by Olivia Gates
“What exactly did you tell them?”
“The truth, but I requested their discretion until we made a public announcement. But they were already falling over themselves to adjust their plans to accommodate your needs. I just told them you needed their response ASAP for your peace of mind before our trip and subsequent major events. All I did was make them call you sooner with their acceptance.”
When she could only gape at him in disbelief, his lips crooked with what very dangerously resembled indulgent pride.
“I already knew how respected and valued you are, but today I discovered your popularity is phenomenal. You’ve built such a massive reserve of goodwill, such need for your name, products and collaboration, everyone said and proved they’d do whatever they had to for the opportunity to keep on working with you.”
Finding this revelation too much to accept, she shook her head. “They must have hoped it would be a big favor to you. Who wouldn’t want to be in your good graces?”
His pout was all gentle chastisement. “You don’t know your own influence on people at all, do you?”
I used to have a pretty good idea. Until you pulverized my belief in my own judgment and my self-esteem.
But it wasn’t time now, or ever, to voice that grievance.
“Even if some were willing to accommodate me, you have to be exaggerating such a sweeping response. It had to be your influence. They must have calculated that a point with you would appreciate astronomically. No advantage gained by rejecting my request would be worth being in your bad books.”
Without saying anything further, he got out his phone, dialed a number. In seconds, the line opened.
“Signor Bernatelli...” He paused for a second as an exclamation carried to her ears from the other side.
Sergio Bernatelli, the top Italian designer she was collaborating with in her biggest project to date, had recognized his voice, or saved his number. Probably both.
“...yes, it’s indeed fortunate to be talking to you again. Yes, we are on our way to Zorya.” Another pause as the man bubbled over on the other side. “That would be totally up to Kassandra. Why don’t you ask her? And can you please also repeat to her what you said to me when I called you earlier? Thank you, Signor Bernatelli, and look for our invitation to the coronation in the mail in a couple of weeks.”
After she numbly took the phone from him, she barely got a hello in before the flamboyant man submerged her in his excitement about her upgrade to royal status, and his hopes she would consider him for a creation designed for her to wear to the coronation, or any royal function at all. Before she could express her gratitude for such a gift—though it would mean huge publicity for him—he repeated everything Leonid had told her, in his far more over-the-top language, which he usually reserved for blistering complaints and demolishing critique.
After she ended the call, she kept staring at Leonid, tingling with the incredible praise Bernatelli had lavished on her. Not only where it pertained to him and his design empire, but to the whole field.
“I trust you believe me now?” Leonid smiled expectantly.
She started to nod, but stopped. “Maybe not. Maybe knowing I’d ask, you put him up to this so he’d back your story.”
Incredulity widened his eyes. “Following that reasoning, shouldn’t I have picked an accomplice you’d be more inclined to believe would have such a glowing opinion of you? Why pick that cantankerous scrooge when praises from him would be the most suspicious?”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you chose him, because it would have been too obvious to pick someone agreeable, and such a famed grouch’s vote would carry more weight and credibility.”
Leonid threw his hands up in the air, “Bozhe moy, Kassandra! That’s too convoluted for even me. My brain is now starting to ache trying to contort around that pretzeled piece of logic.”
She opened her mouth to confront him with another suspicion, but closed it. That was real bewilderment in his eyes. Worse, the levity that had been present all day, that she’d delighted in in spite of herself, was gone. She’d weirded him out because of her attack of dogged insecurity.
At her prolonged silence, he exhaled. “Did you only run out of arguments, but still believe in my deceit?”
Grimacing at how unreasonable she must have sounded, she sighed. “No, I believe you. But even if your calls only made a difference in timing, that’s still a big thing. I would have been beside myself with worry if we left without hearing back from them. And because of your calls I learned something I wouldn’t have on my own. People find it hard to say their opinions to someone’s face, even if it’s glowing praise. Or especially when it is. It’s good to know I’m in such universal favor.”
A relieved smile dawned on his heartbreakingly handsome face. “Which isn’t a favor at all, but your due.” He sat up, eagerness entering his pose. “And now that you realize your power, I’ll counsel you on how to exercise it more effectively, to your benefit and that of the whole industry.”
Her first instinct was to decline his offer. Then her mind did a one-eighty.
Why refuse? What made more sense than for her to accept the advantages of his invaluable insight and enormous experience, when it would be for everyone’s benefit?
Suddenly, what she’d thought would never come to pass happened. She exchanged a smile with him, devoid of tension and shadows. Then the door to the bedroom opened.
Tousled and half-asleep on her feet, Despina stood in the door, carrying a very awake Eva and Zoya.
Leonid pushed to his feet before she could, his delight at seeing the girls blatant and unreserved. Their equal glee at finding him again manifested in excited shrieks as both of them flung themselves into his open arms.
Resigned that she was the old news they’d forgo until Leonid’s novelty wore off, Kassandra sighed. “Sorry, Kyria Despina. I really thought they’d sleep through the night since they haven’t woken up the past few days. Wonder if they’re back to their habit, or if it’s only today’s different pattern and strange cribs that roused them.”
