by Olivia Gates
The park seemed endless, nature weaved into the most delicate tapestry. Cut-stone passages wound through parterres of flowers and trimmed hedges, meeting at right or diagonal angles, with marble statues situated at each intersection, and lined with myrtle trees formed into spheres or cones and huge mosaic vases before converging on a circular pavilion.
“This is the French ‘stage’ of the park,” Maksim said. “Then in the late eighteenth century, the Russian nobility’s taste changed, explaining the zone we’ll pass through next.”
As soon as the limo left the pavilion behind, Cali saw what Maksim meant. There was a dramatic change in the park to something even more to her liking than the perfect geometry she’d just seen. An English landscape garden, an idealized version of nature, with winding paths, tunnels of greenery, picturesque groves of trees, lawns and pavilions, all with that dusting of snow, turning it into a winter wonderland.
She turned her eyes to him, awed. “This place is...breathtaking. Did you buy it for your mother when you started your steel business here?”
“No, this is where I grew up.”
Her mouth dropped open at that revelation. “This is your family estate?”
That tight shrug again, which she by now knew indicated a subject he was loath to discuss. “It’s a long story.” His tone suddenly gentled. “The estate is called Skazka, by the way.”
She repeated the word slowly. “Skazka. Fairy tale. How appropriate. This does look like the setting of one.”
“Maybe a horror tale. At least in the past.” A shadow crossed his face as he referred to the time when his father had been alive. “Now it’s just the place my mother considers home.” His eyes brightened. “But you never told me you knew any Russian. Skazka isn’t a common word, which can only mean you know more than the basics.”
She’d kept it to herself so far, had just savored understanding his spontaneous exclamations and endearments.
Feeling it was time to come clean, she attempted a grin. “I started learning it when we first...” she cleared her throat awkwardly “...started seeing each other.”
His gaze lengthened, heated, as if he was seeing a new facet to her and it sent his appetites flaring.
She expected him to try to draw a confession that she had learned Russian for him. But, as always, she couldn’t predict him.
One finger feathered her cheek in a trail of fire, his eyes also burning as they mimicked its action. “So you understood everything I’ve been saying to you.” She nodded, and an enigmatic expression entered his eyes. Then he broke contact and gestured straight ahead. “And here’s the mansion.”
She tore her gaze to the place that had been the setting for the life-altering ordeal that had put him on a path of self-destruction, causing that chain reaction that might still succeed in detonating their lives.
The massive building was imposing, majestic. Built in the architecture of a summer country house in the neoclassical style with Grecian influences, it was so huge she thought it must house dozens of rooms. Plastered planks painted in soft beiges and cream comprised the exterior facade. The columned portico had a wide ramp leading to the front door, for cars now, but it must have been for carriages with horses back in the time it had been built. She could almost see a scene from that era as a carriage arrived, with servants rushing out the front doors to hold the horses while guests descended.
As soon as the limo stopped at the front door, Maksim stepped out, and she waited as she’d learned to for him to come around and open her door for her. He covered the fast-asleep Leo securely, then carried him out in his car seat.
In a few minutes, they were walking from the biting cold into the mansion, where it was perfectly warm. Drinking in her surroundings, Cali stared up into a vestibule with a thirty-foot ceiling with walls painted to resemble marble and columns to reflect the porticos.
Without stopping, Maksim led them to a reception room with an ornate fireplace and an oven decorated in colored tiles, with the rest of the decor and furnishings displaying the artistic traditions in Russia at the time the mansion had been built. Everything looked as if had been just finished, which could only mean Maksim had had this place restored to its original condition.
And she again wondered how and why he had, when this place held nothing but horrific memories.
She shook away the speculations as Maksim led them in silence to another reception room, decorated with tapestries depicting the scenes from the parks. Between the tapestries, tall windows looked out onto the lake and gardens. And at one of those windows, with her back to them, clearly unaware of their silent entry, there she stood.
Maksim’s mother.
The woman in her late sixties was very tall, which meant she’d been even taller as a young woman, much taller than Cali. This must be where Maksim had inherited his prodigious height. Or maybe he had from both parents. Tatjana Volkova looked like a duchess from the time of the tsars, with her thick dark hair held up in a sleek, deceptively simple chignon, and her statuesque figure swathed in a flowing, cream-colored pantsuit, with exquisite lace accents at the collar and cuffs.
“Mamochka.”
Cali jumped at the word, the most loving form of mother in Russian, murmured with such fathomless tenderness in Maksim’s magnificent voice.
It had the same effect on his mother, who suddenly lurched and swung around at the same time and stood facing them for a moment of paralysis that echoed Cali’s. Then she exploded in motion.
Cali stood beside Maksim, unable to breathe as the woman streaked toward them, marveling at the fact that she was looking at the older, female version of Maksim.
Then she was in her arms, being hugged with the fervor of a mother who at last had her long-lost daughter in her arms.
Cali surrendered to the older woman’s need to express her emotions physically. She felt her hugs were fueled by a long-held belief she’d never have more than Maksim in the world, and Cali was the reason she now had more—a grandson.
