Already a little tanned and beautiful with a delicate, old-fashioned kind of beauty, the girl stood at the top of a hill, surrounded by the scent of thyme and the chirping of grasshoppers in the tall grass. She was painting the surrounding landscape in watercolor on wet paper. The landscape lay tiredly at her lovely feet, like an old, obedient dog forced to accompany its young mistress on her whimsical walks.
If anyone had seen the result of her eager attempts to capture the peace and tranquility around her—and within her—on paper with paint, they might have been surprised by both the effort and the outcome.
The girl painted clumsily, as if holding a brush for the first time, an tool familiar to kids since preschool. Except she had never gone to preschool. And she had been homeschooled. But now, nothing and no one could stop her from covering the damp sheet with paint, along with anything else that happened to fall under her sable brush. A whole set of them stood nearby on a box, like arrows in a quiver. And all of them had been used today. There were also paints and colored pastels—she had wanted to try everything this summer, right here in this very spot.
The slope, which looked like a green blotch on her paper underlined by shimmering water at the bottom, seemed made for a vineyard. At least, that’s where she would have placed one. Warm, dry, and with moisture below—perfect for storing wine.
The artist was here for the first time. Yet a strange certainty that every bush and tree, every hill and valley would shelter and protect her from any danger or evil never left her.
No, wait. Not from every danger. Behind her, an intrusive voice rang out, one that had been driving the young artist to the brink of wanting to flee anywhere, just to get away from the greasy gaze of this utterly unpleasant man for the past few weeks.
But she stayed put. You can’t run from a predator. And you can’t show fear either.
Meanwhile, far away from the startled girl, a complete stranger to her named Sergey abandoned his trusty old Jeep practically at the doorstep and dashed past the concierge so quickly that she didn’t recognize him. He even ignored the elevator, bounding up to the third floor three steps at a time, and rudely pressed all four doorbells at once.
No one rushed to open the door. And who would be home on a Monday at eleven in the morning?
Ever heard of a bird called the “oblomingo”?
The guy pulled a smartphone from the pocket of his bomber jacket and prepared to call a cab, not even knowing where to go.
His family had finally decided to tear him apart. “Who do you love more, Dad or Mom?”—that’s an easy question compared to the ones his relatives threw at him.
In reality, Sergey, like any sane person, loved himself the most.
And his mom and dad? Well, how do you put it…
If you grow up seeing your father always annoyed or angry, and your mother once a year, sad and with a new husband, then “love” feels like a weird word for what you feel when they suddenly live together again and start a passionate romance every week, complete with drama and accusations. They call it obsessive love, a curse, a blessing, but their son calls it—oh, here we go again.
And when his grandfather, the only calm and sensible man in the family, suddenly grabs an old high school sweetheart and jets off for a vacation on some exotic islands, there’s nowhere to escape from all this love.
Because instead of tapping his temple and letting his grandson crash at his place while the parents figure out who loves or doesn’t love whom more, Grandpa just pours gas on the fire.
“Sergey, you’re grown now. You’re ready for real love too.”
“Get off my back with your love already,” the grandson snaps back, as usual. “I’ve had enough of yours to drive me nuts. Seriously… What am I, three years old, that you can trap me with that ‘who do you love more’ nonsense?”
So now what? Where can he wait out this latest family drama?
Serozha, as he still calls himself in his head, kicked a pot with a monstera plant in frustration and turned back to the elevator.
The only people he could turn to for a place to ride out the family crisis had disappeared somewhere. And of course, right when they could’ve been useful.
So what if he’d given them time off himself? Vacation started on Monday, and it’s Friday now.
The guy glanced at his finger, already pressing the elevator button, and surprised himself.
Going down from the third floor? What had happened to him in these not-quite-five years?
He rides in a company car instead of driving his old iron buddy himself, doesn’t film streams or blogs anymore. Specially trained people do it all better. The media holding is starting to take shape. Competitors are fuming and poaching his stars. But the stars aren’t dumb. They won’t find a better deal anywhere else. And for most people, he’s no longer Serozha but Sergey Viktorovich.
