Reaching across her, Dmitry plucked a single hot pink rose, full of bloom and rich with color, from the arrangement. A rose by any other name is just as sweet. Shakespeare rang in his ears as an idea formed in his head of how to soften the news for Royal that her plans had been abruptly changed.
Immediately, the petite maid froze, unsure if she had done something wrong to cause his attention. Was he not happy with her work? Was she dressed inappropriately? She waited for a reprimand, refusing to release even the slightest breath.
Do not draw his wrath, the woman instructed herself quietly.
All the house staff talked about Mr. Dmitry, about how powerful he was and how rich. Everyone was grateful to work for him, because he paid a good wage and only hired illegal immigrants fresh off the plane because they had not had contact with the American world yet. But few of the staff ever really had an opportunity to speak with him. When he was home, he kept to himself or spent time with his family. The guards were like hedges around him, making it impossible for him to be approached.
So, what did he want with her?
An absent smile crossed Dmitry’s full lips as his ice blue eyes landed on the maid. How interesting. She seemed like a nice young girl, even though she trembled now under his gaze, but that was normal in all of his subordinates. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, lifting the rose in his hand. He fancied normal conversations every once and awhile with his staff. It let me know he was not the monster of legends that he was so often purported.
A gasp escaped the woman. “They are very…beautiful,” she stuttered. Her eyes locked on the flower and then trailed over to the handsome giant.
He could hear his twin boys in the distance, laughing as they played hide-and-go-seek. They were bigger now, almost four years old, and very rambunctious. If they were near, so was Royal. “Is my wife still in the kitchen?” he asked.
The young woman, dressed in drab blue nurse scrubs and white clogs, blinked fast, a pregnant pause delaying her answer. “Si, in the kitchen,” she finally managed, pointing toward Royal’s direction. “Do you want me to get her for you, Mr. Dmitry?” her Bolivian accent thickened in her nervousness.
Big brown eyes peered up at her grand seigneur in amazement. She had been working for the Medlov family for nearly six months, literally since the day she arrived in the states, and no one outside of the staff and security had spoken to her accept Mistress Royal. But now, she was face-to-face with the master of the house and found it to be extremely intimidating.
“No, you don’t have to do that. I just don’t want to hike all over this monstrosity of a house to find her,” Dmitry explained with ease. He lifted the rose to his nose and smelled it. “I think I’ll give one these pretty things to my wife. Do you think it’s the same as going to a store to get one or having them delivered?” He shifted his stance and dropped his shoulders. “You know, does it have the same effect for a woman?”
The maid shrugged. Was he really asking her advice? “Yes, sir. I think so.” There was not much more she could say, considering she had never had a man to bring her flowers before. “It’s always the thought that counts.”
“Are you really stopping to smell the roses?” A voice asked from a few feet behind him.
Dmitry turned around to face his son, Anil. “No time like the present,” he answered, glad that the boy had heeded his command and come straight home.
“What’s going on?” Anil asked, backpack hanging off the side of his right arm.
Dmitry could hear the patter of little feet behind him. The maid quickly removed herself from their presence, happy to be relieved of a conversation with her boss. He sucked on his teeth and motioned for Anil to join him. “Let’s go over to the media room. I’ve been in the study all day. I think I’m going stir crazy.”
Anil scrubbed his fingernails over his chin. Something was amiss. Narrowing his gaze on his father, he followed him across the large marble foyer toward the media room quietly. He knew his father well now. If he wanted to have a private audience with him alone, then whatever was going on was about him personally.
“Is it bad news?” Anil asked as Dmitry made his way to the sofa. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to sit if it was.
“It’s about your mother,” Dmitry explained. He pushed back on the seat and waited for Anil. It was never easy to tell a man that someone he loved was going to die but telling his own son of Sanaa’s impending doom nearly took the breath from him. He could feel his chest constrict and butterflies erupt as Anil drew closer.
“I just saw her this morning before I went to class. The doctor said there was nothing new to report.” Anil’s hostility began to rise even before his father could speak.
“That was this morning,” Dmitry said, following Anil with his gaze until he came to sit beside him. When Anil finally sat down, Dmitry laced his fingers together and propped his arms up on his knees. “Tonight, she took a turn for the worst.”
“How can that be?” Anil asked, blue eyes darting across the room.
It was too painful to look directly at his father, too painful to accept. Sure, he knew this day would come, but he had run from it like a scared little boy. Even though his father had insisted on him seeing a psychologist since he arrived in Memphis to deal with his mother’s cancer, he still denied that he would lose her – not really. His mother wasn’t like other women. She had been invincible once – a truly courageous woman full of life and that’s the way he wanted to remember her, not like this. Now, there was no place to run and no way to hide.
“Is she gone?” Anil asked, voice breaking. There were a few times tonight during class when he felt his stomach tighten and nausea overtake him, but until now, he didn’t understand why. It was the bonds of their earthly relationship breaking as she prepared to transcend to a higher plane.
