by Amy Sumida
I stared at the rounded face and the thick, wavy hair around it. Statues don't portray a person as accurately as a painting, but I got a sense of discipline and determination from his metal expression. Peter the First looked like a hard man and that seemed impossible after knowing and loving Kirill. Could the son be so very different from the father? I suppose it happens all the time.
“He has poop on his face,” Lesya said in that open way children have.
Kirill burst into laughter. “So he does.” He scooped her up one-armed and carried her in the crook of his elbow. “A bird has used him for perch recently, I zink. If only it had happened vhile he lived. I vould have enjoyed zat very much.”
“Daddy!” Lesya giggled.
“Okay, ve go to hotel now,” Kirill declared. “Zen ve see rest of city. Ve only have one day here.”
“One day?” I asked in surprise.
“I vant to show you both city, but... I vant to see Latvia more. Ve can come back later if you like.”
“Okay. Hey, what's this building?” I pointed at the structure. Now that we were strolling back through the park, toward a busy street, it stood to our left.
Kirill glanced over at the imposing mass with its central spire. “Admiralty. Used to be headquarters for Navy. Our hotel is right across street.”
He motioned forward as we made it to the sidewalk, and I looked up at a palace.
“That's pretty!” Lesya exclaimed.
“It is.” I glanced at Kirill. “That's a hotel?”
“Four Seasons Lion Palace.” Kirill grinned mischievously.
“It's our palace?” Lesya asked.
“No way,” I declared in an amazed tone.
“I swear,” Kirill insisted. “But no, Lesya, it's not our lion palace. Zat's just its name. See lions?”
A pair of stone lions did indeed guard the steps that led up to the hotel. Set on plinths, they snarled over our heads at each other, each one with a forepaw set possessively on a stone ball, looking for all the world as if they were warning each other away from their toys.
“Yep, that's an accurate portrayal,” I muttered.
Behind the stone beasts, the butter-yellow walls of the hotel were highlighted by white, elaborate trim. Peaked crowns perched over the tall, thin windows, and—above the arched entry; seven arches to be exact—a colonnaded terrace went up two stories. Flags flapped in the breeze in the space between the first floor and the terrace as we went through an arch beneath them and into the hotel.
“Whoa,” Lesya whispered as we walked through a marble foyer with a long, curving ceiling adorned with detailed plasterwork that had been gilded nearly everywhere it could be gilded.
“Good, keep up that quiet tone while we're inside,” I said to her.
Lesya turned huge, blue eyes to me and nodded.
“You check-in?” A man in uniform asked us politely with a stilted, Russian accent.
Kirill rattled something off in Russian, and the man grinned and spoke back with visible relief, gesturing off to his right. Kirill thanked him, and we headed in that direction.
The grandeur kept coming. We passed cavernous sitting rooms, all done up in luxurious furnishings, and thick carpets covered the inlaid marble floors below us. Some rooms had skylights to brighten them but most were well lit by the tall windows and crystal chandeliers. Along the way to the front desk, we were greeted several more times and one man even took our bags for us, setting them on a cart to roll along beside us.
The hotel clerk greeted us in Russian, and Kirill kept it going. All I understood was “Kirill Alexeyevich.” Lesya, who'd been learning Russian from her father, said hello to the lady, and she replied in a cheery voice before greeting me. I smiled politely and shook my head as Kirill answered on my behalf.
“Oh, a multi-ethnic family,” the woman said in perfect English. “How lovely.”
“You have no idea how multi-ethnic we are.” I chuckled both at her term and how accurate it was.
She blinked but smiled through her confusion.
“My vife is American,” Kirill explained in a tone of voice that was almost apologetic.
“Ah.” The woman nodded, accepting the apology.
I grimaced at them both.
“My grandpa has a statue,” Lesya told the woman.
I widened my eyes at Lesya in horror.
“We just showed her Bronze Horseman,” Kirill said smoothly to the woman. “It reminds her of a statue her grandfather has in his garden.”
“Your grandpa must have a very big garden,” the clerk said sweetly.
Lesya just frowned at her then at her father. Kirill shook his head at Lesya subtly but, of course, she didn't get it. Subtlety and children rarely blend well.
“Let's wait over here while Daddy finishes checking us in,” I said as I scooped up Lesya and carried her to a sitting area before she could say anything else. I set her down on a chair and bent over her to whisper, “Remember what I told you about humans?”
“They don't know about us,” she replied solemnly.
“That's right. So, you can't tell them things like your grandfather being a Russian Tsar who died hundreds of years ago. That won't make sense to them. They'll think you're looney tunes.”
“Okay, Mommy.” She giggled at my use of looney tunes.
“Don't talk about anything magical in front of them, okay?”
“I said okay,” she huffed and crossed her arms.
“Do not give me attitude, cub,” I growled.