“Why do you think they wake up?” Leonid asked.
“They seemed to hate letting go of all the fun they were having before they sleep, wanting a few more hugs or another song or anything they were enjoying before they turned off.”
Squeezing the girls tighter into his chest until their squeals became piercing, he laughed...laughed. “And there’s plenty more of all of those things for moy zvezdochky.”
His starlets. This was his favorite endearment for them already. His morning and evening stars.
He used to have endearments for her, too. Mostly while in the throes of pleasure. Moya dorogaya krasavista...moya zolotoya krasota... My beautiful darling...my golden beauty.
She would never hear them from him again.
Now all his attention was diverted to the girls, and he looked as if he’d been given an unexpected second chance at something irreplaceable. Then he grimaced, turning his gaze to Despina.
“Kyria Despina, please go back to sleep. We’ll keep them with us if they fall asleep again, so as not to disturb you.”
Shaking off her dimming mood, Kassandra had to intervene. “Uh, I actually never let them wake up to find themselves outside their cribs. They’re notorious for picking up bad habits once I break a pattern and it’s a struggle going back to any sort of order.”
Nodding his deference to her decree at once, he strode toward Despina. “Let me take you to another bedroom. I’m sorry to move you, but from now on your sleep will be uninterrupted when the twins wake up at night.”
Despina rushed beside him, assuring him she didn’t mind at all, her cheeks flushed by the pleasure of having a royal god like Leonid fussing over her.
Within moments, Leonid marched back with the girls, one straddling his shoulders, the other his waist.
They babbled as he cooed to them. “Papa” was repeated profusely as both swamped him in hugs and kisses, with him looking utterly blissful as he reciprocated.
They looked agonizingly beautiful together.
But that agony dissipated as they joined her, and she was infected by their gaiety and pleasure at being together.
An hour later, long after they should have gone back to sleep, as they all sat playing in the sandbox that had been ingeniously hidden until Leonid had unveiled it, the toddlers started gnawing their fists and drooling.
Concern coated Leonid’s magnificent face as they both rushed to clean the twins’ hands, even if what passed for sand was totally safe. He looked at her. “They’re in the molar eruption phase now, right?”
She was impressed. “Give the new daddy a star. You’ve done your homework, I see.”
“Of course. But since they didn’t display any of the usual signs of teething before, I almost forgot about it.”
“Well, health-wise, the girls have been a dream. Even teething has been progressing without signs of discomfort.”
“But they’re almost gnawing their little hands off and drooling up a storm!”
She chuckled at his growing agitation, content to be the wise, experienced parent who kept a cool head. “Don’t ask me why, but it’s their current method of letting me know they’re hungry. No, let me correct that. Starving.”
His eyes lit up in relief. “Of course they are. I thought they ate so much less than usual during their dinner.”
“They were too excited with all the preparations to eat.”
“And it turned out to be the best thing they did. So they’d wake up and play with their papa, and let him feed them their first Zoryan meal. I’m ordering you a feast!”
His enthusiasm widened her grin as he reached for the panel in his chair. He’d explained he’d given that jet to Zorya, not the other way around, to be the monarch’s jet, long before he knew it would be him.
Though she’d thought she wasn’t hungry, by the time he opened the door to waiters holding trays high, her stomach rumbled. Loudly. The food aromas were distressingly delicious, and even the fussy girls were smacking their lips.
Grinning at their demonstration of hunger, he rose, held his hand down to her. She took it, but along with her own upward momentum, she ended up falling against him. For a moment, it felt as if a thousand-volt lash had flayed her where their bodies touched, from chest to hip.
It was he who pulled back first, almost anxiously, his eyes once more unfathomable. The moment passed as the girls scampered around, pulling at them to get on with feeding them.
Getting back into the flow of talking with Eva and Zoya with their system of English, Zoryan Russian and baby talk, he led them behind the screen she’d noticed before. Turned out there was a full dining area there, with gold-and-black silk-upholstered chairs. In the center stood an elaborate table decorated with Zorya’s magnificently rendered and detailed emblem of the two goddesses.
As they sat down, Leonid explained to the girls that they were like those two goddesses, night and day twins. Zorya would consider them the symbol of its rebirth, just like the goddesses were responsible for its original birth. He enlisted Kassandra’s help in simplifying the concept, and it all turned into a game as the girls caught on to the resemblance and imitated the goddesses’ poses.
The food, which Leonid explained in detail, was beyond delicious. Even the usually picky girls devoured anything Leonid offered them. Kassandra insisted it had more to do with him doing the offering than the tastiness of the food itself.
Midmeal, the girls asked to sit in the place of the goddesses in the emblem. Getting her okay, Leonid improvised a new game, placing plates on the symbols surrounding the goddesses, offering them all forkfuls, and making Eva and Zoya laugh all the harder each time he theatrically dipped a fork in a plate and zoomed it toward a wide-open mouth, sometimes even Kassandra’s.
