Love Is Never Past Tense
By
Janna Yeshanova
Genre:
Women’s fiction, Literary fiction, Contemporary romance based on true historical events, Inspirational, Strong female protagonist
Women’s fiction, Literary fiction, Contemporary romance based on true historical events, Inspirational, Strong female protagonist
Blurb:
A couple's quick romance and hasty marriage is torn apart by
family and fate, leaving them to face the collapse of the Soviet Union
separately. Years later, old memories are stirred to give their love a second
chance.
Serge and Janna's chance meeting at a Black Sea beach sparks
a passionate romance and a quick marriage. Serge's parents, suspicious of
Janna's motives and heritage, force him to break up with her. As the Soviet
Union collapses, revealing ethnic and social pressures, each faces danger
separately. Serge drowns in self-doubt, his life spiraling down and in. Janna
plots a dangerous exodus to America with her mother and daughter. Years pass,
stirring old emotions.Then, changing circumstances give their love a second
chance. Janna Yeshanova tells a story, providing a very personal view of
political and social change.
Love
is Never Past Tense is part romantic drama and
part a look at real people responding to life-changing events, but mostly a
suspense adventure about living through one of the biggest changes in living
memory.
Love
Is Never Past Tense is available on Amazon in
hardcover, paperback and Kindle eBook formats. The newly released audiobook is
available on Audible, Amazon and iTunes. The audible and Kindle versions are enabled with WhisperSync.
The audio is narrated by Daniela Acitelli, a narrator with
dozens of audiobooks to her credit. Even those familiar with the story found
new meaning in her presentation. It took me two years to find her.
Buy
Links:
Audio Book at
audible.com https://adbl.co/2FrEWAs
Audio Book at Amazon https://amzn.to/2Bt9s8W
Audio Book at iTunes https://apple.co/2Kvh8KX
Amazon Author Page https://amzn.to/2AhhY9j
Amazon Kindle https://amzn.to/2Ku6h3S
Excerpt:
Audiobook
sample https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nBbMxrEb1g
***
Serge didn't try to catch up to the
shuffling, thin, leather skirt. He hadn't a clue what he would do if he
actually caught up with her. So he continued following her along the high
embankment for a fairly long time, until they crossed the whole of Lanzheron
Park. But, reaching the beach, the girl quickly descended to the sea. Serge
even began to jog a bit to keep her in sight. His head was clear this morning,
and soon he would try out his cunning for the first but not the last time this
day. The spy set up camp at the upper solarium and watched over her. Maybe she
was waiting for some company, or a young man, or a girlfriend (which would
undoubtedly seem to be better), but to our spy, all were equally bad
possibilities. This guessing game carried on in his head, but it seemed she
wasn't looking for anyone. She ducked into the changing room, and her leather
skirt momentarily hung over the edge of the stall. After a minute, she exited,
and Serge, pulling his long hair away from his head with both hands in anguish,
groaned something unintelligible. Her breasts exited the little room first. The
spot from where Serge looked down provided such visibility that his knees began
to tremble. Her face was impossible to discern through her long hair and
sunglasses, but something told him it would also be in order. She laid before
her a light beach towel, and laying down she took a book from her bag and began
to read. Burning her “landing site” into his mind, Serge took off like a shot
to the nearest cabana rental. Fast as lightning, he exchanged his clothes for a
key, crammed two metal rubles in the pocket of his swimming trunks, and became
Don Juan. He feared, though, that there were already a bunch of admirers
slinking ever closer to the sacred beach towel, and that he would simply be too
late. He'd have to crawl to his place in line, and like the others, would have
a poor chance of success.
He flew down the stairs and quickly found
the beach towel, but … its owner was nowhere to be found. There was a book, a
beach bag, and sunglasses, but their owner had disappeared. Oh, yes! This would
be the second time that a smart thought visited Serge’s head today. People come
to the sea to swim, after all! This interpretation of her disappearance
comforted and delighted Serge. He became bolder and impudently tossed his
glasses onto the same towel and cheerfully marched to the water. With his half-blind
eyes, he surely could not see her. And where, among dozens of bathers? He dove
into a wave, and swam away from the shore. First, he couldn't stand to watch
bathers jumping around like frogs in the shallow water. Secondly, at this
moment, his exceptionally quick-witted head told him he couldn't be the first
to return to her beach towel. Then he'd have to take his glasses and fiddle
around a bit in front of the beach towel to buy time as he came up with a new
plan. Perhaps he'd cover himself with the towel, or maybe … no, he needed to
work on his initial scenario.
He even came up with a sophisticated
opening: "Excuse me, young lady, but I left my glasses here on your towel.
I simply didn't have anywhere to put them, or myself for that matter."
With this, his stockpile of ideas was depleted …
At last he climbed out of the water and
headed along the well-trodden route to her beach towel. The towel was in place,
and on this towel lay the magnificent body of its hostess, but Serge's glasses
were lying a little bit farther on the edge of the towel. Serge squatted down
and mumbled his introduction. He was counting on her to respond with typical
beach chit-chat: "Where are you from? How long ago did you arrive in
Odessa?" or other such nonsense.
"Your glasses are fine," she
responded. "I figured someone just confused their beach towel with mine,
but have a seat anyway."
She scooted over, freeing up half the beach
towel. He got scared. If he lay down, then he wouldn't be able to resist the
urge to nuzzle up to her. Then he'd certainly look like a pervert, a youth
brought up with no manners, or a pest—in a word, he would give the exact
opposite impression than he wanted. He mumbled something like a "thank
you" and lay down beside her on the sand. She motioned towards him with a
little bag of sunflower seeds, "Help yourself."
