The lovers. Novel. Julia Dobrovolskaya

whole way, pressing her close.

      The house smelled, as always, of comfort, warmth, and delicious food. As always, Dina’s mother had made her daughter’s favorite dishes. The table was set and while Dina showered after the trip, her mom warmed up the hot food and put a bottle of champagne on the table.

      “To you, darling!” Said her mother as she raised her glass.

      “To you, Mom!” Said Dina and for one elusive moment, she saw herself sitting opposite Konstantin Konstantinovich: with a glass of champagne slightly raised above the table, his laughing eyes, a lock of black hair falling onto his forehead, the parted mouth, and the attractive large fingers holding a glass.

      “Dinochka, what’s going on with you?” Her mom looked at her closely.

      “Nothing, Mom! Everything’s fine!” Dina tried to act natural and even laughed. “Why do you ask?”

      But it’s hard to hide from your own mother. Especially a loving mother.

      Her mom put the glass back down on the table, stood up and came over to Dina, placing a hand to her forehead. She looked alarmed. She held her daughter’s face in both hands and turned it towards her.

      Dina looked away, and, all of a sudden, tears started rolling down her face.

      Dina’s mom pressed her daughter’s head to her chest, wrapping her arms around her and swaying from side to side, as if rocking her to sleep.

      That was when Dina began to sob – she had been holding it together ever since that moment on the bridge, when she had barely held back those strange tears. What was it that poured out of her in such a tumultuous, fiery flow? Perhaps it was only happiness? People cry from happiness too, after all.