She kept wondering how this had become the last thing she’d expected it to be—a delightful family trip. His new approachability and the girls’ enthusiasm and spontaneity had dissolved the artifice and distance the past had imposed on them, revealing Leonid as he was now. He’d told the truth. He was no longer the man she’d loved, but far better, warmer, endlessly patient and accommodating, the perfect companion and the best father-in-training she could have imagined.
After they finished eating and the waiters had removed all signs of their meal, Leonid got the girls off the table and clapped. “How about some Zoryan music, moy zvezdochky?”
As if they understood, and maybe they truly did, the girls yelled in agreement. Once Leonid had the infectiously joyous music filling their cocoon of luxury, he started teaching the girls the steps of a Zoryan folk dance. Noticing how hard it was for him to execute even those simple steps, she studied them quickly and took over teaching them as best she could. Soon they were all dancing with Leonid watching them, keeping the tempo with powerful claps, singing along, his rich bass deepening the spell.
Whenever one song ended and another started, Leonid would urge them on. “Tantsevat’, moy prekrasnyye damy. Dance!”
This time, he’d included her when he’d said “my beautiful ladies.” At least she thought he’d included her.
But why should she doubt it? The whole day he’d gone above and beyond doting on both the girls and her. He’d given her the gift of showing her how important she was to her colleagues in her field. He’d been exemplary in recognizing her superior knowledge of the girls, had showed them in no uncertain terms that, though he was their papa who would do anything for them, it was mama who was the boss. He’d been plain magnificent to her.
When she said no more, he invited her down on the carpeted floor. They sat with their backs to the couch, with the girls climbing on and off them, bringing them toys and asking them to name them in their respective languages. Then she and Leonid quizzed them. To all their excitement, the girls remembered almost everything and said the words as accurately as possible in the three languages.
The games continued for hours. Then the girls suddenly lay down across his and her side-by-side bodies, making a bridge between them with theirs, and promptly fell asleep.
They remained sitting like this, sharing the connection their daughters had spontaneously created between them in serene silence for what could have been another hour, alternating caressing the girls’ silky heads.
Suddenly, his black-velvet voice spread over her like a caress. “Oni ideal’ny.”
She nodded, heart swelling with sudden, overwhelming gratitude. For them. And for him. “Yes. They are perfect.” At length, she added, “Let’s put them to bed.”
Without objection, even when she could see he wanted to savor them for far longer, he gathered one girl after the other and rose with them in his arms.
On the way to their bedroom, she had to voice her wonder. “You’ll have to show me how you keep them stuck to you like this when they’re asleep. Either you’re a literal babe magnet, or you three share some Voronov Vacuum quality.”
A surprised huff of mirth escaped him before he suppressed it. Then he seemed to remember nothing could disturb them, and let it all out.
As they went back to the lounge, he was still chuckling as he put on a different kind of music, still Zoryan, but perfect for setting a soothing mood.
Sitting down on the couch, he suddenly guffawed again. “Voronov Vacuum. I should patent this.”
She grinned her pleasure at his appreciation of her quip. “You should. That brand name is just meant to be.”
He sighed, still smiling. “I wanted to ask you to let them sleep like that between us, as if laying claim to both of us. You know I lost my parents when I was not much older than they are, was raised by indulgent relatives. What you don’t know is that I struggled to cultivate the discipline my
parents would have instilled in me, had they lived. So I know how important it is to have structure in one’s life, and I truly admire your ability to provide and maintain it. I will happily follow your lead and reinforce your methods.” He signed even more exaggeratedly. “Even if the new papa in me wants to mindlessly indulge them to thorough and decadent rottenness.”
She chuckled at his mock-mournful complaint. “You have a lifetime to indulge them, and discipline them, and the rest of the roller coaster of unimaginable ups and downs of parenthood to look forward to. Pace yourself. I’m trying to.”
His eyes glittered with such poignancy, as if it was the first time he dared to let himself look forward that far. “I do have a lifetime, don’t I? I am their father forever.”
Throat sealing with emotion, she nodded. “If you want to be.”
His azure eyes flared with such elation and entreaty.
Then he only said a hoarse “Please.”
The word rolled through her every cell like thunder. And everything inside her snapped.
Then she was pressing all she could of herself into what she could of him, lips blindly seeking every part of him she’d starved for, all her suppressed longing bursting out in a reiteration so ragged it was a prayer.
“Yes, Leonid, yes, please...please...”
Seven
Among the cacophony of her thundering heart and strident breathing, Kassandra heard a piece of music ending and a more evocative one starting. And she was pleading. Pleading. Pleading. For what, she didn’t know.
But she did know. She was pleading for him. For them. For an explanation. A reconnection. A resurrection.
Just touching him again felt like coming back to life. If only he’d touch her back.
But he had frozen from the moment she’d obliterated the distance between them, had done what she’d been suffocating for since that moment she’d seen his crumpled car in the news. To touch him, feel him, reassure herself he was here and whole, that she hadn’t lost him.
But she had lost him. He’d imposed his loss on her. But she now realized that through all the pain, there had remained the consolation that he still existed, that she hadn’t lost him that way. In the depths of her soul, hidden from her pain and pride, there had always been the hope that maybe, one day, this meant she could have him back.