“Okay,” she whispered in a better tone and dropped her arms.
“Thank you.”
“Ready to see our rooms?” Kirill asked as he joined us.
“So very ready,” I said.
“Yay!” Lesya leapt up and shouted.
“Shh,” I hushed her as the hotel guests, all of them looking as if they owned small countries, gave us the long blinks of those who don't have to deal with children, even if they have their own.
“Yay!” Lesya repeated in a whisper.
“You can speak louder once ve are in room,” Kirill promised as he took her tiny, gloved hand in his.
Kirill looked over his shoulder at the bellboy and nodded.
“Vant to ride on cart?” The man asked Lesya.
“Yes, please!” Then she looked up at me.
I nodded indulgently and sent the bellboy a grateful look.
He picked her up and stood her on an open space. “Okay. Here ve go!”
The man pushed the cart forward, my daughter clinging to a brass pole and grinning as if she were on a carnival ride. Kirill and I nodded at each other. Yep, that smart man was getting a big tip.
Chapter Six
“Mommy, can I have a bed like this?”
Lesya had run through the entire suite; including the opulent sitting room, the balcony that overlooked an inner courtyard, the marble bathroom with its free-standing soaking tub, and, finally, the two bedrooms. She now stood at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom, staring up at the crown-shaped teester on the wall. Lengths of pale blue silk draped from it to fall behind the bed. A bed covered in more blue silk and pillows. Fit for a Russian princess or maybe a lion princess.
“I think I can manage that.” I tapped Lesya on her nose then took out my phone and snapped a pic. “Maybe in lavender.”
“My favorite color!” Lesya jumped up and down and clapped her hands.
“But only if you behave yourself on this trip,” I added in the devious manner that we parents employ to keep our kids in line. Bribery; it works every time.
Lesya grinned up at me as if she'd intended all along to be a perfect angel. Except the grin was wide enough to show the tips of her tiny, lion fangs. Nope, not even close to angelic.
“I mean it, Lesya,” I said sternly. “Disobey me or act out, and no princess bed for you.”
“Okay, Mommy,” she said solemnly.
“Good girl.” Kirill scooped her up. “Now, let's go have an adventure!”
�
��Yay!” Lesya shrieked.
We went back downstairs—now luggage free—and out to the road then turned a corner and started walking down Nevsky Avenue. Kirill put Lesya down but we held her hands, keeping her between us and preventing her from running off. I could feel the tension through her gloves; she definitely wanted to run.
“So, where are we going, tour guide?” I asked my husband as my daughter swung our hands gleefully; she had to do something with that energy.
“I haven't been here for many years but I did some research on Internet. Zere are several museums if you'd like to see art and many beautiful places to visit. I mainly vant to see how city has changed.” He waved his arm up at the buildings around us. “Ven I vas child, none of zis vas here. Ve lived in cabin for many years while city vas built.”
“A cabin like Uncle Trevor's?” Lesya asked innocently.
“Nyet.” Kirill looked down at her and smiled. “Our cabin had only bedroom, living room, and office for my father. Zat's all. Very small.”
“How many of you lived in this tiny cabin?” I asked.
“My parents, my two sisters, and me.”
“Wow.” I blinked. “I thought homes in Hawaii were crowded.”
Kirill shrugged. “Ve spent most time outside. My father liked to boast of how he lived as common man.”
“Boast about living simply.” I laughed. “Interesting tactic.”
“It endeared him to his soldiers.”
There was a look on Kirill's face that I didn't like. One I used to see when he spoke about Niyarvirezi, the first Lion Goddess of the Intare. It sent a chill down my spine, and I stared at him with troubled eyes. He looked away, troubling me even further.
“Kirill,” I whispered.
“Not now, Tima,” he whispered back then looked pointedly at our daughter.
A woman's pleading voice interrupted us before I could say anymore, and we stopped, looking left toward a couple in the midst of an argument. The man wore a uniform and a sympathetic expression while he tried to dislodge himself from the clinging woman. She cried and begged him. People gave them a wide berth and averted their eyes as they passed by. I frowned then peered up at the building behind them. The only word that made any sense to me was “Politsii.” That made the guy a police officer. Okay, so the woman wasn't in danger and this wasn't our business. I'd learned early on that I had to fight the bigger battles and leave the smaller ones to humans.
Kirill and I led Lesya around them, but Kirill kept turning back, a frown creasing his brow.
We went several feet before I asked, “What was that about?”
Kirill glanced down at Lesya again before answering, “Voman's sister is missing. She zinks her brother-in-law...” another glance at Lesya “had something to do vith it.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “How horrible.”
“Why doesn't she get her husbands to look for her sister?” Lesya asked. “Don't they know how to track?”
