“By the way, don’t try crossing any streets like that,” Michael told her.
“Don’t worry.” Veronica watched the Russian disappear into the sea of pedestrians farther down Fifth Avenue. She started to miss her cozy office at Alameda University, where the worst thing to fear was one of Dr. Brack’s nastygrams about poor attendance at faculty meetings. Still, it seemed her fifth-grade Nancy Drew fantasies had finally come to life. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“Do you see the park?” Michael spun her around in the other direction. Veronica recognized the ornate and massive marble arch at Washington Square, several blocks away. She’d seen pictures in her tour book. “It’s a nice place to walk.”
“Shouldn’t we go to the cops?” Veronica asked. “Something?”
“What will you tell the cops?”
“That guy was bothering us.”
“Was he?”
Veronica opened her mouth, but found she didn’t really have an answer. “We have to do something. He was following us.”
“You can’t prove that. Besides, we are doing something. You’re being careful and calling for me if there’s any problem. In the meantime, you asked me to show you the city. Let’s go.”
She let him tug her hand and drag her behind him once more down Fifth Avenue. When they got to the park, Michael led her past the arch and the statues of George Washington to a small, sand-covered area within the square. Dogs ran loose while their owners drank coffee and chatted. Michael pointed to a fluffy chow, alternately chasing and being chased by a friendly yellow Lab.
“Look!” he said. “I miss Ariel already.”
The blare of taxis and construction permeated the air, but now she heard birds rustling tree branches and squirrels scampering in the bushes. They leaned against the railing and watched the chow try to catch a fat pigeon. The bird flew off, its heavy wings flapping in disgust.
“Oh, look at his eyes,” Veronica said. “Just like Ariel’s. He looks crushed, poor thing. But I’m glad the bird escaped.”
She turned to Michael. His body remained still, his eyes intensely focused on her face. An inner jolt rocked and then warmed her chest, like the first time she’d tried a shot of vodka. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he said. “I’m not sure the time is right.”
Veronica stood on her tiptoes once more, threw her hands around Michael’s neck, and kissed him. His lips warmed under hers. She pressed her nose against his.
He didn’t open his eyes after they kissed. His forehead remained pressed against hers, soft and warm. “I’m sorry if I’ve been overprotective. It’s just that if anything happened to you…”
Veronica knew. She’d seen it in his eyes. One of the reasons she liked Michael so much was that she could talk to him without censoring herself. He always understood what she meant. Now, however, her mouth felt dry and the words would not come easily.
As she wracked her mind for the right response, she thought about Alexandra, the young and beautiful Princess Alix, beaming with joy and optimism, ready to marry her soul mate Nicholas. Veronica often wondered what it felt like to let a man love you that desperately. She wondered if it scared Alix a little. Yet she knew Alexandra wouldn’t have changed anything about her life, even her horrifying death screaming for mercy at gunpoint, if it meant giving up that love.
Veronica still felt as though she were just beneath the ocean’s surface, gazing at the sun, but drowning in bad memories, fearing she wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love. But the pressure didn’t hold her down as firmly anymore. She could struggle against it.
* * *
Glittering rows of bottles sparkled underneath the dim bar lights. Nat King Cole gently crooned “Nature Boy.” Every so often, the hum of voices in the bar softened, and she heard only the tinkling piano notes. A stale cigarette scent clung to the leather bar stools. Michael and Veronica had finished their drinks. Veronica felt wonderfully disoriented, as though she’d accidentally stepped onto the set of a romantic old movie or an episode of Mad Men.
She fumbled in her purse. “You lost your key?” Michael asked.
Veronica wished she had lost the key. Michael had booked adjacent rooms, as she’d requested. A lost key might give her an excuse to stay with him instead. But she didn’t have it in her to lie. She withdrew the small plastic card from her wallet and rose slowly, hoping to prolong the moment. “This hotel is cute.”
“Faded grandeur, granted.” Michael took her hand and led her to the iron-and-brass cage elevator, adorned with art deco metalwork flowers. “Somehow I thought you’d like it all the more for that.”
