Chapter 1

He was walking toward me—the man of my dreams, emerging from a golden mist—strong and beautiful as a god! Beads of moisture glistened on his chest, wavy strands brushed his broad shoulders, and a snow-white towel looked ready to slip from his tanned hips.

I was melting at the sight of him, unable to take a single step toward him. His dark eyes looked straight into my soul.

“Masha...”

Good Lord, oh my God! And what a voice! Deep, sensual, with velvet notes. A whole crowd of goose bumps gave an awed gasp and raced across my skin in one delighted rush.

“Finally, you’re mine!”

“Yes!”

We reached for each other, the golden mist parted, and I held my breath. Any second now I’d see his face and, maybe, give him something of myself…

Smack! A pillow hit me square in the face, and the spell shattered.

“Aah! Marushka! Sound the alarm! All hands on deck! Wake up, sleepyhead—we overslept!”

“Huh? What? Where?!”

My dream prince receded into the mist as I pried my eyes open and sat up in bed. I groped for my phone and held it up to my face.

The black screen didn’t even blink—the battery had died. But I did blink when I saw the hands on the wall clock: 7:15 a.m. What time was it?! What time had Natasha and I gone to bed if she’d arrived at my place at ten that night, crying her eyes out and carrying a bottle of Martini? Around three, I figured. And if I had to be at work at eight sharp, that meant…

That math wasn’t going to work.

I collapsed back onto the pillow and closed my eyes…

“Mashka, for crying out loud! You can sleep tonight!”

…but immediately shot out of bed and tore through the apartment.

Oh, no! I definitely overslept! And on the one day when my whole future was, basically, on the line!

“Aah! Feyakina, I’m going to kill you! Couldn’t you break up with your Zhora on Saturday? I have an interview with the new bosses today!”

Another shaggy whirlwind shot past me.

“Sorry, Berry! It wasn’t on purpose!”

My best friend, Natasha Feyakina, and I had been joined at the hip all our lives. She’d already leaped up from the folding chair she’d slept on and run to the bathroom. Correct! In a home with three residents and one guest, you’d better beat everyone else to the bathroom!

I dashed into the kids’ room, flung open the doors, and called out:

“Berries! Up and at ’em! We overslept! Brush your teeth, wash up, and get to preschool! My sweeties,” I pleaded, rushing to the beds and jostling the kids awake, kissing their sleepy cheeks. “I’m really, really late! And if your mom doesn’t get this new job, we can kiss that new TV goodbye! And forget about treats, got it?”

The kids understood, all right! Treats were definitely the place to start!

The little ones stirred and rolled out of bed like little marbles. They jostled each other as they pulled on their tights.

“Hey, Leshka, those are mine—give them back!”

“No, they’re not! They’re mine!”

Dashka hadn’t even opened her eyes properly, and she was already sounding surprised, like a true little woman:

“Pink?!”

Leshka refused to put on pink tights and let out a desperate howl:

“Moo-om!”—stopping me halfway to the bathroom.

For Pete’s sake! I had to run back and help the boy. I pulled sweaters over them, too. I brushed their dark heads and tied Dashka’s hair into little ponytails. Not very well, obviously, but being late for work isn’t exactly conducive to making anyone look pretty! My good little girl didn’t even squeak.

“The rest is up to you! And don’t forget your socks, you hear me! And don’t mix up your snowsuits! I’ll check!”

“Okay, Mom!” they chorused and jostled at the closet again.

Natasha and I were doing the same thing in the next room, then in the entryway, trying not to mix up whose tights and bags belonged to whom. In the end we all got stuck in the doorway together, nearly flattening Leshka’s plastic KamAZ.

We didn’t wait for the elevator; we bounced down four flights like rubber balls. Thank God Natasha had driven, and when Dashka spotted her tiny Daewoo Matiz in the lot, she called:

“On your marks, get set, go! Last one there is a rotten radish! Moo-om, catch up!”

“What a little schemer!” my pleasantly plump friend protested, pumping her legs hard, but we were already racing for the little Daewoo ourselves, trying to be first.

Preschool was two bus stops from our building. Not exactly convenient, but it was a good, new place, with dance classes and an extended-hours group, and the kids liked it. After handing the little ones over to their teacher, I raced back to the car, hopping over snow and icy crust like a mountain goat on a sledding track. So much for December first—winter had arrived! Good thing Natasha, feeling suitably guilty, hadn’t left me in the lurch and had offered to drive me to work. She worked as a hairdresser at the city’s well-known Beau Monde salon, downtown, not far from my new office, and we were both hoping not to be late.

“Step on it, Mashka!”

The moment I reached the car and jumped inside, Natasha hit the gas and peeled out.

“Fairy, you’re a regular Schumacher,” I said, pressing the back of my head into the seat, “but if we crash and I miss work, I’ll kill you! You drank more than I did yesterday!”

“I ate more, too. Don’t freak out, Berry. I’ve got experience, and we’ve got seven minutes to make it. We’ll make it!” she said, gripping the steering wheel confidently. “Better buckle up and put on some lipstick, because you look like a nun after a night of tantric sex.”

“What, just as depraved and wild?” I peered at my reflection in the rearview mirror, surprised and not without hope of a miracle.

No, I mean, what else? My dreams don’t get this weird for no reason, do they?

My face looked like… well, a face. I hadn’t had time to put on mascara or straighten my curly hair. I had to twist my thick, long hair into a rebellious bun at the back of my head and slap a hat on top. Otherwise, I looked perfectly ordinary. A puffer jacket, a dress (nothing special), and cheap heeled boots. Your average office drone, the kind who works in some neighborhood office on a salary so low it’s best not to say the number out loud, or people might burst into tears out of pity. Not a star. Hmm. Not even close.

I used to be considered a pretty girl. Boys used to trail after me in packs. But how could I look at anyone else when I had Kirill?

Oh God! I gasped. Pulling lipstick from my purse, I swiped it across my lips in a panic, patted my pale cheeks with both hands, and smoothed my eyebrows with a finger. What was I thinking, sleeping like a log until the last possible second?! I had to audition for professional competence today! And looks were a big part of it!

“Exactly!” Natasha added fuel to the fire. “Just as disappointed and gloomy!”

Oh, well! Instead of getting upset, pouting, and taking offense at every little thing while we drove, I might as well tell you a little about myself. There isn’t much to tell, but since you’ve peeked into my story, I suppose I should introduce myself.