And today, he’s sunk to this—taking the elevator down. That’s what living in a loving family does to a person.
“Where’s that Serozha who used to leap three steps at a time while rapping about the cute neighbor?” he muttered to himself at lightning speed.
The neighbor married someone else, has no regrets, and neither does Sergey, really.
But where’s that lightness of being, that drive to tear competitors to shreds like the British flag?
Where’s the dream of being the best of the best, and how can he even remember why he wanted to be that in the first place?
All he needs now are chips, beer, and shows about lunatics.
He’s got money. Respect. Competitors. Top-notch partners and staff.
No friends, though. Never made any, and somehow they don’t just appear on their own. Girls don’t stick around, and he doesn’t hold onto them. His parents are acting like they’ve lost it, arguing over who hurt or loved the other more—good luck figuring them out.
Maybe Sergey’s already in a crisis, and there’s no one to talk to about it.
Is Grandpa right?
He should’ve thought about this sooner. Now he’s a lone wolf.
He figured he could at least crash here with beer and chips, binge a series all weekend. Then maybe launch a new project. Some guy tipped him off about an ancient treasure—fascinating stuff. He’d go on the expedition himself since everyone’s on vacation, film and interview until he’s dizzy. Then edit and voice-over, only coming home to sleep.
By then, vacations would be over. Life would be buzzing, competitors raging.
And that heavy stone on his soul would be gone.
It’s like he’d been chasing something, almost caught it, grabbed it, but there’s nothing in his hands—it all slipped through his fingers.
“Are you gonna stand there forever, or are you coming in?” a quiet little voice came from somewhere below.
Sergey jumped and turned mid-air to face the ghostly voice.
But it turned out the voice had a body. A small girl with very neat braids, looking like both her mother and father at the same time, stood in the slightly open doorway, tilting her head to the left shoulder as she looked at Serozha.
Nothing but polite curiosity could be read on her sweet little face.
“Just like her dad,” Sergey thought. “Or maybe a little chief of the redskins.”
He wanted to ask where her father was when he was so needed. But instead, for some reason, he spoke in a very pedagogical tone he’d picked up from one of his stars.
“Lera, don’t you know you’re not supposed to open the door to strange men?” Sergey paused, then decided not to demonize just men.
“Or women,” he added confidently.
“You’re not a stranger. And the door wasn’t locked. Our lock’s broken. Mom already left, and Dad and I stayed behind. Then he’ll catch up with Mom. And I’ll go to Grandma and Grandpa’s. In Krakow. Have you been to Krakow?”
“She’s straight-up entertaining a boring ambassador from some insignificant country,” Sergey thought, momentarily forgetting he was her dad’s boss.
“No, I haven’t,” he admitted, feeling oddly embarrassed. “So, will Valery be back soon?”
“I’m already here,” came a voice from behind.
And there was Valery, the bright star of their educational channel, the secret crush of half their viewers and the not-so-secret crush of the other half, appearing at the top of the stairs.
“That’s a relief,” his boss said, sounding oddly sour. “Sorry for pulling rank. You’re on vacation, right? Can I crash here for a week or two? You’re heading out anyway. I won’t mess the place up. It’s just closer for me and…”
“Looks like we’re not going on vacation,” Valery said sadly. “My dad broke his leg. At his age, it won’t heal quickly. Mom’s with him. We can’t leave Lera anywhere or with anyone. I’m about to call Vika and ask you to postpone the vacation.”
“Oh, here we go,” Sergey thought gloomily.
“Just find someone to stay with the kid,” he said aloud, trying to sound upbeat. “It’s not hard. She’s independent and mature for her age. You know how tight my vacation schedule is. If not now, it’s next year.”
“Lera’s definitely a champ,” Valery confirmed proudly. “Independent and mature. But by the time we find a nanny, the group will leave without us. Lera, see what’s happened?” he turned to the child.
“Did it hurt Grandpa a lot?” the girl asked.