“That does seem to be my style,” she said. “Let’s get breakfast tomorrow. Take me somewhere you like. Then I’ll head over to meet Alexei Romanov.”
“I can’t change your mind about that meeting?”
She slapped his chest. “That’s the whole reason I’m here.”
The cage door snapped shut and the elevator rumbled upward. It was a cozy fit. She had to arch her neck to look up at him. It made her a little dizzy. “I have a book to complete. Remember the whole tenure thing? My financial and professional future? Alexei Romanov promised I could look at their archives and—”
Michael bent down. She closed her eyes and took in the tantalizingly gentle pressure of his lips on hers. His hand caressed the front of her blouse and the curve of her waist. She relaxed and eased into him.
The elevator came to an abrupt halt and buzzed to announce they’d reached their floor. Michael pulled away first. Their rooms were right across from the elevator. He unlocked her door. “Give me a minute.” He walked in the room, looked all around, and then held the door open for her.
“All clear?” she asked.
“Remember, if anything worries you, anything bothers you, anything doesn’t feel right, yell. I’m here.”
She gave him a coy smile and stepped into her room, expecting him to follow.
“Good night,” he said, smiling back. He shut the door and the latch clicked.
Stunned, Veronica stared at the closed door like an idiot. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected.
Fine. She stepped into the bathroom, started the hot water, and undressed. She lingered in the shower stall, letting the jets of water soothe her sore muscles. She almost forgot about the Russian man at the Forbes Gallery. Michael was next door. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She felt as secure as a fairy-tale princess in the highest turret of a castle. And every bit as restless.
As she toweled off her hair, Veronica gazed at her reflection in the steamy mirror. Most of her makeup had washed off, but she looked alert and happy. She pulled on a new robe and took satisfaction in the feel of silky fabric against her clean skin. She plopped down on the bed and stretched her limbs out. From her window, she could see the top of the Empire State Building in all its art deco majesty. The iconic image taunted her. Do something.
Pipes creaked and churned next door. Veronica thought of Michael on the other side of the wall, brushing his teeth, shaving, changing. She remembered the scent of his skin, like salt and pine. She turned over and bit her pillow. She had a sense of Michael’s body, but curiosity burned every thought. What did his chest look like? His arms? His shoulders? Did he have a tattoo? A little bit of stomach? She wouldn’t mind if he did. She liked strong arms and legs, but a perfectly chiseled abdomen had always struck her as somehow inhuman.
Again, she glanced at the mirror. Not bad. The green robe brought out the gold tint in her eyes. Michael would notice that. Why waste the effect?
She hopped off the bed and tapped on the door that connected their adjoining rooms. She called his name.
He answered at once, opening the door. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
He wore only a white T-shirt and jeans. She’d never seen him in short sleeves before. His arms were gorgeous, muscular but not overly so. A dark Celtic tattoo, like barbed wire, encircled his left bicep. “My sho
wer drain’s clogged. Can you take a look?”
He touched her cheek. “You scared me.”
She felt awkward, but she’d come too far to turn back now. Veronica beckoned to him and he followed into her room. He stepped into the bathroom. She shut the door. The lock clicked. She waited, pulse racing.
Michael emerged a few seconds later. “Nothing’s wrong. Why did you…?” His voice trailed off. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the shape of his lips as he started to smile. She could drown in his smile. “Why didn’t you just invite me in?”
“I don’t know.” Veronica raised herself onto her tiptoes and placed an open palm on his warm cheek. She was about to kiss him, but stopped abruptly.
She saw confusion and a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes, a reflection of her own battered, mixed-up emotions. She wondered then about Michael’s ex-wife. Perhaps he was afraid to let this happen. He held her gaze and hesitated, giving her an out.
From the night they’d met, she’d maintained control. Now she wanted to relent. She wanted the knight in shining armor, the bodyguard, the fledgling tsar, or whatever role Michael Karstadt cared to play.
