Chapter 3

If there's one thing I've always appreciated, it's a good sense of humor and a creative approach to work. If grown-ups want to play make-believe with style, who's going to stop them?

As if I couldn't play along.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Fairy. Fairy Sergeyevna, and I'm calling about the apartment! I hope you don't have any prejudices against metaphysical beings? Sometimes I like to fly in through windows!"

"Oh, not at all!" The girl on the other end of the line laughed, and my spirits immediately lifted. "Of course not! We'd be delighted to help you!"

I told her which listing I was interested in and arranged to meet Snow Maiden at the address she'd given me two hours later. By the end of the call, a client was already waiting for me in the salon chair, and I returned to work with a shiver of anticipation. I smiled at him so broadly that, at the end of the service, while I was styling his hair with wax, he gave me a generous tip and suddenly invited me to dinner.

No way. Men over thirty-five, married men, and men with children don't interest me in the slightest. I told him so, but thanked him for the tip. The last thing I needed was to get in the way of someone else's happiness, even if it was a pretty questionable kind.

My little Daewoo Matiz didn't let me down and started almost immediately. I blew on my hands and on the windshield, then hopped around the car for a while to let it warm up properly and stretch my legs after a long day. Once I pulled out of the parking lot and raced down the avenue toward my meeting with Snow Maiden, weaving through traffic, I suddenly wondered: What if she showed up in an ermine coat, a sarafan, and a kokoshnik? Well, who knew? How was I supposed to behave? Would it still be appropriate to keep playing along?

It was silly, when you got right down to it. We were adults!

But the girl arrived without a kokoshnik. She fluttered out of a white Nissan SUV—young and pretty, with rosy cheeks, a white puffer jacket, jeans, a white fur hat, and puffy boots covered in silver snowflakes. She didn't joke around. She introduced herself as Alyona Morozova, a realtor and senior coordinator for Ded Moroz Agency. She shook my hand professionally and immediately led me into a new high-rise building to show me the apartment.

Wow, what a courtyard! And what a parking lot! Everyone even has their own assigned spot? That's amazing!

The apartment was on the thirteenth floor, exactly as I'd imagined it. Identical to the pictures on the website—not a thing to add or take away. Gorgeous! I gasped when I saw the kitchen. I went "ooh" when I leaned out onto the balcony. I squeaked when I spun around and bounced on the plush rug under the beautiful chandelier, then threw up my hands when I noticed the two sheets of paper my guide had thoughtfully laid out for me.

"Is that a contract?" I guessed.

"That's right!" Alyona Morozova flashed her straight teeth and handed me an ink pen with a long pheasant feather. I swear, my jaw dropped again. "So, Fairy Sergeyevna? Ready to pay and sign?" she asked slyly. "I can tell you like your tower."

I liked it, and I liked the girl's sense of humor. Still, it caught me a little off guard.

"Actually, I'm Natalya Feyakina," I said, a little embarrassed. "Do I have to sign right now?"

"I'm afraid so!" The girl shrugged and tapped the face of her wristwatch with one finger. She looked at me. "Just so you know, the offer is valid for another ten minutes."

"That's it? What happens after that?"

"Then it expires."

"But wait… ten minutes? Why? I can't decide that fast!"

Snow Maiden spread her hands.

"Then, Natalya, unfortunately, there won't be a deal. Our agency has had this apartment on the market for only one day, and we've already received eight attractive offers. Per the owner's instructions, if nobody signs the contract by nine tonight, the rent will go up by another third. And if you're not willing to pay more—" Alyona raised a hand and looked at her watch again. "You have seven minutes to avoid the biggest mistake of your life. Come on, Fairy!" The girl smiled broadly again. "Make up your mind! You won't regret it, I promise!"

And that was that. Didn't I say doubts weren't my thing? Of course I signed and got the keys! And a day later, after coming home from work and packing my things, I stood outside beside my little Daewoo Matiz with a suitcase, apparently planning to run away from everyone.

Run away from myself.

Or, more precisely—from the person I didn't want to go back to.

Oh, Zhorik, Zhorik. Maybe you really are better off alone?

I looked up and saw Mom and Dad in the window. My parents stood frozen, their foreheads pressed to the glass. They were funny. They just couldn't seem to believe their daughter had long since grown up.

What about the hockey game? The second period had started, and Dad's nose was squashed against the glass.

I raised a hand and waved at them. I drew a big heart in the snow beneath the streetlamp, got into my car, and drove away. And if you think the story ended there, you're wrong. In fact, this is where the story really begins…