” Oh God, what's this?” resounded in
Serge's mind. “Are you kidding me … sunflower seeds?” And his hand with a
subsequent "thank you" reached in the bag.
"Do you like Ilf and Petrov?”2
” Lord, who is she talking about? I've only
heard of them in passing, but I don't know the slightest thing about them …”
Serge thought to himself.
"My name's Janna," she came to
his rescue.
"Sergey," he stammered in reply,
"but at the institute everyone actually calls me Serge, or Seriy …”3
She chuckled.
"Grey. You're actually black as tar.
Where did you get such a tan?" she asked, spitting out sunflower seed
shells. Not even awaiting a response, she exclaimed: "Here is an
interesting moment”—and she began to read her book aloud, something about
Ptiburdukov and his Varvara, who was leaving her first husband for him but
couldn't make up her mind. Janna read for a while, probably about five pages,
and then thrust the book towards Serge and said, "You read from
here," marking the place with her fingernail. Serge began to read, but he
didn't understand a word. He was too busy worrying about his diction, trying
not to miss any letters or words. He fought through two pages, but his audience
was clearly not impressed.
"Would you like a cigarette?"
"If he has a smoke, then he'll stop
reading.” Serge could almost hear her thinking. He pulled a cigarette from a
mashed-up pack of Javas, the best
tobacco the Soviet Union could offer at that time. She handed him the matches.
He brought the flame close to her face. She took a drag and rolled over on her
back. Serge absolutely didn’t know what to do: read, blow sand from her, ask
her about something. But she was not waiting for any questions and didn’t ask
any questions. It was as if he simply was present. And that was that. The only
thing that remained was for Serge to stare dumbfounded into the sand and
observe the ants. Having smoked half the cigarette, she jammed the other half into
the sand and turned back over on her stomach, brushing her leg up against
Serge's. But she did not hasten to remove it. Silent Serge, who really didn't
look the part of a reasonable person, turned into an animal. His uncontrollable
desire sprang to life, pulling his swimming trunks down into the sand with such
force that it became painful. Serge secretly burrowed a hole in the sand,
easing the pressure. He became obsessed with a craving to climb on top of her.
But this was out of the question, which made his desire even stronger …
"It's hot. Let's go for a swim,"
she said, lifting herself up on her elbows. For the first time he could see her
breasts up close, causing his heart to leap through his ribs like a bird in a
cage. He muttered he'd catch up to her, and when she left, his desire ever so slowly began to hide
itself away, until he was finally able to get up and head towards the sea.
She splashed around in the waves, which
towards midday became quite sizable. He flopped about next to her, often
brushing up against her body. Then he suggested tossing her in the waves. He
cradled her head and shoulders, gathered her hands into his, and finally lifted
her up and tossed her into the waves. Janna liked it, and so did he, but for a
different reason: every time she hit the waves, her bathing suit slid down
slightly, and when her breasts finally became exposed, he was ready to splash
to his very death. Suddenly, she ended up cradled in his arms. With one arm,
she grasped his neck, and he now understood that everything will happen, he just
needed to patiently wait.
Once something starts, eventually, it ends.
The delightful swim as well: they returned from the water and again lay down on
the beach towel.
“I want to get tanned like you.” (She had
already switched to the informal you4 in the water. He liked this, as it
made him feel less uneasy around her). She placed her arm next to his for
comparison, and her brown skin seemed much paler than his almost blackened arm.
Guiltily, he informed her that he just returned yesterday from his
apprenticeship in Baku, and so it was not surprising that he was so dark.
“You have beautiful hands,” she pensively
remarked. Then, determined, she added, “No, you just wait. I’ll catch up with
you in two days. Just wait and see.” These words poured over his body like oil.
For Serge, this meant that he would spend at least two more days with her.
“Get some ice cream. Do you need some
money?”
“I have it,” answered Serge, but before he
could get up and leave, he had to turn and crawl to hide his “desire” …
***
During their first three days together,
Serge (as they called our hero at the time) was the quieter of the two, once in
a while muttering some insignificant phrases. The first time he saw her, he
silently followed her for a long time. She walked along easily, shifting her
long, rather well-proportioned legs. Her thin leather skirt swung from side to
side, barely hiding her shapely hips. A green blouse tightly covered her
beautifully straight back. All the while, Serge followed her like she was a
vision, lacking the courage to come closer or to back away. He knew that making
her acquaintance was a long shot; she was simply out of his league. How could
he possibly know that she, a complete stranger, would inexplicably impact his
life and be with him forever, whether she was at his side or not?
Author
Bio:
Originally from the former Soviet
Union, Janna Yeshanova escaped in 1989 when persecution became violent during the
crumbling of the Soviet state. This required getting permission to emigrate and
a long dangerous train trip across central Europe with her elderly mother, her
young daughter, and the $126 she was permitted to take out of the country. She
did this by overcoming gridlock in Russia, animosity and graft at the border,
and neglect in the west. Safely out of Soviet control, Janna and her family
spent months as refugees waiting for permission to come to the United States.
Arriving in the United States knowing not
a soul, Janna settled in Ohio and began to rebuild her life. She earned a
second masters Degree and was invited as a speaker at the Bosnia and
Herzegovina International Peace Conference in 1996. While building her business
as a Leadership Trainer and consultant, she has become a Professional Certified
Coach (PCC) through the International Coach Federation. She offers life
coaching services to individuals, conflict resolution to couples and groups,
and soft skills training to organizations of all sizes.
Her book, Love Is Never Past Tense, offers a message of hope and inspiration,
showing that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself.
Social
Media Links:
Book Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quPSNk7EnoA
Twitter https://twitter.com/JannaYeshanova
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