Veronica leaned back against the wall, cast-off clothes scattered about her feet. Michael closed the space, putting his hand on the wall next to her, his arm outstretched, and she shivered with anticipation.
He caressed the back of her neck. The brush of his fingers on her skin made every nerve ending come alive and she trembled. She caught his scent once more, comforting and powerfully arousing, calling to her as strongly as his touch.
He leaned down to kiss her. She tilted her head back, gasping for a second at the lack of air, and then giving in to the dizzying sensation. His tongue explored her entire mouth, urgent and deep, yet his hands skimmed her body with the lightest touch, sliding across the thin silk of her gown. She pulled away from his mouth and let out a sharp little cry as his finger trailed down the length of her sternum. She still hadn’t touched him. She felt moist and supple, yet couldn’t move. The warm scent of their arousal filled the air. His cheek lay flat against hers. She felt the rhythm of his breathing.
His lips covered her mouth. She stepped back long enough to pull his shirt over his head. It stuck and she wondered if this was a sign that this was a mistake after all, another doomed relationship fated to collapse. She waited, scared for wanting him so much. Then he tugged at the shirt and miraculously pulled it free. They laughed, nerves still taut. She watched his face and recognized the lust in his eyes, as demanding and desperate as her own.
He scooped her up into his arms and her robe fell to the floor. He carried her to the bed and she tumbled down on her back, pulling him on top of her, kissing him and biting his lower lip, ready to explode. Every defense melted at his touch.
Eight
Perhaps Alexandra kept her next pregnancy secret to control the inevitable court gossip. Deep inside, she may have suspected something was wrong. Perhaps she thought it better to be called a liar than a victim of wishful thinking.
—VERONICA HERRERA, The Reluctant Romanov
SAINT PETERSBURG
MAY 1902
“You do have a secret lover. I knew it!” Masha took a sugar cube from the silver-plated dish on Alexandra’s desk and popped it in her mouth, slurping like a serf. Her gaze flickered over the neatly arranged stacks of stationery and steel pens. “And writing a love letter on an imperial desk,” she added playfully. “For shame.”
“I asked permission.” In truth, Lena was only transcribing English letters for practice. She didn’t dare write anything more important in public. Still, the elegance of the desk, even the smooth, solid nib of the pen felt unnerving. The few nice items her family owned were never used, but stowed away in a trunk, as though to emphasize that life in Archangel was hardly worth the trouble.
“What kind of man pleases you, Lenichka?” Masha asked as she circled the desk. “A fair Ukrainian or swarthy Tatar?”
Lena snickered.
“It’s the latter then,” Masha said triumphantly. “A dark stranger with eyes like coal. Does he have a mustache? Does it tickle when you kiss?”
Lena caught the rancid smell of wet fur and cheap vanilla perfume as Masha peered over her shoulder. “That’s not a love letter, just English nonsense. How can anyone understand those funny shapes?”
“Lower your voices, ladies. You never know who might sneak in and overhear your secrets.”
Lena dropped her pen. Pavel stood at the door. Once again, he’d caught her off guard. “Have you heard of knocking? It’s a custom we’ve developed a taste for in this country. Perhaps you don’t have doors in Virginia?”
“You’ve acquired a lady’s wit, little seamstress,” he told her.
“And you’ve acquired a tongue, prizefighter,” Lena replied. “For the longest time, I doubted you had one.”
Pavel smiled playfully, a stark contrast to the formality of his black-and-gold tunic. A surge of warmth simmered in Lena’s stomach. He switched to English. “The dowager prefers a silent, captive audience. Remember what I told you about boxing? Self-protection first.”
At the mention of the dowager, Lena turned to the door and waited, holding her breath, half-expecting Marie to materialize out of thin air. When this failed to happen, her shoulders relaxed. Pavel had come only to see her.
“I shall keep your words in mind when next I see the dowager.” She picked up the pen once more, hoping he’d summon an excuse to remain.
He gave Masha a sideways glance. Pavel knew better than to push his luck. “I will let you return to your tasks, ladies.” He gave a little bow and exited.
