"There's Gleb and he loves me," she repeats with a sad nod, wondering how awful it makes her that she wishes he was able to sweep her up in a passionate embrace. Even thinking that feels like a betrayal, an odd notion when months ago, back in Paris that is all she wanted. She wanted Dmitry, equal parts infuriating and charming, to sweep her up and kiss her. Spin her in a circle and make her laugh, leaving her breathless.

Now this is all they have. The possibility of what could have been. Being held close by him for a moment longer than is proper.

With a nod, she gingerly lets go of him, stepping a way to put some distance between them. "And I love him."