When Tatjana finally withdrew, she still held her by the shoulders, her hazel eyes, a slightly darker hue of Maksim’s, shining with tears. “Caliope, my dear, thank you so much for coming to see me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m so sorry to drag you all the way here. I wanted to fly to you as soon as Maksim told me of you and Leonid, but my son insisted you’d be the ones who came to me.”
“You fear flying, Mamochka,” Maksim said. “And there was no reason to put you through that, even in my company.”
Cali nodded. “You mustn’t do anything you’re uncomfortable doing. Leo can handle flying, and it’s my pleasure to come to you.”
Tatjana only grabbed her and kissed her again, and her eyes filled more as she drew away. Then she transferred her gaze to Maksim, or more specifically, to what he was carrying: Leo.
“Bozhe moy, Maksim... On vam, kogda vy byli yego vozrasta.”
My God, Maksim... He is you, when you were his age.
Cali’s swallowed that ball of thorns lodged in her throat, tears sprouting in her eyes. The anguished joy that gripped Tatjana’s face was shearing in intensity, just like Maksim’s had been, hitting her again with the power of that same instant connection to Leo.
She knew Leo had people who loved him, all her family. But Maksim and Tatjana were the only two who would love him more than life itself, just like she did.
She touched Tatjana, running a soothing hand down her slim arm, her voice not as steady as she hoped. “Wake him up.”
“I can’t.... He looks so peaceful...like an angel.”
Cali’s lips trembled on a smile. “And he’ll be a devil if he sleeps any more. He’s been asleep most of the trip and in the car, and if he doesn’t wake up now, he won’t sleep tonight. And between you and me, I’d really rather not have his rhythm thrown out of whack. So go ahead, wake him up.”
Tatjana’s wiped away her tears. “Will you do it? I don’t want him to get startled, finding a stranger rousing him.”
Cali decided to heed Tatjana’s worry. She wanted this first meeting to go perfectly, so why risk initial discomfort?
But she had a better idea, something Tatjana would appreciate seeing far more: Maksim waking his son up.
She looked at Maksim, her request explicit in her eyes. The flare of thankfulness in his almost blinded her.
Then he put the chair on the ground, crouched to his haunches beside Leo, kissed his forehead and cheeks, then crooned to him in the most loving, soul-stirring voice, “Prosypat’sya, moy lyubimaya... Wake up, my beloved Leonid.”
Tears burned at the magnitude of love that poured from Maksim. She knew Leo basked in it, awake and asleep, thrived with it more daily, becoming progressively happier...stronger. She also loved how Maksim always talked to him in both English and Russian, making sure Leo would grow up speaking both fluently. He also urged her to speak in Greek to Leo, so their son would be raised with every facet of his heritage. Though Greek didn’t come naturally to her, since she’d lived only six years on Crete before Aristedes took them to America, she did what he asked. And Leo was already trying out words in all three languages.
Leo stirred, stretched noisily as he blinked up sleepily at his father. Maksim’s heart was in his smile as he gently caressed his son’s downy head, delight radiating out of him as Leo reached out and clung around his neck, burying his face into his chest.
She heard a sharp sob, thought it was her own. It never ceased to overwhelm her, the depth of the bond both man and son had developed in the past weeks.
But it was Tatjana who was now crying uncontrollably. Anxiety crept up Cali’s spine that Leo would see his grandmother for the first time like this, and might react to Tatjana’s tears like he had to hers when she’d once let him see them.
But Maksim didn’t seem worried as he scooped up an immediately alert Leo and approached his mother, talking to him in this soft, confidential way he reserved only for him. “I want you to meet someone who loves you as much as I do.”
She could swear Leo understood, even nodded his consent; then he transferred his attention to the weeping woman.
Cali bated her breath, her nerves tightening in expectation of Leo’s reaction. For long moments as Maksim brought him within arm’s length of Tatjana, Leo just gazed at her as her sobs increased and her tears poured thicker, his watchful eyes gleaming with curiosity, his rosebud mouth a wondrous O.
Then she whispered, “Ya mogu derzhat’ vas, moy dragotsennyye serdtsa?”
Can I hold you, my precious heart?
Leo looked at her extended arms, a considering look coming over his face. Then he swung his gaze to Maksim, then back to Tatjana, as if noticing the resemblance and realizing who Tatjana was. Then his smile broke out.
Next moment, he pitched himself from Maksim’s arms and into Tatjana’s. With a loud gasp, the older woman received him in trembling arms, hugging him fiercely, her sobs shaking him and her whole frame. But Leo only squealed in delight and hugged her back.
He’d apparently recognized that her tears weren’t ones of misery but of joy, and reacted accordingly, with the pleasure of being the center of attention and the pride of being the source of such overpowering emotions.
Cali found her tears flowing freely, too, then found herself where she yearned to be every second of every day...in Maksim’s arms, ensconced against his heart.
She looked up at him, to catch his reaction, and found him looking down at her, his eyes full.
He held her tighter to his side. “Spasiba, moya dorogoya. Thank you, for Leo...for everything.”
