Precious Gifts by Danielle Steel

down. And the doctor left discreetly as Nikolai opened a bottle of champagne, poured a glass, and handed it to her.
    “Drink, you will feel better. I am very sorry I hurt you,” he said, as he poured a glass for himself.
    “I’m very sorry I didn’t move,” she said again, as he indicated the terrace and opened the door, and she followed him out, still holding the glass of champagne. And as soon as she was outside, she was in awe of the breathtaking view. It had to be the best view in the city. You could see everything. They walked around, then sat down on two deck chairs, and she finally started to relax after a sip of champagne.
    “I always stay here, for the view,” he said, looking out at the city again, and then he turned to gaze at her. “You have beautiful eyes,” he commented, “like sapphires.” He was clearly a man of expensive tastes, but there was something rough about him. He was simple and direct to the point of being blunt. “Where do you live?”
    “Most of the time in New York, and sometimes in Paris.”
    “You’re here alone?” She nodded, and he seemed surprised. “You’re not married?” He had looked for a ring, and her hands were bare.
    “Neither am I,” he said matter-of-factly. She had assumed he wasn’t, judging by the girl she’d seen on the couch when she walked into the suite. She hadn’t reappeared. “I’m divorced,” he said almost proudly, as though it were a status symbol of some kind. “My ex-wife hates me,” he announced out of the blue, and the way he said it made her laugh. “I was a very bad husband.” He smiled at her then. Paul had been, too, but she didn’t say it.
    “My ex-husband just died. I’ve been upset about it, which is why I was probably distracted when I was crossing the street. We were good friends.”
    “You must be a good woman to be friends with your ex-husband,” Petrovich said, looking at her intently.
    “We’d been divorced for a long time.” She didn’t know why, but they were exchanging all the details of their lives, as though they mattered, but maybe nearly dying under the wheels of his car had created an instant bond between them. He seemed to want to know everything about her.
    “Do you have children?” She looked young to him, and he guessed her for younger than she was.
    “I have three daughters. Two are in New York, one is in L.A.”
    “You shouldn’t travel alone,” he scolded her. “It’s too dangerous for a beautiful woman.”
    “Thank you,” she said with a smile. She didn’t say that she had no choice. And she didn’t feel beautiful, she felt disheveled, her hands and knees were hurting more than they had at first, and the disinfectant had burned. She could still feel it, although the champagne had calmed her nerves.
    “I have four daughters,” he volunteered. “I always wanted to have a son.” She nodded and thought wistfully about Bertie, who had been such a disappointment, despite the love she’d lavished on him.
    “Girls always love their fathers,” she said gently, as he smiled and admitted that that was true.
    “Do you like boats?” he asked her, and she nodded. “You must come to dinner on one of my boats. Do you go to the South of France?”
    “I’ll be there in a few weeks with my daughters. Sometime in August.”
    “You must all come to dinner.” He laughed then and looked more relaxed. The incident had frightened him, too. “We will celebrate that I didn’t kill you.”
    “I think someone pushed me out of the way,” Véronique said pensively, thinking about it again.
    “It wasn’t your destiny to die,” he said solemnly. “Now you must enjoy your life more than before, because you are alive.” He struggled with the words. His English was fluent but far from perfect, but she understood what he was saying. “Every day is a gift.” She hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right. She felt as though she’d just been given a second chance at life. If something hadn’t