Dmitry pulled his son out of deep thought, glad to give some good news. “No, she’s not dead, but she’s in a great deal of pain. If she makes it through the night, then we really need to consider other measures tomorrow.” He had gone through this before, when he stood by his late wife Catherine, during her last days. He knew the despair that wrangled at a man’s soul at the idea of being so helpless, but this was a journey that many people had to take. And until someone found the cure for cancer, many more would be forced to take it.
Anil bit down on his lip and frowned. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to repress the need to sob. “What if she’s better tomorrow?”
“Then we are blessed,” Dmitry said with a nod. It was his job as the boy’s father to teach him to be strong, to face things head on. To give him false hope at this point would do no one a service. “But if she is not better tomorrow, the doctor thinks it best for us to say our goodbyes and allow her to go to rest.” He laid his large hand on his son’s leg. “It will be time to pull the plug.”
Anil popped up from the sofa. Shaking his head profusely, he cursed under his breath. “Damn it.” A tear dropped from his eye and dangled on his long lashes. “Why…how did it turn so bad?” Just this morning the doctor had spoken of how well she was doing and for just a moment, he had hope. “Someone had to have done something. Something had to have happened.”
It was normal to look for someone to blame, but Dmitry had only himself. “I can’t give you that answer. But I want you to know that we’re here for you. I’ve sent from your brother and cousin. They are on the way home. I was hoping we could all have dinner tonight as a family and prepare for tomorrow.” Dmitry stood up from the sofa but did not go to his son. Space was a good thing, especially times like this. “We want to be there for you, Anil. Will you allow us to be?” He wanted his son to understand that it was his choice. Nothing would be pushed on him under the guise of keeping his best interests at heart.
Anil turned and looked at the man who had become more than just his father over the short time that they had gotten to know each other. “I really think that I need you to be there. I can’t do this on my own.”
; Anya watched her mother as she toiled over bundles of fresh vegetables on the kitchen island with severe resignation. Everyone always treated her like she was a baby, never telling her what was going on in the house. Now her mother was acting like all was right as rain in the world, as her beloved Davyd used to say, even though since that mysterious call earlier that night, Royal seemed extremely distracted, which was normally an earmark of a disaster unearthing itself in the Medlov household.
However, over the years, the young girl had learned to extract information out of her overprotective parents by covertly inserting herself into consciousness by seeming clueless.
Trailing her gaze back to her iPad adorned with a pink silicon cover, Anya shifted on her barstool and chomped down on a piece of broccoli rationed out to her in lieu of a chocolatey snack.
Anya’s soft, sweet voice permeated the air as she spoke. “I want to be just like Meghan Markle when I grow up. I want to marry a real prince and have a huge wedding with the world watching on, and I want a white dress designed by Vera Wang with diamonds and crystals in my veil and glass slippers like Cinderella.”
Royal listened to her daughter, imagining the image of her child as a woman, with an equal mix of pride and sadness. If she could keep her daughter innocent and childlike forever, it wouldn’t be long enough, especially since she had seen first-hand what this cruel place was capable of.
“You are already a princess. Whomever you marry will be a prince, but it takes a real man to be a true king. You have to love him for more than his title,” Royal said, chopping cilantro on her large wooden cutting board. She glanced over at her daughter with a smile. “You really like Meghan, huh?”
Anya had been ensnared by all the media coverage of the untraditional royal couple, mostly because Meghan Markle was also multiracial. Seeing an American girl who had captured the world with her incredible smile and her brilliant intelligence had made the young girl realize her own capabilities.
“I love Meghan,” Anya said with bright eyes. An idea hit her. “Do you think I could meet her?” She put her tablet down and glared at her mother. “If I could meet her, then I would be the happiest girl in the world.”
Royal smiled at her cunning child. “You never know.” She had learned long ago never to promise Anya anything she couldn’t deliver, but now she would most certainly try her hardest to make the little girl’s dream come true. After all, it was very rare that Anya asked her mother for big favors. That was normally reserved for Dmitry.
“You and Daddy can do anything,” Anya pushed. She raised up on her chair and leaned on the island. “No one says no to Daddy.”
Royal felt her left eye twitch. As hard as she had tried, she still had not managed to have as much influence over her daughter as Dmitry had. It was his charm, no doubt. He had entranced Anya long ago. She was a daddy’s girl, completely devoted to her gentle giant, as was many who met him. But Royal wanted the same devotion, and normally she was able to derive it from all her children when they were infants. Unfortunately, none of her three children were arm babies anymore. Anya was in the throes of pre-adolescence and Maxim and Konstantin were busy battling each other for pre-school domination.
“Daddy isn’t the only one who can make things happen,” Royal said with a raised brow. A flash of all the things she had managed to accomplish pushed to the front of her mind begging to be touted, but she wouldn’t be boastful. This was a new challenge Anya was putting in front of her, something that would shift a bit of power in the family structure.
“So…you can do it?” Anya asked, eyes widening at the thought of meeting her idol in real life. Her friends would just die of envy.
“Like I said, I will try,” Royal said, determined to make her daughter’s dream come true.