Lena watched him, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers. She almost wished Marie would come to the palace more often, bringing Pavel with her, but then did she really wish that on Alexandra? She wondered if there weren’t some way that she might see him sooner, perhaps a task she could run between Alexandra and the dowager empress.
“What has come over you?” Masha’s voice startled Lena. Masha crinkled her lips as though she’d smelled something foul. “I thought you had a Cossack lover.”
Lena folded the paper with the English letters. She tried to make a sharp crease in the middle, but found her hand moved with difficulty.
“This is the second time I’ve seen you together now. He is no Cossack.”
“You’re making wild assumptions. You don’t even understand English.”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the changes in you over the past few months.” Strands of pale blond hair slipped out of Masha’s hat and curled down her forehead. “Everyone figures you’re in love. He’s the one?”
“Your imagination has gotten the best of you.”
“I don’t think so. I know you’re from up north in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you don’t understand what could happen if you two were caught together.”
Lena’s foot tapped the floor. Did Masha really think she knew nothing of the terrible things that happened to people because they were different? If anything, it was worse back home, where superstition governed action. She had worked hard to separate herself from that place. The last thing she needed was a silly chambermaid spreading idle rumors. “In Archangel, we have a saying about these matters.”
Masha leaned forward, her features more relaxed now. “Oh! I love country talk.”
“They say a dog should make sure its own ass is clean before it sticks its nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Lena held her breath. She had no idea whether or not Masha had her own secrets to protect, but it stood to reason. Sure enough, Masha’s cheeks puffed out in response.
“Don’t presume to guess what the empress thinks,” Lena added. “That’s blasphemy.”
Masha released the air in her cheeks. Then she burst into a fit of high laughter. She gave Lena a playful slap on the shoulder and collapsed on the chaise longue.
“I’ve underestimated you,” Masha said. “I should have known. It’s always the quiet ones. Fine. To each
his own I always say. Just be careful. Strange things happen around this place. I feel it. I wouldn’t want you to get caught in the middle.”
* * *
“He’s showing, isn’t he?” Alexandra patted her abdomen, swollen underneath a violet kimono. “It’s so wearying this time around, so different. The shifts in my mood, the way I walk. Not that I’m complaining. Quite the contrary.”
Lena nodded vaguely and tugged an ivory brush through Alexandra’s loose curls. Alexandra took another puff on her cigarette and patted her cheeks, appraising her reflection in the low electric lamplight. “I look tired. Perhaps I shouldn’t appear in public at all. But our friend Dr. Vachot thought it best I stick to a normal routine.”
Every day, Lena overheard some new and increasingly outlandish story about Phillipe Vachot. He’d made ghosts materialize or hypnotized young women so they would consent to sleep with him. Deep in her heart, she knew Pavel was correct about Vachot. She should try to convince Alexandra to dismiss him, but couldn’t quite summon the words to do so.
“You’ve always been good to me, Lenichka,” Alexandra continued. “I confess I didn’t summon you here for hairdressing. I must take you into my confidence once more.”
Lena removed a long string of silky pearls from an enameled jewelry box and strung them around Alexandra’s pale neck. She remembered Marie’s cool hands and her dark brows slanting. Do exactly as I say.
“What are people saying about me?” Alexandra asked. “And my condition?”
“Everyone rejoiced at the good news.” The flattery came easily to Lena’s lips, as it did for everyone in the royal family’s service. She smiled at Alexandra’s reflection in the long mirror. “People sense your joy. They see you’re radiant.”
Alexandra’s lips were taut, her tone smooth as ice. “I asked for the truth.”
Lena fumbled with the pearls and they fell on the vanity with a loud clatter.
“I’m sorry.” Alexandra closed her eyes and touched her forehead. “My migraines are worrying me again. I haven’t slept well. But I haven’t forgotten your help and I haven’t forgotten what you told me of your brother and his troubles.”
The Secret Daughter of the Tsar Page 12
