We drove in silence all the way to the house. I wasn't even surprised to discover a small underground parking lot beneath the mansion, resembling a miniature Petersburg Palace, lined with expensive foreign cars. There weren't many, considering the family's size—just two vehicles and an empty space—but it was baffling how the Smirnovs could afford such luxury on a doctor's salary. Even maintaining a place that opened its doors to curious city-dwellers like a living museum must have cost a fortune. I didn't like to count other people's money, but when reality threw such glaring contradictions in my face, it was impossible not to wonder. Perhaps the cars weren't as costly as I imagined—though I had never bothered to check—but I had never seen emblems like these before. Maybe they were Chinese. Asking felt awkward, even though my curiosity burned; I held back. A quick online search would have sufficed.
Stanislav hadn't asked for my address when we got into the silver car, which reminded me of a nervous guinea pig. He drove as if he already knew exactly where to go—another subtle confirmation of his watchfulness, a thought that made me uneasy. Conflicting emotions wrestled for attention inside me. One screamed in horror at Stanislav's odd, often irrational behavior. Each new detail seemed to reinforce the notion of being stalked. Yet simultaneously, he was revealing a side of himself I had never seen—his interest in art and the city's history drew me in. I hadn't discussed art with anyone so freely, speculating about historical possibilities. I missed conversations like this in my life, but the speaker had too many troubling "buts" for me to ignore.
"Damn it!" I cursed aloud, pressing my hand to my forehead. "I completely forgot! I can't go straight home. What time is it now?"
Stanislav glanced at a small clock under the speedometer. "Almost four," he said.
My jaw dropped. Kostya was supposed to pick me up half an hour ago. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized how much trouble I was in.
"Kostya was supposed to pick me up after class," I said.
Stanislav kept both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. "I warned him. We talked after you said you were leaving," he said coldly.
"We talked?"
I wasn't sure what shocked me more—Stas calling my father without my knowledge, or the fact that he even knew Kostya's number.
"What did you tell him?" I asked, heart hammering, hoping my father hadn't found out about the kidnapping.
"I told him I'd take you home after the excursion."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise and indignation.
"Do you seriously think Dad doesn't know the museum is closed?"
"Of course Konstantin knows," Stanislav said reluctantly, as if explaining the obvious to a foolish child. "I said our family decided to invite you instead of a medical examination at the mansion, citing your recent arrival, a gesture of goodwill, and respect for the esteemed police officer. Since you're new here, it would be nice to learn about the city's history, and since the house is temporarily closed to the public, you'd have a private tour, so to speak."
So I had skipped not classes, but a medical exam? Incredible. When had it even been announced? I must have been completely inattentive. Note to self: start writing down everything important.
"Did he really fall for this nonsense?"
Stanislav's expression shifted into mock surprise.
"And why not? I thought he was even pleased and agreed to let you come on Saturday as well."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if you want, you can really see the mansion and explore the history of Ksertoni."
I couldn't believe it. Who from the Smirnov family had invented the vampire story to scare me? Probably Viola—after all, she had used the door trick. I imagined her holding a remote, one hand gesturing dramatically while the other pressed the buttons to open the doors. It made sense; magicians often distract attention from the real action.
Yet I still didn't understand what had happened after the pizzeria. Was there even a cafe date? Or did I get sick in the forest, and the Smirnovs simply came to help without ulterior motives? Maybe the kidnapping nightmare and the truck were my imagination. Why would anyone try to abduct me in broad daylight? Even without the heroic vampire subplot, it all sounded absurd.
Maybe I had hit my head. I wanted to hope the pleasant parts of the date were real. I had to check, but I didn't know how to ask Nik. First, I needed a doctor. Then I could sort everything else.
"How kind of you," I said, teasing. "So your family decided not to give up until I looked like a fool on camera? What will you do with the recording? Post it online or send it somewhere?"
"What are you talking about?" Stas frowned.
"This fake kidnapping-vampire story is quite a prank, I admit, but it's low for the town's most popular family. I didn't think the popular kids from a good family would bully the new girl with such a tale. It's 2017, and kids are still doing this."
Stas's jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked paler.
"Think what you want. If you want to get to the bottom of it, come to our house."
"What? Unannounced, whenever you feel like it?"
Stanislav smirked, unkindly.
"Don't they teach basic courtesy in your family? Call before you come."
"I don't have your number."
The car stopped. Only then did I notice Nik's car parked opposite my entrance. He was sitting on the hood, watching the road where I had just arrived with Stanislav.
"Ask Karimov," Smirnov said, pressing the unlock button. "Until tomorrow."
"Goodbye," I said, hastily stepping out and moving toward Nik.
He raised his arms, beckoning me. I quickened my pace, heart racing, wanting to dissolve into his embrace. I hugged him tightly, pressing my cheek against the cold fabric of his jacket. Nik kissed my forehead and whispered,
"I'm so glad you're okay."
"Should I not be okay?" I scrutinized him, trying to discern reality from illusion. Only he could not have been part of the Smirnov prank.
Nik's touch was careful, inspecting my face, tucking hair behind my ear, checking for scrapes. Finding none, he nodded, then spoke.
"Of course," he began, pausing as he glanced behind me. "Of course you're okay. The tour took so long… I was worried you wouldn't get home before Kostya arrived. Here's your phone."
His words pierced me. I looked at the smartphone in his palm, and the day's events clicked into place: the morning argument with my father, my attempted escape, my mother's call, the walk in the woods, our first kiss, and the pizzeria incident with the plaid-shirted trucker, Gleb, and his accomplice, the fair-haired waitress Galina. Everything screamed real. And then—the crushing disappointment:
"You're with them, aren't you?" I snatched the phone.
Pain flickered in Nik's eyes, but he quickly masked it, loosening his embrace. Hands in his jacket pockets, he said,
"We're not in this together. Asya, I have no choice. I have to obey."
"Have to harass the newcomer and make her a laughingstock? What did they promise you—ads for your dad's store in the video?"
Nik opened his mouth but said nothing, eyes flicking behind me. I turned and saw Smirnov's car, still in the driveway, its driver shamelessly observing.
"Asya," Nik touched my shoulder, trying to get my attention. "What hounding? What advertising? What are you talking about?"
I shrugged off his hand sharply.
"Obviously, it didn't work out," I said, my voice dripping with resentment and anger. Betrayal tasted bitter. I wanted to cry, but not for their entertainment. Determined, I marched to the entrance. The door slammed behind me, leaving blessed silence. Unable to hold back, I sat on the steps and cried.