Sergey was surprised. At her age, he would’ve been upset about the trip falling through. And definitely annoyed.
“It did hurt,” Valery answered honestly. “But they’ve fixed it now. His leg’s in a special brace. I’ll show you later. You can talk to Grandpa yourself soon; it just happened this morning. Grandma called a little while ago.”
Lera nodded calmly, and Valery gestured for Sergey to come into the apartment.
“Mom will be upset,” the girl said suddenly. “She was so looking forward to it.”
“Well, what can we do, sweetie? You’re big enough to know that sometimes circumstances call the shots.”
“Mom will be really upset,” Lera repeated with emphasis. “But there’s a solution.”
“What’s that?” Valery asked.
And once again, he surprised Sergey. No one had ever listened to him when he was five. And honestly, he hadn’t listened to anyone much either, even now.
“Sergey needs a place to stay for three weeks,” the little princess patiently explained to the clueless ambassadors of minor neighboring states. “You need a vacation for three weeks. What’s the big deal?”
“Hmm, Lera. You’re forgetting that Sergey doesn’t know how to be a babysitter,” her father replied.
“Do I even need a babysitter? Leave food in the freezer; I’ll heat it up. And laundry—there’s a washing machine. I’ve got an alarm for when to wake up and go to bed. You can call me. And Mom will get to rest. She was totally exhausted. She wanted to raft down that river. She’s been dreaming about it for six months, Dad.”
It seemed no one was planning to ask for Sergey’s consent.
“Just like at home,” he thought irritably.
Though the idea wasn’t bad. Lera was a quiet, calm kid. She knew everything, could do everything. He could take her to the playground; he liked working out there himself. Otherwise, she’d spend all day on the computer, drawing or studying something.
“Little prodigy. Trained kid,” Sergey thought, almost feeling sorry for her by the end.
But why feel sorry for her? She was a good kid, athletic, with a healthy glow. Not hysterical, not…
At that moment, a small hand tugged at his big one.
“So, can you handle living with me?”
“I can handle anyone. I just need to catch up on sleep. And wrap up a project.”
“You can’t use my computer,” the prodigy said, holding up a little hand.
“What, you think I’m some rookie? I’ve got my own, tons of them, you know,” Sergey felt the need to brag for some reason.
“Okay, then it’s a deal.”
Valery looked at them with serious doubt, but when Vika called and they explained the situation, she unexpectedly took Lera’s side.
“She wanted this herself, right?”
“That’s what’s weird,” Valery said, a bit jealous, stung by how easily his daughter could go three weeks without his company. Even though he’d spent her whole life fostering independence and decisiveness in her. But somehow, the fruits of his upbringing stung.
Vika felt the same. But their daughter also wanted to visit her grandparents, to feel she could manage some things without her parents. And Sergey, while a bit of a troublemaker, was responsible.
“Valery, don’t worry. We took courses with him. He’s got good compatibility scores. He’s responsible, at his core.”
“But what if…”
“What could happen to a kid in the city over three weeks? There’s a hospital, a pool, and a grocery store nearby. Let Sergey take her to the zoo, kids’ shows, and the natural history museum. She can handle the rest herself. You just don’t get it—she’s grown up. She’s not a little queen anymore; she’s a student.”
Valery still had doubts. But Serozha, as their boss liked to call himself out of nostalgia for his freewheeling youth, eased the parents’ consciences. He clearly and from memory recited Lera’s activity schedule, feeding times, and even the recipe for creamed spinach.
Lera closed her eyes to hide a predatory glint and crossed her small fingers with neat pink nails.
So, we’ve met the main characters of this story. But we haven’t seen the main villain yet—he’ll show up in the next chapter.
I’m looking forward to your thoughts in the comments.
Thank you for adding this to your libraries, for your awards, and stars. And I’d appreciate your support—if you’d like more readers to discover this story, please recommend it to your friends on social media with a link to this post. Of course, you’re under no obligation to do so, but if you do, I’ll be very grateful.
See you tomorrow after midnight :)