They had woken up early on May 21st to watch the wedding when it started. With a full breakfast and adorning tiaras of their own, Royal and Anya sat in the media room, huddled up on the sofa in front of the television for hours, dissecting each piece of the royal ceremony. That day had been one of the best for Royal. She felt that she and her daughter had bonded beyond the riches of their lives. And since that day, Anya had been living on cloud nine.
“Oh, Mommy, if you could do that, I would just die,” Anya said, pushing back in her chair and averting her eyes to the ceiling.
Royal laughed. “I don’t want you to die now.” Putting her vegetables in large porcelain bowl, she glanced up to see they were not alone.
Dmitry lingered in the doorway watching both Medlov women with noble pride. A grin tugged at his lips as he noted in his mind to exert all his influence to ensure his daughter a private audience with Her Highness, but his true thoughts were with his wife.
“Hey,” Royal said, resting her slender hands on the island when she noticed that she and Anya were not alone. “Dinner will be ready in just a little bit. Want a snack until I’m done?”
Dmitry stepped into the kitchen and inclined his head. “Well, the boys will be back from their meetings in a few hours. I was hoping we could all have dinner together…for Anil.” He shrugged, refusing to elaborate in front of Anya. She had grown very close to her brother and knew intimately the struggles he faced with his dying mother. Still, he didn’t have the strength to tell her tonight about his loss.
“Is it Anil’s birthday?” Anya asked, whirling around in her chair to glance up to her father for an answer. She could hear something in his voice, the same trouble that had been in her mother’s voice.
“It is not his birthday,” Dmitry answered, crossing the room to his precious daughter. After the day he had, nothing felt better than to be with the two women in the world who meant the most to him. “But everyone deserves a special night. Tonight, Anil gets his.” He bent and kissed the crown of her head. She smelled of innocence and strawberries. God, if anyone ever tried to hurt her again…
“Dinner for everyone?” Royal frowned, chewing her bottom lip and tapping the countertop. That was not what she had planned.
“Is that okay?” Dmitry asked her as he picked his daughter up in his arms like she was still a little baby. Cupping her bottom just above the curve of his massive arm, he bounced Anya. She was light as a feather, even though she threatened to grow into a young woman one day.
Royal huffed audibly but did not protest. “Yeah. Sure. I can arrange it.” It was not worth mentioning that she had been working on dinner for hours. If her husband wanted to expand their dinner plans from five people to 23, she would not deny him.
Dmitry could smell the food cooking in the ovens and was sure without asking that his request had inconvenienced her in some way. Extending his hand, he offered the rose in his hand to Royal for her affability.
“Thank you,” he said as she took the rose with a modicum of appreciation. “Isn’t Mommy the best Mommy in the world?” Dmitry asked Anya, hoping to get in his wife’s good graces.
Anya grinned and kissed her father on the cheek, following the conversation better than either of them knew. However, she was happy to play the part. “Oh, she is, Daddy,” the girl proclaimed with sincerity. “The very best.” While her father would always be the apple of her eye, her mother would always be Super Woman. To make her happy, she put on a good show like a good little girl even though her thoughts were focused on why Anil needed a dinner. Had he done something? Was he going somewhere?
Royal put the rose to her nose and smelled its fragrance. How could she say no? If Anil was coming home, a family dinner might help his spirits. And the needs of the many came before the needs of the few. Looking back at her stoves, she twisted up her glossy lips. “I’ll call in the staff, and they can prepare a full dinner for everyone.”
Quietly and without being told to, Marat, who was still sitting quietly in the corner watching television, excused himself to go and get the head chef with directions to start a full dinner for the evening.
Royal watched her guard leave and then turned her attention back to her husband with a distant smile. Black lashes
swept down toward her high cheeks. His brutal handsomeness was hard to battle, especially when he came bearing gifts.
Dmitry knew that he was a powerful man, but there was one person who had more power than him, even if the world did not know it – Royal Medlov. His queen, his partner, his soulmate. She had made a believer out of him. But for years, she had always put her own interests behind her family, and for that, he had loved her more than any other person in the world, possibly even more than their children. She could have protested, could have made him feel bad for all the work she had put into their dinner, but instead, she had been virtuous, yet again.
“Your name fits you, you know,” Dmitry said to Royal as he sat Anya back on her chair. It wasn’t his daughter he wanted to be close to now.
“Really?” Royal asked, walking over to the baker’s rack to retrieve a bottle of wine to self-medicate her inner irritation.
He walked over to the kitchen drawers and pulled out a cork screw. Taking the bottle from her, he opened it and passed the bottle of Chardonnay to her. “Yes, really. You are a queen.”
“You’ll say anything to get what you want,” Royal chided with a hint of sensuality in her impish grin.
“Only with you, my dear. I’ll say anything that you want,” Dmitry whispered as he nudged her chin up and bent to kiss her lips.
He lingered there for a moment, enjoying the lushness of their splendor. Royal grazed a finger over his barely-there five-o’clock shadow as she kissed him back, lust burning across her nerve endings as she caressed his well-defined chin. There was no doubt that there was a secret bond between them. It had been hours since he had felt her enchanting straddle, but he knew before the night’s end, he would have her at least once again.
Dmitry's Redemption: Book One (The Medlov Men 7) Page 7
