“Of course not. It was beautiful.” She had to sit down, really had to. It felt as though she’d jumped off a cliff and landed on her head. But he was looking at her in such a way that made her realize she’d better stay on her feet.

“The sex was good.” He picked up his glass. Though he was tempted to fling it off the balcony, he only sipped. “Good sex is necessary for the body and for the state of mind. But it isn’t enough for the heart. The heart needs love, and there was love last night. For both of us.”

Her arms fell uselessly to her sides. “I don’t know. I’ve never had good sex before.”

He considered her over the rim of his glass. “You were not a virgin. You were married before.”

“Yes, I was married before.” And the taste of that was still bitter on her tongue. “I don’t want to talk about that, Mikhail. Isn’t it enough that we’re good together, that I feel for you something I’ve never felt before? I don’t want to analyze it. I just can’t yet.”

“You don’t want to know what you feel?” That baffled him. “How can you live without knowing what’s inside you?”

“It’s different for me. I haven’t had what you’ve had or done what you’ve done. And your emotions—they’re always right there. You can see them in the way you move, the way you talk, in your eyes, in your work. Mine are…mine aren’t as volatile. I need time.”

He nearly smiled. “Do you think I’m a patient man?”

“No,” she said, with feeling.

“Good. Then you’ll understand that your time will be very short.” He began to gather dishes. “Did this husband of yours hurt you?”

“A failed marriage hurts. Please, don’t push me on that now.”

“For tonight I won’t.” With the sky just beginning to deepen at his back, he looked at her. “Because tonight I want you only to think of me.” He walked through the door, leaving her to gather the rest of the meal.

He loved her. The words swam in Sydney’s mind as she picked up the basket and the flower. It wasn’t possible to doubt it. She’d come to understand he was a man who said no more than he meant, and rarely less. But she couldn’t know what love meant to him.

To her, it was something sweet and colorful and lasting that happened to other people. Her father had cared for her, in his erratic way. But they had only spent snatches of time together in her early childhood. After the divorce, when she’d been six, they had rarely seen each other.