Page 113 of My High Horse Czar

What a joke.

Two hours later, after one of the best meals of my life, I’m standing in the poshest room I’ve ever seen. The chandelier—that’s right, a chandelier—is made of Waterford crystal. My room attendant told me that little tidbit. He’ll be waiting outside all night in case one of us needs something. The pillows are all embroidered with the finest golden thread, made of white, ecru, and gold linen and silk. The curtains, the duvets, and the carpet are all perfectly coordinated and luxe.

In lieu of a mini-fridge, there’s a full-size fridge with dozens of drink and snack options that are all included in the room rate. I don’t even want to know what the nightly cost is. Our attendant also told me he would be happy to bring us anything else we wanted to eat, day or night. When Alice went through the looking glass into Wonderland, she could not have been as lost as I am right now.

In that exact moment, as I stand bewildered, Alexei walks in.

He looks the same, but also slightly different as he bids Mr. Baranov a good night. His hair has clearly been cut—expertly. His suit’s different now too—more expensive, if that can be imagined. And his shoes are brand new, which makes no sense because his other shoes were only a few weeks old. His tie’s a soothing shade of blue that just matches his eyes.

If anything, he looks even more out of reach than he did before.

“You’re still awake.” He smiles.

“I wasn’t sure how many more people might be rotating through here,” I say.

“I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely concerned.

“Looks like the meetings were a success?” I wring my hands, feeling like a frivolous house wife from 1952. No kids. No laundry to fold. No food to make. All I need is a string of pearls and a sweater set.

What am I doing here?

Why did I think he and I might work? That there might be an us.

“Mr. Baranov runs United Russia, but the other party leaders unanimously ratified me as their candidate tonight. It’s going to be announced tomorrow—they want me for a press conference first thing in the morning.”

“How cool,” I say lamely. I’m as bad at faking it as Mr. Baranov, it turns out. At least it’s not part of my job.

That makes me think that maybe he wasn’t really trying to fake it. Perhaps he wanted me and Alexei to know that I’m not really in line with what he needs. Better to know now, before it’s done any damage.

“I should go home,” I say. “I’m not sure why I came here.”

Alexei’s face falls, but I’ve never been one to suffer in silence.

“It’s the first day,” he says. “Of course it’s overwhelming.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that. The hotel’s amazing, and the food was to die for, but. . .”

“But?” He walks toward me.

I step back, bumping into the sofa and shifting sideways to crab walk my way around it. “None of this is me.”

“It’s not me, either,” he lies.

Which makes me laugh. Even his effortless white lies are flawless. “It is you, though. The pomp and circumstance. The royal treatment—it’s what you’ve always known. It’s where you belong. But I’m. . .even if I didn’t feel uncomfortable about it all, I don’t want it.”

“Neither do I,” Alexei says. “But something Mr. Baranov said this morning kept me going. He told me that without my help, Leonid Ivanovich would win in a landslide, and with one single election, the Russian people would surrender the freedom they spent thousands of years winning.”

“The power of a demagogue,” I say.

“I might be able to stop it,” he says. “I may not. I may lose. But at least the Romanov name stands a chance with people who are tired of being overlooked, ignored, and neglected. They deserve to have a better government than what they’ve had, and I have to at least try to give it to them.” He sits on the sofa and holds out his hands, reaching for me.

I can’t help thinking that his pose right now, sitting down, entreating me to join him while I loiter a foot away, just out of reach, parallels our current position. He wants me here with him, or he says he does, but I know it’s not right. For the very reason he just articulated.

“If you’re the only thing standing between all those people and the loss of their freedom, I really do need to leave, because I think I’m going to tip the scales the wrong direction.”

But Alexei doesn’t drop it. He doesn’t sit back and sigh in resignation like I expect. He hops up, grabs me, and pulls me back down onto his lap. With our height difference, I’m finally at eye level with him, my hands braced against his firm chest. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t argue with me.

He just kisses me.

---