Her tears poured faster as she sank into his embrace, having no words to express her own gratitude—for him, for this, the family she and Leo suddenly had. And mingling with all that joy was the dread that this would only be temporary. His eyes told her no words were needed, that he understood her upheaval. Then hugging her more securely, he turned his loving gaze to his mother and child, clearly savoring those poignant moments.
She leaned against his formidable shoulder and wondered how this would end.
And when it did end, since nothing this good could possibly last, would she survive it?
Seven
Maksim sighed as he gazed out his bedroom window.
Not that it was really his, just the suite he occupied when he stayed here. The one he’d had as a child he’d turned into part of a living area his mother used for her weekly gatherings with her various public-work committees. His mother had given Caliope and Leonid the suite across from him.
He’d almost moved out when she had.
Being in constant proximity to Caliope during the day was something he could relish...and withstand. During the nights, to feel her so close, to visualize her going about her nightly routines was sheer torture.
That first night, he’d lain in bed imagining he could hear her showering, feel the steam rising to shroud her lush body, the lather sliding tantalizingly over her every swell and into her every dip, the water sluicing over her curves, washing suds away. Then he’d seen her drying her hair until it cascaded around her smooth shoulders in a glossy mass, applying lotion to her velvet flesh, slipping into a silky nightgown, sinking into bed between the covers with a sigh of pleasure. All those things he’d so many times done for her as she’d surrendered to his ministrations, as he’d pampered her, indulged her, possessed her all through that magical year. Exquisite pleasures he’d never have the privilege of having again.
He’d woken up aching, wrecked, intending to hole up somewhere on the far side of the mansion. But she’d exited her bedroom suite at that same moment, a smile of pure joy flashing at the sight of him, and he’d known. He’d put up with any level of frustration and agony for the possibility of a moment like this.
The last time he’d stayed here had been six months ago, when he’d finally succumbed to his mother’s fretting and had come visiting her. He’d tried everything to put off that visit, hating to let her see him in his condition back then.
She’d been horrified when she’d laid eyes on him, but she’d thought he was just desolate over Mikhail’s death. He’d let her think that. It had given her hope he’d eventually climb out of the abyss of despair and regain his health. He hadn’t even thought of telling her the truth.
Then a miracle had happened. He’d reached out to Caliope, and though she’d refused to let him back into her own life, to bestow her intimacy on him again, she’d let him into her precious family unit with Leo. Beyond all expectations, she had given him a closeness he’d never thought possible to have with her, or with anyone else after Mikhail.
She’d become his friend, his ally, when before she’d only been his lover. Every minute with her made him realize how much he’d been missing—with her, in life. He couldn’t help but keep envisioning how much deeper it could all be if she let him cross that final barrier into passion once more.
But he would never ask for it. What she continued to give him was enough, more than enough. The past ten weeks had been a heaven he’d never dared dream existed, or that he would ever be worthy of having anyway. He still couldn’t believe it was really happening.
But it was. He was beholding it in the gardens his suite overlooked. They were talking, laughing and reveling in being together. Caliope. Leonid. And his mother. Everything that made his heart beat, that formed his world and shaped his being.
For the past two weeks, he’d often found himself overwhelmed with so much emotion, so much gratitude, he had to force himself to breathe. Both Leonid and Caliope had taken to his mother as he could have only hoped they would. Leonid’s instant attachment had been the far less surprising one. That sensitive, brilliant baby had recognized his mother for what she was to him, and as an exte
nsion of the father he had accepted and claimed from the very first instant. But it was Caliope’s delight in his mother that sometimes threatened to crush his heart under its significance.
During one of their intimate fireside chats, she’d confided that she’d never really had a mother. Her own had been a shadow by the time Caliope was born, and had died when she’d been not yet six. Now it felt to Maksim as if in his own mother she’d found that maternal presence and influence she’d never known she’d missed, let alone craved. While it also felt his mother had found the daughter she’d lost in Caliope.
To crown the perfection, tomorrow was Leonid’s first birthday. He’d had only the last three months of that first precious year, and he ached for every minute he’d wasted, lost, not been there for Caliope and his son. But he would be there for them both from now on. Till his dying day.
Although he lived every second with them as if it would be his last, he prayed that day wouldn’t come anytime soon. Nevertheless, he’d put everything in order for all of them, just in case. And now that he had the peace of mind that Cali and Leo’s future was secure, he could focus on making plans as if he’d live forever. He now had every reason to hope he would live as long as humanly possible. He’d never felt more alive or robust. His energy levels were skyrocketing, and he continued to grow more vigorous with each passing day, as if his will to live had come into existence. Before Caliope and Leonid, he’d only had a will to survive, to decimate obstacles and reach the next level, then the next. But all that hadn’t amounted to living. Not without them filling his heart and making it all worthwhile.
He sighed again at the sight of them, let it permeate his soul with its sheer beauty and magic.
How he loved them all.
He didn’t know how long he remained standing there, hoarding yet more priceless memories, before he roused himself. He had plans for today and he’d better get going so he’d have time to see them all through.
He rushed down to the gardens, and as he approached the trio, they turned to him, eager to see him. And he wondered again how he could possibly deserve all that.
