"I've got no plans, so I'm yours," you tell her. You hop into the passenger seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing how the other half lives."
She smiles at you, her face full of an undeniable happiness. You return it, feeling the same happiness pouring out of you. It's odd, you realize, she's ten years your senior at least, yet here is a woman you find yourself falling for more and more with every moment.
You and she enjoy the first part of the drive in silence, listening to a band called Rasputina, a gypsyesque goth rock group, with a very obvious eastern european influence. Your hand is resting on Ivana's leg, and you gently rub it as you zone out on the music.
As the latest song comes to an end, you turn the volume down, and ask the question that's been on your mind. "Ivana, I know it's rather rude to be so blunt, but I'm dying to know something," you say, hesitating, not wanting to offend her.
"What is that?" she replies, glancing over at you with a smile.
"How old are you? I mean, I'm betting you're in your thirties, but that's really just a guess," you say, carefully wording what you say, not wanting to insult her.
"I was alive before the first great war, young one," she says, giving you a bit of a sad look, "And I was there for when the Czar faced his maker. In short, I am much, much older than I look."
The enormity of what she's said sinks in on you...this woman could easily be your grandmother, if not your great-great grandmother. That's a hell of an age difference. "Wow..." you say, "That's....wow."
"Wow, indeed," she replies, as you pull up to a gated driveway, secluded from any neighborhood. She punches a code into a keypad and the gates swing open. You drive about 500 feet before you see a moderately sized cottage home. "Welcome to my den," Ivana says.