
I typed a reply and deleted it. Tried again, then deleted it again. Then settled for a simple one-word message.
Me: Okay.
Nikola: Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.
I shot to my feet and caught a glimpse of myself in the window. Oh no, how could I meet him looking like this? I’d let myself go. My hair was frizzy, my nails chewed up, and my eyebrows… No, no, no.
I started pacing in circles, so many thoughts whirling in my mind, when I noticed two sets of eyes staring at me.
“What are you doing?” Papa asked, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind.
“Thinking.”
Mama shook her head. “About what?”
“Nikola texted me. I have to pack. Find some cute stuff. I need a haircut. Manicure. Eyebrow wax. More pink stuff.” I tugged on my messy, knotted hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Papa rolled his eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s lucky to have my beautiful daughter.”
I pursed my lips.
“You’re my papa, of course you’d say that.”
“So he wants you back, huh?” Papa asked and my brows furrowed. “About fucking time. I should make it harder on him and?—”
“You don’t want me to go?” I asked.
“As if I could stop you,” Papa scoffed. “Don’t worry, Nikola called me and we came to an agreement.”
“What kind of agreement?”