Kirill and I gaped down at Lesya with matching expressions of shock that had nothing to do with the fact that Lesya assumed all parents know how to track. Although, that was amusing. No, it was more the other bit; the one about husbands. And we shouldn't have been shocked. Children believe what you tell them and they think life is what you show them it is. Parents are responsible for building the foundation of their children's world-perception. We have the power of making it wondrous or terrifying and of making them believe that whatever we present to them is the norm. Lesya had been raised with a daddy and several uncles who were all married to her mother. That's normal for her—I knew that—but I'd thought that she knew enough about other families to realize that ours was unusual.
“Not all women have more than one partner, Lesya,” I stumbled over the explanation. “Some don't have any.”
“Why not?”
“Love—the kind of love that is strong enough to make two people want to get married and share the rest of their lives—isn't easy to find. Some people get married before they feel it, believing that it doesn't exist or that they'll never find it, and that's a big mistake. Never settle for average love, baby. It's better to be alone.”
“Is that why the woman is missing? Because she didn't love her husband?”
I looked at Kirill for help. “Tag, you're it.”
“Maybe,” Kirill said soberly. “Ven two people who don't love each other enough, or don't know each other vell enough, get married, it can make zem unhappy. Zey get angry or sad and zey do zings zey shouldn't. Zat's vhy you never marry someone unless you are absolutely sure zey are person you vant to be vith forever. It's even more important for us, Kotyonok. Forever is very long time.”
“Is that why Uncle Toby left?”
Oh, Gods, those sweet, innocent words cut me open in an instant. They cut me so deeply that I made a wounded sound, tears coming to my eyes. Kirill scooped Lesya up so she wouldn't see my reaction and cradled her so that her back was to me. I nodded at him gratefully as I swiped at my face.
“Uncle Toby loves Mommy, he just vanted different zings zan she can give him.”
Damn; I thought I'd gotten over Toby. But what I'd said to Lesya was absolutely true; love like that is hard to find. I'd been beyond lucky to have found it so many times and having all of those amazing men love me in return should have made the loss of one man a minor thing. But love doesn't work like that. One great love doesn't replace another. Not even six great loves can do that. It can help you get over the pain of losing something incredible, but you never forget. Not when you've shared the things Toby and I have.
But I would try to forget anyway, at least for a little while, and I would try to remember that not all great love is meant to be forever. For Kirill and our daughter I would let go of Tobadzistsini. This was Kirill's special time, and I wouldn't ruin it with sad thoughts over another man. I pushed down the pain and focused on the man beside me. His glossy black hair hanging like a cape past his ass, flowing over thick shoulders made even broader by his wool coat. That powerful body had never failed me; not when coming to my aid or giving me the most amazing pleasure. Then there was that face; a face that was even now making both women and men do double-takes. But all of that was merely frosting. Beneath it lay Kirill's lion heart and beautiful soul. He was more than enough for me. More than enough to numb the sadness Toby had left behind and bring back my smile.
“Sometimes even a great love is not enough, sweetheart,” I said gently to Lesya. “But Uncle Toby still thinks about you and misses you. His love for you hasn't changed.”
“And Doba?”
“Doba still loves you too,” I said, referring to Toby's dog; a dog I had saved when I believed I was another woman.
Lesya quietly processed my words, her stare set ahead of us. Then we crossed over a river and her pensiveness disappeared. She leaned away from Kirill, trying to peer into the water, never doubting for a second that her father would keep his hold on her. Kirill obligingly took Lesya closer to the railing, and she started chatting about fish, birds, and boats. Kirill and I shared a relieved look over her head. There were many issues that we'd been prepared to discuss with Lesya but Toby wasn't one of them.
Chapter Seven
After crossing the bridge, we turned left and headed along the river to the Savior on the Spilled Blood; an elaborate Russian Cathedral. Lesya went silent as we approached, her eyes rounding as she stared up its dizzying facade to painted domes. Carved stone bordered mosaics of saints and rows of arches wrapped around the base of minarets. Every inch seemed to be adorned; painted in bright turquoise, green, and white with accents of somber yellow, carved in mind-boggling detail, or inlaid with tiny pieces of colored stone. Swirled patterns, giant studs, and polished gold adorned the domes, making each one a unique masterpiece. And that was just the outside.
We wandered in with the other visitors. The crowd was thin. I assumed that most people didn't visit Russia in February so these were likely locals and a few brave tourists who either enjoyed the cold or thought
the discount on airfare worth it. If it had been crowded, we might have used invisibility to get us past the line. Why wait if you don't have to? As it was, we ambled along with the bundled-up humans, gawking as we strained our necks to see the incredible artwork that coated the inside of the cathedral. Marble floors, inlaid with geometric patterns of green, rust, and cream, shone with a fresh polish. The same stone continued up the walls and the numerous columns for a few feet, as if it had overflowed the floor, and then the art took over.
